#i went to mass one day and there happened to be a first communion and there was a kid who was called thomas aquinas

[ynhart]

Soo in Korea, korean catholics have this tradition of adopting a baptismal name as a second name. And it's normally after a saint so when you meet a korean catholic they would casually introduce themselves as their baptismal name. One time there was one whose name was literally APOSTLE PAUL. Like not just "Paul" but "APOSTLE PAUL"

[hazardworld]

Steve and the very party holidays

Just thinking about Steve having a really shitty holiday experience as a kid: his parents/extended family is Catholic (dad: Irish-American/mom: French), so he got first communion and they went to the big holiday services, but that was about it.

Just little ol’ baby Steve sitting in mass for an hour or two, then going home for presents, most of which were trendy “boy toys” he didn’t really care for. Also, he could easily tell they were easily things his dad’s assistant knew were the most popular, not things he was actually interested in.

Every few years or so, his parents would have a party: either Christmas or New Years, but it was always fancy, and Steve had to wear itchy uncomfortable clothing, and try not to get distracted, and there was always way too much wine.

(Apparently, you never went to a Christmas party without bringing wine)

When Steve started middle school, they’d leave on Christmas Eve, tell him to go to mass (by the time he had the means to, he’d lost the belief in a god anyway), and to have a good time. Also, Santa wasn’t real, apparently.

So he learned how to cook and how to take care of himself and the house, and it was fine. It wasn’t great, but it could be far worse, so it was fine. He was lucky: he had a house with paid bills, he’d eventually get a car, and he had the means of feeding himself without worries. It wasn’t ideal, but yeah, he could live with it.

So imagine senior Steve, (forcibly) invited to Machiavelli family Christmas by Dustin (I could make a whole post on why my cultural headcannons are what they are but I’m italian american and i DEF see more IA hendersons then IA harringtons) who shows up dressed in that same, stupidly itchy clothing with wine, only to be told by Claudia that he’s much too formal. The wine is taken, and he’s handed a pair of Claudia’s (clean) sweatpants and a very soft green sweater with a santa hat on it.

It’s only once he’s in the backseat with Dustin that he realizes all their sweaters match, and 30 minutes later at the “family house” that apparently every branch of their family has their own different sweaters. Not only that, but Steve gets introduced not as Dustin’s babysitter, but as his brother.

Steve is confused, because aren’t Christmas parties supposed to be all stuffy and boring but also nerve wracking because everything’s too overwhelming but if Steve shows it he’ll get punished? 

Christmas parties aren’t laughter and coziness and friends and family all together (as the party continued, Steve met people and realized who was introduced as wouldn’t’ve mattered: everyone here, blood or not were treated like family).

Steve thinks it’s a one time thing, but he’s expected every year from then out: Dustin reported the Aunts agreed he was the best child-wrangler they’d ever seen, and Claudia said it was refreshing to have help bringing in her offerings for the large buffet. The next year it’s all the same but different, and Steve loves it.

Then comes Christmas 1986.

No one can leave Hawkins quite yet: the final gates have yet to close, though it should happen before the end of the new school year. For now, everyone’s stranded with what they can ship in or make themselves.

After the earthquake, Steve moved into the guest room of the Henderson’s place. They still used the mansion for party gatherings, but his parents made it clear they were never returning, and Steve had more happy memories with Dustin and Claudia then in the too-large expanse.

Once Max woke up, she moved in too: the government hush money was plenty enough to make Dustin’s bed into a bunk. Claudia even started calling them “her twins” after they formed a platonic codependency rivaling Steve and Robin’s.

The four of them spend Christmas together: Max gets her own sweater knit, and they even get some extra tinsel to wrap up her arm crutches and wheelchair for the days she needs them. 

There’s no Machiavelli family that year, but Claudia teaches Steve the family lasagna recipe, and they open gifts to the sounds of “Charlie Brown Christmas” in the background.

Steve doesn’t think it can really get much better.

The evening of December 26 is a whirlwind.

The four get to the mansion early to set up. Plus, Steve has to make his Ratatouille, and Claudia has to heat up Dustin’s baked ziti, as well as the 10 different side dishes she did not sign up to make but insisted on, anyway.

The party’s at 6, but both the Munsons and the Byers-Hopper’s show up at 5:45, saying they were there in case anyone needed help. They both bring latkes, but since Eddie’s a terrible cook (other than sandwiches, eggs, or freezer meals) his are burnt. Luckily, Joyce is kind, and says theirs can count for both.

Argyle (who stayed just long enough to be included in the mandatory staying in Hawkins notice) made homemade flautas, while Hopper and El brought Eggos, since that’s all they could agree upon making.

The rest of the group arrives after that, though slightly later. Robin claims this is her fault, since apparently she got to the store way too late. She brought kringle (If you don’t know what kringle is go to trader joe’s or racine wisconsin it’s so worth it). 

She also brought Max’s haggis: Max didn’t want anyone else in the house knowing what she was making, and Robin was the only one who let her use her parent’s kitchen to make it.

Lucas and Erica brought self-decorate-able christmas sweater speculaas cookies (that Lucas baked himself, thank you) and keep fighting over who gets to carry what. Erica said the tupperware is too warm, but she also doesn’t want the sticky frostings.

Nancy made things non-negotiable: since Mike wasn’t driving, he got the heavy crockpot of Swedish meatballs, while she got the casserole pan of shepherds pie.

Somehow, Murray also slipped in with risotto and various boozes. How? Steve didn’t really care, but it was wonderful getting to see his extended family, per se, coming together for the beauty of it all, and sharing each other’s cultures and traditions.

After food, everyone watches as Will and Eddie light the first Hanukkah candle (in 1986 Hanukkah started on dec 26!) together, and after that they all open their gifts to each other.

It’s a bit of a free-for-all after that: Dustin and Erica hopped up on sugar together is a nightmare, Argyle, Johnathan, and Will (apparently) got high while starfishing on the living room floor, Nancy found the wine cellar and started “taste testing,” Max and Mike started a hate-fueled tournament on Max’s new video game which Mike keeps trying to double the rounds for so he can win, and Robin and Eddie hopped up on sugar together is another nightmare. Steve’s only peace are the adults, plus Lucas and El who are quietly chatting and painting each other’s nails in the corner.

By the end of the evening, everyone saunters off the rooms, and Steve can’t be happier at the aftermath: the house that once encapsulated stuffy, sad, even disheartening memories now became somewhere where Steve could actually say his family had all been in.

And shit: Steve realized he had a family.

Wasn’t that a thought.

He was so fucking happy.

Fin.

(If any culture thing was wrong shout me out I wanna change it)

(also i wrote this at 4am sorry for typos and stuff)

[hazzmat-shelter]

The Kind Witch

CW: Horror, gore

Once upon a time, there was a young witch who lived in the forest and foraged for her livelihood and the nearby village. She was loved by all in our village for she kept us safe with her medicines and knowledge of the dangers present all around us.

One day, she found that the once-great forest wasn't providing as it once did, and that it's resources had begun to dwindle. She was not the first to notice this, the plants and animals were the first to show signs of threat. Before long, they too were beginning to vanish.

She left her hut to venture deeper into the wood to forage, following the lead of the animals that came before her. The forest grew still and lifeless as she pressed on. The birds sang no songs, woodland creatures disappeared, and the once rich earth grew pale and cracked beneath her feet.

She came to a clearing covered in saltgrass, in the center of which sat a crumpled, writhing pile of wet nervous tissue that had once taken the form of a fallen tree it had long consumed.

She approached the quivering mass and made a communion with it. The mass spoke with many voices, those which she knew and those that had come long before her. It spoke in tongues she could not understand and in those she did.

The witch came to know this entity as the creator of this forest, its ruler and its captor both. She asked it why the forest was dying, and it laughed a hundred laughs. The forest could not be dying, for the forest was nothing but a byproduct of itself, and unlike the creatures that chose to make it their home it cannot meet an end.

The witch sought safety for the forest and all of its inhabitants. She begged the mycelial mass to feed its creation and restore the bounties that once abounded all around them. The entity scoffed and hissed, laughing away her cries for help. 

It went silent, no longer entertaining her presence. Without its help, her forest would disappear and everyone in our village would die. She made one final plea, something she knew it wouldn't pass up. The mass accepted this final plea with amusement and greed.

She returned to our village with a full basket and a promise to keep. The plants and animals returned and we lived in greater abundance than ever before, providing for ourselves more and more. 

Soon after she returned, however, she stopped coming around as often, seen briefly in the early morning hours and no later than that. Soon after that, only a few children managed to catch sight of her by hiding in the bushes outside her hut. Eventually, no one saw her again.

I was the last. I was one of the younger children in the village at the time. My older sister and I were determined to find what happened to her, so we left our home after everyone else in the village fell asleep.

We ventured into the wood to check her hut, and upon arriving we crouched in the bushes in wait. The dark ramshackle cottage sat still and empty, surrounded by broken pots and baskets, covered in moss and hidden from the moonlight by countless gnarled trees. A breeze glided through me and chilled me to the bone. The door swung on its hinge and clattered against the frame.

My sister grew restless and left me behind in the bush, taking the warmth and light of the lantern with her. I scurried out from my hiding place and followed her to the hut. She bravely pulled the door open with a stick and revealed its interior with her lantern. Light shone out through the cracks in the walls and their dirt-covered windows.

The inside looked ransacked, as if some wild beast had been stuck within. The lantern cast dancing shadows behind broken furniture and ripped cloth. The miasma of rotten food and mold made us gag and slam the door shut in hopes to trap it inside.

In her retching, my sister found dried footprints of someone in barefoot, headed away from the cabin. She ignored my pleas and followed them without me, once again leaving me in the dark with no other choice.

The trail lead off of the beaten path and deeper into the forest. Wet leaves and mud were stuck to my feet and my hair and clothes caught on branches and thistles as thorns scratched my skin, but my sister pushed on.

My sister slipped on the mud and slid down a hill until she crashed to a stop against a tree. In the moonlight I carefully made my way down to her in concern, but she stood on her own, focused on something in front of us.

Immutable darkness spread over us, such that the moon and stars in the sky disappeared, and the lantern did little other than illuminate our faces. The space around us grew silent. I turned to crawl back up the hill, only to find a void in its place. 

I turned back in time to see my sister disappear into the darkness ahead. She stared focused on something ahead, something invisible to me. 'Do you hear that?

Gurgling, like someone choking on their own fluids. A constant, nasally and wheezing groan, interrupted only by choked sobs and rambled words I didn't understand. They grew louder as we drew closer. The smell grew as well, musty and sick, similar to that of her hut. No longer able to gag, we continued with noses burning.

We stepped carefully over rough terrain, lit only by faint lantern light. In the orange glow I saw strange shapes all around us, indiscernible and featureless, recognized only by the texture felt when accidentally stepped on. I was beyond the point of asking to go home. I was lost and my only lifelines were my sister and the light she carried.

She froze ahead of me and held the lantern out to see something on the ground in front of her. The sobbing was close. I leaned around her and saw what she was looking at. Someone was hunched on all fours in a pool of mud, clenching at their hat and shaking in pain like a dying animal.

I shifted to get a better look, but my foot caught under something heavy and I had to grab my sister's dress to keep myself from tripping. I crushed something beneath me with a loud crack. I caught my balance and felt my shoes sink into something wet, like mud. My sister turned to help me and stepped into the same. She held the lantern down to the ground, and we leapt back in disgust. Our shoes were covered in the rotting innards of a dead animal, long unrecognizable. She slowly swung the lantern and revealed that all around us lay countless disheveled bodies in various stages of decay; bones, flesh, and organs spread evenly in the open air. With every step, mold spores burst out like smoke and stole my breaths. A mat of white tendrils wove over and throughout the carnage, pulsing as it consumed. The realization hit us at the same. The valley was silent.

My sister swung the lantern back around and screamed. We found the kind witch. Her blackened arms hung down at the sides of her filthy, torn dress, tipped by gnarled, mud-covered hands. Her face was blackened with rot, and those same tendrils tore down into her skin and pulsed while mushrooms burst from fetid sores all across her body, the fruit of her being. Her eyes were sickly yellow and seemed to burn in the lantern light, yet she did not blink.

Her hands shot forward and crushed my sister's scream in her throat, killing her instantly. The lantern fell from her hand and shattered on the rib cage of some unknowable creature, drowning me in darkness yet again.

In the dark I heard my sister's bones crushed with cracking and sickening crunches. Her skin was ripped away and her body was spread over the mycelium, while what remained of the kind witch mumbled and cried through the pain of her debt. I hid behind the ribcage and stifled my cries as my sister's blood and body were spread over me, as she left me in the dark and with no other choice for the final time.

Happy Halloween! This is a character that my fiance and I share and have created for this Halloween, so I put together a little story for her. Art by my fiance @glitcheli .

[thewahookid]

DEATHBED CONVERSION MIRACLES VIA THE ST. BENEDICT'S MEDAL

MIRACLE 1

On the 14th of March, 1859, a pious layman happened to meet in the street a priest, who was much distressed about a young man of seventeen who had come home from Paris so ill, that the doctor was of opinion that he could not live many days. The priest had been three times to the house, but the family would not receive him. The layman on hearing this, spoke to him about the wonderful effect of St. Benedict’s Medal, gave him one, and encouraged him to make another trial. The priest went, and at first meets with the same reception. He then showed the Medal, which he said he wished to give to the young man. “Oh, if that is all,” said the person who was speaking to him, “you may come in.” He went to the room of the young man, who no sooner saw him than he hid his face in the bed clothes. “My dear friend said the priest, “accept this little present from me.” Immediately he uncovered his face, and began his confession with the most admirable sentiments of contrition.

MIRACLE 2

In 1860, an old man was received into one of the Paris hospitals, and falling seriously ill there, it was evident that he had but a very short time to live. He was a Protestant. The Sisters, who had the care of the hospital, seeing that there was no chance of his recovery, lost no time in using every possible effort to secure to him the life of the soul. For this end they had made novena after novena, private and general communions had been offered up, and they had got a great many masses said. It seemed however to be all of no avail. It happened one Sunday, that a friend having come to the hospital to visit the sick, and being informed of a Protestant was so near death, he advised them to give the sick man a Medal of St. Benedict, and in case he should refuse it, to put it under his pillow. The advice was instantly followed, and the medal was placed around his neck. The next time the same person came to the hospital, he had the consolation of hearing that the very Sunday he advised them to use the Medal, the Protestant had asked at twelve o’clock that night, to be received into the church. They offered to send for either of the two nearest parish priests, but he refused, saying that he would prefer the Chaplain of the house, whom he had had occasion to know. This latter, not having the faculties necessary for receiving the abjuration or for absolving from heresy, leave was obliged to be sent for to the Archbishop, so that in spite of all the diligence that was used, it was not possible to administer the Sacraments to the sick man before nine o’clock the next morning. The old man received all the rites of the church with great devotion, and died tranquilly in the evening of the same day.

[SOURCE] THE MEDAL OR CROSS OF ST. BENEDICT, ITS ORIGIN, MEANING, AND PRIVILEGES

BY DOM P. GUÉRANGER

On the back of the medal, the following letters that represent a Latin prayer against Satan:

C. S. S. M. L. (Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux): “The Holy Cross be my light”

N. D. S. M. D. (Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux) “May the dragon never be my guide!”

Around the edge of the medal are more letters that stand for the Latin exorcism prayers:

V. R. S. (Vade Retro Satan): “Get away, Satan”

N. S. M. V. (Not Suade Mihi Vana): “Never tempt me with your vanities!”

S. M. Q. L. (Sunt Mala Quae Libas): “What you offer me is evil.”

I. V. B. (Ipse Venena Bibas): “Drink the poison yourself

[amicidomenicani]

Question Good evening Father, After many years of neglecting the practice of prayer, attending Mass, I obviously committed all the capital sins. I rarely went to Mass, mostly for somebody else’s marriages, baptisms, confirmations and first communions etc., and thankfully without taking the host. Recently I have begun to return to the Church, I went to confession and I started to practice the precepts of a good christian, going to Mass, fasting in the prescribed days, avoiding temptations… Now speaking about these temptations I have a few doubts. I am writing to you to resolve one of these doubts: given that I practiced all kinds of sex, from masturbation to intercourse, with married and unmarried women, and that I have never been married, and presently am not even engaged to be married, I would like to understand if without any commitment, I still commit an impure act if I have relations with women. Of course I avoid going with married women, lest they be damned to hell. But, what about the …. ehm… you know, those women who freely and legally have chosen that job to make a living? Is that allowed? At a first cursory reading it would seem not… Now, If I had a fiancée I would have no issue respecting her, her love and her soul, and I would obviously avoid going with somebody else (when I was engaged I never went with anyone else, not even the paid professional ones…). But if I don’t have one, how should I behave? You know, I can resist everything, except temptation.” (O. Wilde) Priest’s answer Dear friend, 1. A woman is not an object created by God to fulfill one’s sexual passions. She can’t be treated as such, neither outside nor inside of marriage or engagement. Were one to treat her in this way, in addition to demeaning the woman one would demean oneself as well, because one would end being trapped in a form of selfishness that makes one fail to understand that the way to happiness and fulfillment is to be found in generous gift giving and not in possessing things and people. 2. That is why the Church incessantly reminds everyone, married, engaged and unmarried, that the way to live the logic of self giving is through chastity. Chastity, in a married couple is practiced by avoiding contraception in the conjugal intimacy. Contraception in its own language speaks of a refusal to give oneself up totally to the other. In an engaged couple chastity is practiced by keeping sex out of all their manifestations of affection. Sexuality outside of marriage is falsified in its own essence because it neither expresses total self-giving, nor does it bring about the dispossessing of oneself necessary to be irrevocably of the other. Besides, the sexual engagement is not oriented towards its ultimate purpose which consists in taking the challenge of bringing forth and educating children. 3. But even who is not married or engaged must live according to the logic of giving, and therefore learn to live in chastity. Pornography, auto-erotism, prostitution are all profanations of true love. They are expressions of pure selfishness. 4. And since sexuality touches the deepest core of a person, it happens that when one lives one’s sexuality the wrong way, one ends up developing deep inside the wrong inclination to selfishly possess one’s own or somebody else’s body. But this is not the way to happiness.  5. About temptation, you give me a quotation from Oscar Wilde: you can resist anything, but temptation. It’s a good joke, and can be funny to crack now and then. But I am convinced that even he must have overcome more than one temptation, and subjected himself to hard discipline in order to succeed. The reason is simple: you can build nothing solid and lasting in your life if you do not resist temptation. And with God’s help you can resist all kinds of temptations, no matter how violent.Wishing you to overcome all of them as you constantly grow in holiness, I recommend you to the Lord and I bless you.

[thepilgramageofagirl]

My journey with Christ

I was raised Catholic. I was baptized when I was little. I adored God and Jesus, I loved Mary and St. Anthony. I used to go to church with my grandma and I loved going. Then my turbulent spiritual journey began. I had two Evangelical friends. One had a very strict father that wouldn’t let her listen to some kinds of music, read certain books, and even said my surname was evil, but I was still interested in that approach to Christianity. I wanted to understand, to learn more. I talked about that with my other friend which had less strict parent, and her mother invited me to go to a celebration with her, gave me a Bible (I had one, but Catholic) and I had fun there, and found it so interesting that in the end we had food and we would socialize, but I felt judged by everyone, like everyone was looking at me with suspicion and trying to find flaws or something to criticize, something that never happened in Catholic mass. Then I went on a spiral, I researched other religions until I changed schools and went to a military one that also had a strong Catholic background. We had a church in our school since it was in an old monastery, and we would have occasional mass celebrations we had to go to and we also had Religious and Moral Education and the teacher was amazing and opened my heart even more. My first communion and confirmation were there and I felt the presence of God even more. After leaving the school I went downhill. I started practicing witchcraft on and off and I embraced my dark side. I think I should be clear here to not create misconceptions, I did not make a pact with the devil nor I worshiped him, that’s not what I’m implying. Then Covid happened and I started my spiritual journey which was all about highs and lows, going back to the dark side getting out of it, relapse and so on and so on, until I was traveling and I went to a sanctuary, not the first nor the last, where I was called to pray. I walked inside the church, I made the sign of cross while bowing and suddenly I felt something calling me to pray and I obeyed. I prayed for many things but also for a situationship to be resolved. Five or ten minutes after, the person regarding the situationship replies to my message, which I was certain wasn’t going to happen as it usually wouldn’t. I thanked God and Our Lady and my journey with Christ restarted again. I bought a Rosary in a sanctuary, I started to lean more on God. My grandma got sick and I would rely on God and Our Lady by lighting candles and praying. Things were set in motion. I started downloading Catholic apps and I downloaded The Chosen app but I didn’t watch it right away neither I payed it much attention. To be honest I didn’t know much about it. One day I just felt something calling me to open the app and explore and I noticed it was a whole show, with two seasons and a third in the making and I started watching. I GOT HOOKED. ADDICTED. And it was the trigger to make me jump into Christ even more. I started studying the Bible, praying more and more, talking about God more and more, making art about God even, like my inspiration is centered on God, I try to think of other things to work on, but I can only come up with ideas about God (and flowers). I even customized my phone around God. I feel saved. I feel reborn. And if someone reading this is struggling with their faith, know that light will always shine over darkness. God bless you all.

[scuttling]

Impure

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 4,557 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Priest kink, Religion, Confessional, Masturbation, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Unprotected sex, Somehow also sweet Summary: Hotch is a hot priest and steamy, smutty stuff happens. That's it, that's the fic. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. Link to A03 or read below! When Sophie Cortes moves to Whitehall, Virginia in the hopes of starting over, she expects it to be difficult. Removed completely from her family, her friends, the job she loved, and the only way of life she’s known for 28 years—it’s hard, and she prays for strength every day for a week before she passes a small Catholic church on her way to the post office. She hadn’t noticed it before, and she smiles, makes a vow to attend mass the following Sunday, and feels for the first time in a long time like God might actually be on her side.

She feels that way for a very, very short time, because the moment she lays eyes on the priest—Father Aaron Hotchner, the sign by the door says—she realizes she’s doomed.

He is not at all what she’d expected in this sleepy, pseudo-Southern town, in that he is hot like burning: he’s in his forties, tall, and kind of beefy, actually, with arms that fill out his clerical shirt a little too well, and a handsome face, dark hair, a kind smile. She takes a seat in the back, the first week she attends, but when he looks out at the congregation, she feels like his eyes are on her and only her. It makes her sweat more than the July heat, and she wets her lips, feels every bit the sinner she is.

The second week isn’t any better, or the third, fourth, fifth. Each time, she enters hopeful and leaves a horny, desperate mess. The sixth week, she confesses.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been... a while since my last confession. I’m new to town—you probably haven’t even noticed me—and I’m trying to start a new life. I was taking a walk around the neighborhood, and I found your little church, and I thought maybe it was God’s way of trying to help me on my journey.”

“It was. He brought you here for a reason,” Father Hotchner says through the lattice of the confessional booth, and Sophie exhales, leans her head back.

“No, Father. It wasn’t God who led me here, it was the Devil himself.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the moment I saw you standing there, tall, strong, your hands wrapped around the edges of the pulpit, I began having impure thoughts, and they haven’t gone away. The moment I step foot in those doors, my core aches; I try to rub discreetly against the pew for some relief, but there are too many people around me, so I just sit there, hot and swollen, dripping wet, listening to your voice. When I kneel, I kneel for you, not God.” She breathes slowly, in and out of her nose, tries to calm herself down. “You talk about sin, Father, and while you do my body begs for yours; sometimes you pause to swallow, and I watch your throat, and I wonder if that’s you feeling me wanting you.” He is quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“You are right: Lustful thoughts are the work of the Devil. But you can overcome them.”

“I can’t, Father. I’ve tried. I’ve prayed for God’s guidance. I’ve been coming here for six weeks, and each time I see you I crave the touch of your hand, your mouth on my body. I always leave quickly when your sermon is over, because if you saw me, flushed, my nipples hard, my eyes wide, you would know what I’ve been thinking, Father, and I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You were made by God in His image. You couldn’t disappoint me.”

“It doesn’t disappoint you to know I’m thinking of it right now? Of how the only thing between us is this partition, and how if I could get into your lap, maybe I could rub myself to climax, feel your hands on my hips, urging me on, until we both come, here in His house? Because that’s all I can think about, Father.” Tears well up in her eyes, but his voice is soothing.

“That’s okay. It’s alright. I’m not disappointed. I can help you through this.”

“How? Please tell me how, Father. I’ll do anything.”

“First, I want you to recite the Act of Contrition each morning. I want you to talk to God and tell Him you’re sorry, and then I want you to forgive yourself.”

“Forgive myself?” The idea seems insane, after everything she’s confessed to him.

“Yes. You deserve compassion as a child of God. And you should give yourself credit, for despite the heat of your flesh, you haven’t acted on your impure thoughts. God will have mercy because of your resistance. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”

“Good. May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” Sophie leaves, and her hands are trembling. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession. I’m not sure you’ll remember me…” The priest shifts a little, Sophie can see it through the barrier that separates them.

“I remember you. Have you forgiven yourself? Have you spoken to God?”

“I’ve tried, Father. I’ve done my penance, I’ve prayed, but I’m still so weak. Today, I watched a bead of sweat drip down your neck, and I wanted to run my tongue over it, follow it into your clothes and taste you, warm and salty. I’m soaked and throbbing even now, just recalling how my body reacted. It hurts.” He swallows hard.

“I’m sorry you are in pain, both mental and physical. But with God, you are strong. With God, nothing is impossible. You will get through this.”

“I didn’t just have impure thoughts this week, Father. I—I touched myself, and I imagined it was your hand. Your fingers inside me, filling me. I came to the thought of you, Father. Will I be forgiven?”

“God forgives you, and I forgive you.” She closes her eyes tightly, sighs.

“Thank you, Father. What is my penance?”

“I want you to spend one hour a day sitting on your bed, completely still and silent. I want you to think of all of the blessings God has given you, all of the ways He has made you strong. I also want you to donate your hands to a good cause; you know the nursing home on Fifth Avenue is always looking for volunteers. Maybe, if your hands are occupied doing God’s work, the temptation to use them in an impure manner will leave you.”

“Thank you, Father. I will.”

“May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

“Have you done your penance, my girl?”

“Yes, Father. I meditated and volunteered until I was so exhausted each night that I fell right to sleep.”

“And what was the outcome? Do you feel better?” She feels shame for what she is about to say.

“I didn’t think of you, but I dreamed of you.”

“What did you dream about?”

“I dreamed of laying beneath you, Father. I dreamed of being taken by you. I dreamed of you filling me up with come and whispering in my ear that it was God’s will.” The priest exhales deeply.

“Did you have the same dream every night?”

“No, Father. One night I dreamed of kneeling to pray, but then taking you into my mouth, performing an act of service on you. You came in my mouth and gave me five Hail Mary’s for worshipping at an altar that was not God’s.”

“Is there more?”

“Yes, Father. I dreamed of your head between my legs, tasting me. I called out your name in pleasure, and you held me tightly and pushed your tongue inside me until I cried, it felt so good. Then you spilled on my skin and—and praised me for fulfilling my duty to God.” His voice is soft when he responds.

“I think it may be time for private counseling.”

“Here at the church, Father?”

“Yes, with me. Once a week.”

“Father, I don’t know if—” She can barely look at him without moaning; how can he expect her to be counseled in his office, just feet from him… alone?

“Trust me. I will help you talk to God. We will find a way to remove these impure thoughts from your mind so you can live in God’s image as intended.”

“Yes, Father, thank you, Father.”

“May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

“You didn’t come to counseling.” He sounds disappointed, and she takes a trembling breath.

“No, Father. I’m sorry. You were giving communion, and I opened my mouth for you, and you placed the body of Christ on my tongue, and I… Forgive me, Father. I went into the bathroom and I touched myself. I couldn’t face you after that.”

“You touched yourself… here?” Shame makes her face heat, her eyes water.

“Yes, Father, I’m so sorry. I tried to resist, I did.”

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Yes, Father. A strong one. That’s the closest you’ve gotten to me, and I couldn’t help the way my body reacted.”

“It’s okay. God forgives you, and I forgive you. Please come to counseling this week, no matter what.”

“Yes, Father. What is my penance?”

“Five Our Fathers, and I want you to wear a rubber band on your wrist and snap it every time you think of me. Maybe the pain will be a reminder to keep your thoughts pure.”

“I will, Father, thank you.”

“May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” “Father Hotchner. My name is Sophie Cortes, I…” He stands from his desk, nods stoically.

“I know. Please, have a seat,” he says, gesturing to two armchairs in the corner of the room, and when she perches on one, smoothing her sundress beneath her, he takes the other. His eyes linger on her legs, and she instantly feels shame for the way she’s dressed, even though she’d felt confident and beautiful when she left the house. “You’re here because of impure thoughts that won’t go away. We’ve tried meditation, and service, and praying, but nothing seems to be working. I see you’ve been wearing the rubber band.” He nods to her wrist, and she swallows.

“Yes, Father, but I’m sorry, it’s complicated things further.”

“How so?” he asks with a tilt of his head. It’s so much harder for her to concentrate now that she can see him, now that he’s more than just a shadowy figure in the confessional box. And so close...

“It turns out, I find pleasure in the sting. It’s made me imagine other pleasurable, painful things.”

“Such as?” She sighs deeply, feels dirty, hopes it won’t make him look at her differently.

“Receiving spanking as penance, Father. Your strong hands hitting my thighs and behind until I’m a panting, dripping mess, begging for God’s forgiveness, and yours.” He wets his lips, leans in a little closer.

“Do you think that would help?” She can smell his after-shave, just like she could at communion, and she shifts in her seat, crosses her legs.

“I don't think so, Father. I would… want you even more, afterward.” He nods, pushes a hand through his dark hair.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling, trying to decide how to go about counseling you. I’ve thought of reading scripture to you...” She squeezes her legs together, knows that wouldn’t work. She would only be turned on more, and that’s part of why she feels so messed up in the head. “I’ve thought of kneeling beside you, praying with you, your hands in mine, so we can talk to God together.” Her breath comes quickly at the thought, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think any of that will solve your problem, though, do you?”

“I don’t know, Father. I don’t—I don’t think so.”

“I think there’s only one thing that will help you, Miss Cortes, and I want you to know I don’t recommend this lightly. I have spent many nights talking to God about you.”

“You have?”

“Yes. And I remembered that sometimes, rules aren’t one-size-fits-all. Sometimes, we are allowed to bend them, in the right circumstances, and I think this situation is one of those circumstances.” He sits back in his chair, and he’s breathing heavily too, she notices. “Come here.”

Her mind goes abruptly blank.

“Come… there?” she asks, and he swallows, nods.

“Yes. In my lap. If you want to.” She wants to—that’s the whole reason she’s here—and he’s telling her she can, so she stands, takes a shaky breath, and settles on his thighs. He runs his hands carefully over her legs, then up her arms, caresses her cheeks. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathless, and he slides his hands down her throat, over her breasts, and she moans at the touch.

“I think the only way to resolve the problems you’re having, Miss Cortes, would be to satisfy you. To give you what you’ve been thinking of since the first time you entered my church. Do you want me to do that?”

“Yes, Father.” She closes her eyes, and he gently cups her breasts, squeezes them in his hands. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

“Give me a Hail Mary,” he says, and she would do anything he asks in that tone of voice. She nods.

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee.” His hands move to her waist, and she sighs. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” His hands move to her thighs, and he pushes up her dress, rubs them up until his fingers meet the hem of her panties. She swallows hard. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Amen. Another,” he instructs gently, and he rubs his fingers against the soaked crotch of her panties, earning a soft moan.

“Hail Mary Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He pushes her panties to the side, his fingers gliding over her aching, wet heat, and she moans again, recites faster. “Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Amen,” he says, breathless. He guides a finger inside her and she skims her own hands along her body, trembles in his grasp. “Another.”

“Hail Mary Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb—Jesus,” she sighs, when he slips another finger inside, and his other hand rests on her ass, putting pressure there, encouraging her to move. She lifts her hips and sinks back down against his hand, and he wets his lips, blows out a long, measured breath.

“Keep going, Miss Cortes.”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” She gasps, grips the arms of the chair with her fingers and rides his hand, looking down into his deep, dark eyes. He squeezes her ass.

“Good girl. I want you to come on my fingers. You’ve imagined them inside you—does this feel better?”

“Yes, Father.” She rides faster, moaning, and he fists her dress in his hand, lifts it so he can watch her take him in, which makes her shiver. “Oh, please.”

“What is it? What do you need?” he asks, dropping her dress to touch her cheek.

“Another finger, Father? Please?” His brow furrows, determined, and he adds another; she pumps her hips four times, whines, and comes, clutching his shirt at his shoulders. When she’s spent, she sags against him, panting, and he holds her close, rubs a hand up and down her back.

“That was perfect. You did exactly what I wanted. Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you, Father,” she murmurs, sitting up in his lap, and though she would love to kiss him, or run her fingers through his hair, she’s fairly certain that’s not what this is.

He offers her a tissue to clean up, slides his fingers out carefully and cleans them off as well, and she sits back in her own chair, legs crossed again. He looks at her seriously, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I hope that helps you, Miss Cortes. I know you don’t want to have those impure thoughts.”

“No, Father. Thank you, I… I hope so too.” He nods, takes her hands in his, closes his eyes.

“May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” He opens his eyes.

“I’ll take your confession Sunday, and then see you for counseling next week. We’ll see how you feel then.”

“Okay. Thank you again.” They both stand, and he walks her to the door; his eyes linger on her face, and she ducks her head, walks down the hall.

That night, she dreams of hands on her hips, holding her down, and helping her move. She wakes to a puddle in her panties. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a week since my last confession.” She knows she sounds tired when she speaks, and he sighs at the sound of her voice.

“Tell me your sins, Miss Cortes,” he says low. She shivers.

“It didn’t work, Father. If anything, I think it made it worse. I dreamed of you again.”

“I dreamed of you, too.” She sits in silence, shocked, and her heart races. “Did you know I make house calls? For counseling. If a member of the congregation is in need.” She hums, shifts where she sits.

“I didn’t know that, Father. I might… I think that might help me. Will you have time tonight?”

“Yes. I can be there around seven, if that works for you. We can try again.” She gasps softly, presses her thighs together.

“Yes, please, Father.”

“Okay. Five Hail Mary’s for me, Miss Cortes. May our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, through the grace and mercies of his love for humankind, forgive you all your transgressions. And I, an unworthy priest, by his power given me, forgive and absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” When Father Hotchner arrives at her apartment that night, he looks like a completely different man—all because of his eyes. They are smoldering, stormy, and the way they sweep over her body when she invites him in, offers him coffee… It makes her mouth water.

She pours a cup for each of them, but they never get a chance to drink it, because he takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply, passionately, leaving her breathless. When the kiss breaks, she walks them back to the bedroom, and his broad hands grope at her, pulling her dress over her head and tugging her close for another kiss.

“Sophie,” he murmurs, and she puts her hands on his belt, fingers on the clasp.

“Please, Father, may I?” He nods, kisses her again, and she opens it, then his pants, and he guides her back against the bed; he begins at her throat, kissing her hot and wet, and he trails his mouth down her body, over her breasts, her stomach, down to her panties. He mouths at her soaked core, and she moans, arches up off the bed. “Oh, yes.”

He looks up at her, eyes hooded with lust, and he guides her panties off, presses his lips against her pussy in a deep kiss. He flicks his tongue a little, so she’s squirming, whining, and then slides back up her body to lick at her throat. “You taste like sin,” he whispers in her ear, and the moan that passes her lips is pornographic and filthy.

“Forgive me, Father,” she pants in return, touching his throat while he kisses her, and his hands press hard against her waist.

“No need, my girl. This is what God wants—I wouldn’t have dreamed of you if it wasn’t.”

She’s not entirely sure that’s how it works, but she’s not about to argue, not when he’s crawling back down to eat her pussy like it’s a feast he can’t resist, his hands on her thighs spreading her open for a gentle but unrelenting tongue.

“Oh, yes. Yes, right there, please,” she whimpers, and when her hands fall to his shoulders, he picks them up and puts them on his head, encouraging her to tug at his hair. She tips her throat back, moans, and tightens her fingers there, so his tongue is focused just where she wants him, and when she comes she comes wildly, arching up off the bed and clutching his head and nearly screaming her pleasure.

He kisses a path back up her body while she catches her breath, sinking back against the bed, and his tongue in her mouth is hot and dirty, tasting of her. It makes her head swim.

“Can I press inside you, Sophie? Can I make love to you and come inside you like you dreamed?” Her eyes nearly roll back in her head.

“Oh, yes, please, Father.” He pushes down his underwear and takes his cock in hand, presses the wet head inside her slowly; her hands move to his waist, fisting in his shirt, pulling him close, and he groans deeply when he slides fully inside. He kisses her, messy, frantic, and begins thrusting.

“I knew you were sent for me the moment I saw you,” he pants, and she moves beneath him, eyes focused on his gorgeous face and the expressions he makes when he glides in and out of her. “It was the first time you came for mass—you thought I hadn’t noticed you, but you caught my attention on that first day and never let go.” He nibbles her throat, and she rubs her hands over his shoulder, his head, pulling his hair and urging him deeper. “The version of me you dreamed of was right, Sophie; this is God’s will.”

She moans, her head falling back, mouth open, eyes closed, so much pleasure rushing through her body it feels like she’s floating, and she holds him close while he comes inside her, while he moans her name.

They stay there, arms wrapped around each other, hands sweeping over their bodies, and he pulls her close for a series of slow, passionate kisses that make her hum.

When they shower together, he washes her body, his hands careful and reverent, and he helps her dry off just as gently, with a soft, pleased smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks when they climb back into bed, their limbs entwined, his hand smoothing over her back, and she smiles too, a little shy.

“I feel good, Father, though I am wondering if you make these particular kinds of house calls often.” He laughs lightly, brings his hand up to caress her cheek, and he presses his lips gently against hers.

“This is a house call I’ve never made before,” he assures her, and he sweeps his thumb over her lips. “And one I’ll never make for another woman, I can promise you.”

“Will you make more for me?” she asks, truly curious, and his face softens, he nods.

“Yes, for as long as you’ll let me. I find it hard to condemn our thoughts as merely lustful and impure when I also feel a tenderness for you that’s impossible to ignore. I think you are a gift for me,” he murmurs, kissing her, “and I trust that God has reasons for bringing us together the way He did.”

They lay together a little longer, touching and kissing, and she moans when he presses a hand against her ass.

“May I make a confession, Father?” she asks, licking her lips, and he nods, pulls her closer. “I had one dream I didn’t mention to you, and I would like to see if we can replicate it. Can you come again?” He grinds his hips against her, and she feels him stiff and hot, sighs against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, my girl. What did you dream?” With an innocent smile, she pulls him close, whispers in his ear, and he leans back far enough to roll her onto her stomach—taking her breath away—and press his cock into her. He props himself up on one hand, runs the other over her ass and hip as he pumps inside, and she is swiftly ready to come again, moaning and gripping the sheets.

“Yes, yes,” she whines, and she guides his hand to her breast, where they squeeze together. “Harder, Father, please,” she begs, and he drapes his body over top of hers, mouths at her shoulder, and pounds his hips against her, leaving her an eager, wanton mess.

“You are perfection personified. My gift from God,” he whispers, and when he leans down to kiss her neck, she grips his hair in her fingers, moans.

“If I’m yours, come inside me again so I never forget it.” His hips move faster, less rhythmically, and when he spills inside her, she shudders, comes too; his hands are gentle again while they come down, and for the first time since she set foot in Father Hotchner’s church, she actually feels satisfied.

The next time he gives her communion, she looks into his eyes and offers her mouth; she offers it again later, and she can safely say that she prefers his body to the body of Christ.

[hieromonkcharbel]

In July 1936 the Spanish Civil War broke out. Between July 1936 and March 1937 there was a terrible onslaught of violence against the Church and thousands of people were killed. By the end of the war 6,832 priests and religious had been killed, including 12 bishops and 283 religious sisters. On the 18th July there was a military uprising against the republican government. Two days later the city of Lerida was in the hands of republican forces who burned the cathedral and the churches of the city. In only a few months eighty per cent of the priests of the diocese were killed. The last photograph of Mgr. Huix taken in June 1936 shows him flanked by the priests he had just ordained. Within a month all but one of those new priests were dead, together with their bishop. One of his young seminarians (about fifteen years old) was given a mock trial. The crowd shouted for his death and the so-called judge went through the motions of washing his hands before condemning the seminarian to death. The boy was beaten, stripped, and nailed to a beam where he died.On the night of the 21st July, after republicans had burned the cathedral, they turned their attention to the episcopal residence. Whilst they were beating down the doors, Bishop Huix, his secretary, the porter and the porter’s daughter, confessed, consumed the Blessed Sacrament, and escaped by the back door. It seems the bishop had expected something of the sort to happen and had kept a suitcase packed and ready. At first he took refuge in the house of his gardener, but realising the danger to which he was exposing the gardener and his family he gave himself up to the police. He said ‘I am the bishop of Lerida and I place myself under your protection.’ The police promptly handed him over to the republicans who imprisoned him. Many of the leading people of the city and a number of the clergy were already in the prison. All were struck by the bishop’s cheerfulness and his continuing care for his flock. On the feast of St.James he celebrated Mass using vessels that had been smuggled into the prison. He administered Holy Communion and heard confessions.Early in the morning on the 5th August (the feast of Our Lady of the Snows) the bishop and twenty others were told that they were going to be taken for trial at Barcelona. Outside the city the lorries stopped by the cemetery and the prisoners were told to get out. Realising they were about to be killed, the group asked their bishop for his blessing. He blessed them saying ‘Be brave, for within the hour we shall be reunited in the presence of the Lord.’ They recited the Credo together and were made to dig their own graves. Mgr.Huix was offered the chance of saving his life if he would abjure the faith. He refused, but asked as a favour that he might be the last to die. As each was killed, the bishop blessed them. One of the militia men objected to that blessing and shot him through the hand, so he continued to bless them with his left hand. In a subsequent written testimony the man who administered the final shots to those who were killed recounted what a quantity of blood was spilt, and that the sinews of the bishop’s arms were exposed through having been shot a number of times. Bishop Salvio was not the only priest of the Oratory to lose his life in the Spanish Civil War. Four priests from the Barcelona Oratory were killed, five more from the Gracia Oratory, and the provost of Vic. Those priests are the proto-martyrs of the Congregation of the Oratory. Bishop Salvio Huix Miralpeix was martyred for the faith and showed himself a true pastor in caring for his flock until the very end. He was beatified in Tarragona cathedral on Sunday 13th October 2013. His feast is to be celebrated each year on 6th November.

[fandom-blackhole]

Falling in love with Priest!Din and having some W I L E sex? Love uuuu

-💐

Sorry it took me forever to get to this but I have been trying to get a bit of inspo, but mark me down as struck by the writing gods lol. Also sorry if this isn't that wild, I can also write something filthier if you want.....

The week had felt like it was lasting at least a year and a half with how busy Din had been. Din had had to sit through several kids' first confessions, and while he had in the past always found it cute what children had confessed to doing, small things like stealing a cookie when their parents told them no, fighting with their siblings, lying to teachers, and such, this time though Din had to fight through the thoughts and memories of how you had sounded and how you had felt in that small room where there were children currently confessing to the smallest innocent of things. Then Din had had to go out and give out the Anointing of the Sick prayers paired with the Last Rites and Viaticum to a dying member of his small parish. At the families request he had stayed with them as the man passed away into sleep and then recited the Lord's Prayer and a Hail Mary to help the family in the coming days. By the end of the week the funeral was held in a small ceremony, to which Din gave a short eulogy on the man as well as read the man's favorite passage from the Bible as they lowered the man into the ground. By the time Sunday had come around he was so relieved and hopeful to see you in the pews he had almost forgot that there was a group of children who were getting their first communion this week. Mass had dragged on, Din tired and just wanting to see and be alone with you, but he knew his day was far from over. After mass had finished and as everyone filed out of the church, he slowly walked his way over to the baptismal and uncovered the small pool of holy water as the family of two newly birthed twins circled around him. With a smile to the mother and father he had made his way through the ceremony, taking absolute care to slow himself down and make sure he didn't rush through the ceremony. By the time he waved the last of the family out of the church he was exhausted and he mourned the thought of not being able to see or speak with you at all this last week or this Sunday.

Din sighed and rolled his neck, popping the joints there, before opening the door to his small sacristy, ready to just change and go home and breath for the first time this week. What he didn't expect was for you to be standing there looking through the small bookshelf containing his religious books. He could have cried at the sight of your angelic figure standing there, and even more so when you turned around and gave him a light, soft smile.

"My sweet angel, I did not expect or think I would be able to see you this week. I have missed you more than I can put into words," your gaze immediately softened at his words and you walked over looping your hands around his neck and giving him a slow and soft kiss. When you pulled away, you brushed your noses together and said, "You've had a long week, Din. I wanted to make sure you were fine...and help you if you needed anything."

Din immediately melted under you attentions and pressed his forehead to your own as he wrapped his own arms around your waist. As always when he was with you a little voice in the back of his head rang out about how blasphemous this was but he shoved it away quickly, too tired to deal with the moral dilemma at that moment. He leaned in and kissed your soft lips again and whispered, "I am fine, I promise you, sweet angel. Just tired from the long week I have had, and in need of something relaxing."

He felt you perk up slightly at the mention of relaxation, and he followed you as you slowly sat him on the old, worn two seat couch that had sat in the room for who knows how many years. Din slowly sat down on it when you pushed him to, even though he loathed to be parted from your calming embrace.

"If relaxation is what you need.....then maybe I.. I can help you with that?"

Din sat confused for a few seconds, only to watch as you slowly stripped out of your clothing and softly revealed your skin to him. Din's breathing trembled as he watched you unclasp your bra and slowly bend over to take your panties off. Then you were walking towards him, and he felt his mouth go dry from the absolute sight that was approaching him. He could never get enough of the sight of your bare body, it drove him insane each and every time he was allowed to see it in its complete glory.

When you finally stood in front of him he reached forward to touch you, only you softly knocked his hands away and said, "Please, let me take care of you father ," it was only then that Din really realized how much his slacks had gone tight.

He watched with baited breath as you slowly undressed him, hanging each item where it went in the small closet, each movement sinfully beautiful as your naked body moved. By the time you had pressed his black button down off his arms, he swore that he was ready to bust from anticipation alone. When you finally pulled his aching and flushed cock from his slacks he let out a long groan and felt himself throb just from the small touches.

"You know, I have missed you this week, father. I was so worried you were going to over work yourself with all the events happening, but you did so good and you deserve a nice reward and some relaxation."

Din's head shot up, not realizing he had thrown it back, when he felt your soft lips press to the top of his cock and your tongue dart out to lick the precum gathering there. Din couldn't stop the whimper that escaped his lips as you started running your tongue teasing all around his cock, never taking it into your mouth, only kissing and licking in any and every pattern you could think of. It didn't take Din long at all to get drunk on the pleasure and groan out a quiet, "Please...."

Then he felt you stand up and lower yourself onto his lap. Not quite sinking down on him yet, but close enough to grind your dripping lips against his cock, causing him to twitch more. He listened to your soft moans and whimpers as you used him for your own please, and he gripped your hips encouraging you to continue or to go faster. By the time you were panting from how sensitive the small brushes and grinds were making you, you got impatient and asked, "Are you ready," and before Din even had a chance to answer you were slamming him deep inside of you, immediately hitting that pleasurable spot deep inside of you, making you clench harder around him and moan into his ear.

Din swore he was in heaven with the amount of pleasure he was being thrown into in that moment, and he gripped your hips so hard he knew that his finger tips were going to bruised there for days.

"Move, my sweet and glorious angel, please have mercy on me and move."

And you did just that, immediately setting a sharp pace bouncing on top of him and moaning so perfectly, that if anyone were to past the church they may have thought it a whorehouse. You felt absolutely divine and Din could feel all of his stresses and tiredness just fade away as you continued clamped down on his aching cock.

After a few minutes of riding him, Din felt your hand snake into the hair on the back of his head and yank his head back. With his neck arched and open for you you leaned down and started leaving kisses and small nips, while picking up the pace to as fast as you could handle. Din could feel your orgasm approaching as you sped up and he used his grip on your hips to slam you down on his cock as hard as possible. When you came and squeezed him impossibly tight, he swore he had died and was seeing the pearly gates from the white hot pleasure that coursed through him.

Immediately he rolled you over on to the couch on all fours, before slamming his cock back into you. He pounded into your oversensitive cunt as hard and fast as possible chasing his own high, but also more than determined to feel your walls squeeze him tightly again. When he wrapped his body around your own and pressed two fingers to your swollen clit, it took you no time at all to feel a second orgasm approaching, and this one felt like it was going to be catastrophic. Before you could even warn Din, you felt him hit that spot inside of you perfectly and you all but screamed out as you literally gushed around his cock.

Feeling how tight you got and feeling you cum so hard you gushed and soaked his slacks, Din buried his face in your neck and buried himself balls deep, before emptying every last drop deep inside of you. He spent the next few second panting and collecting his bearings. He slowly kissed at your next, still dazed with pleasure and still buried inside of you, when he whispered out, his filter blurred from his high, "I love you so much, my sweet angel."

[fictionadventurer]

I’m going to talk about my Holy Week. Because a lot of stuff happened that gave me a lot of thoughts.

Palm Sunday was a lot more meaningful because I happened to be reading through King David’s story in the Old Testament just beforehand. “The king comes in triumph to David’s city” just feels a lot more real and concrete when you have recently been reminded of just what that kingdom was and what that king was like.

King David has become one of my favorite Old Testament characters. He’s the warrior king and the poet! The different facets of him are so intriguing.

I was wondering just why David gets so much credit for being a model of virtue and a guy that we emphasize as one of Christ’s ancestors, since he did some pretty despicable things. Then I realized that, for all the terrible things David did, he was one of the few kings in Israel’s history who never turned to idolatry. When he screwed up, he always knew who to turn to. I can respect that.

I also reread through most of The Man Born to Be King during Holy Week, and that also was extremely helpful in making the events of Holy Week feel grounded and relatable. Sayers goes a little bit too far in making up background subplots to tie things together (mostly surrounding Judas), but there are so many little human moments and little character observations that I just love. Jesus makes jokes with his disciples! Matthew the former tax collector is the one who starts to notice there’s something funny with the way Judas keeps the money bag. Peter, James and John freak out about the Transfiguration among themselves like, “Did you see the same things I did?” It just does such a good job of reminding you that these are people and Jesus was a person, and we can care about this tragedy and triumph on a human level as well as a spiritual one.

I was gifted a little book that arranged the Psalms according to the old Liturgy of the Hours format. I started a habit of reading some of the morning ones immediately after waking up and reading Compline before bed. It’s only been a week, but it’s already an immensely helpful habit, giving me something to reach for in the morning that’s not my phone. And the structure of it helped me to enter into a more disciplined structure of prayer rather than just putting things off indefinitely.

I also started a Consecration to St. Joseph. It’s only been a few days, but I love the book so far. This format (longer readings and structured prayers) works a lot better for me than the Marian consecration book (short readings and personal meditation) I did last year. And St. Joseph’s life fits in very well with that grounded-Gospel focus I was getting from Sayers’ plays and from my new fascination with King David.

I learned about the transforming power of a good haircut. Since lockdown started, my hair has looked terrible. At first, I thought it was just that I couldn’t get a haircut for several months. Then when I did get haircuts, it didn’t help. This week, I finally told the hairdresser to try shortening up my layers again, and I couldn’t believe the difference it made. My hair has volume again! It actually looks good, rather than barely decent. You wouldn’t believe how much this had helped my mood.

I spent my Holy Thursday helping kids make rosaries at the Catholic elementary school. It went surprisingly well. The kids were so creative, and I heard several kids exclaim in surprise, “Hey, this is actually fun.”

On Good Friday, I went to my first ever Tenebrae service. All I knew beforehand was that it ended with the lights going out and a loud noise/drumming on the pews to symbolize the earthquake at Christ’s death. NO ONE TOLD ME IT WAS MULTIPLE-GROWN-WOMEN-WEEPING LEVELS OF TERRIFYING. “Loud noise” does not BEGIN to describe the nightmarish cacophony. I faced my mortality in that moment. My neighbor’s kids have probably been scarred for life. (But I am very impressed by that choir’s skill. And it did make “Christ Our Light” infinitely more meaningful during the Vigil Mass the next day.)

I finally learned how to make tie-dye colored eggs. It was fun, if disappointingly difficult to control.

The renewal of baptismal promises hit very differently this year. On some subconscious level, I suppose I’d always thought of it as a requirement. Like I’m saying to God, “Look Father, I’m still being good. I believe all the things that I’m supposed to.” This year, it hit me that this is a cry of defiance against the world. Announcing to the people around us that, “These are all the things I believe. In a world where none of these things are obvious, I am choosing to believe all these truths and center my worldview on them.” It made my responses much more enthusiastic.

I am still physically incapable of not crying at precise points during my church choir’s Easter Vigil Communion song.

[leenukeath]

The essential cannot be seen (Darkest Dungeon fic)

So @sir-crypts​ recently published an illustration (here: https://sir-crypts.tumblr.com/post/636062084110680064/thing-i-drew-for-leenukeaths-fic-of-abomleper) of an Abomination/Leper fic I wrote for a discord server, I figured I’d share the story, set in the Darkest Dungeon game. Thanks again Sir Crypts for the lovely art.

The Essential cannot be seen Abom/Leper friendship (more?) fic by Leenu

He hated this.

Trudging his way through the murky brine of the cove, Baldwin did his best to keep his gaze forward lest it slipped to the loathsome companion in his back. He was supposed to be accompanied originally by Reynauld, but he (and the highwayman) had disappeared a few days ago and were nowhere to be found when the Heir had called them to formation. Which left him with the following company: a plague doctor, Paracelsus, eyeing with what seemed like curiosity whatever moved or crawled around them, an Occultist, Alhazred who kept his hand closer to his dagger than usual and … the thing that called itself Bigby.

Baldwin wanted nothing more than to leave this Abomination in the Hamlet and go alone, but since the fall of the crystal from the sky, the Heir had forced him and his companions to take the wretched creature with them on the crawls through the dungeon. And thus, the Leper was saddled with the rattling of chains behind his back. His eyes may have been focused on the way ahead, but his ears were listening and making sure no growl was coming from Bigby.

They had been tasked with clearing a sector of the cove, so far the battles had been manageable: the plague doctor’s grenades had done miracles against the pelagic creatures, and despite a few open wounds, the Occultist had kept everyone in one piece. The Abomination had decided to keep its tamed form, throwing his chains around and spewing bile over the enemies that the Leper happened to miss.

Then in the last room, the tune changed: a Squiffy Ghast started plucking on its rotting viola, sending bars upon bars of Maddening Shanties and Off Kilter Jigs.

Baldwin tried his best to hit the slippery skeleton, but whenever he hit, the things always seemed to jump back out of his reach. If only this creature had been the only enemy faced, the team would have cut it down with little combined effort, but it was accompanied by a Pelagic Guardian and an Uca Major. The latter one swinging its pincers with deadly precision, opening great wounds that drenched the seafloor with dark stains. The doctor was too busy stitching the team back together to throw any grenades, and the Occultist himself was struggling to replenish their blood levels, it was thus left to Baldwin and Bigby to carve their way through.

While the leper kept hitting the thick carapace of the Uca, the Abomination once more spewed his toxic bile over it and the Guardian, slowly dissolving their armor, too slowly however.

Another hit connected and the Occultist fell, his hand desperately clutched the skull in his hand to keep the flame from getting blown away as he begged: “This was not the deal we struck!”. Baldwin set himself up in a defensive stance to try and stop any more attacks from hitting Alhazred while Paracelsus fumbled with her vials when he felt something rush past him in a roar as it struck the beast.

The red creature pulled its horns out of the fleshy mass under the crustacean’s carapace it had dug itself in before starting to gnaw off its pincer, ripping it out after a few seconds of inhuman screeches. The Uca expired as it’s claw bled lymph all over the coral walls, and in response, the Guardian set down its shield over the Ghast. It hadn’t stopped playing for a second. Notes, bars, tunes, symphonies, … it had been playing the sounds of madness, and the team could feel their minds slipping into the abyss as the air brought forth ancient memories they wished were forgotten.

Bigby was the first one to snap.

The Ghast’s rotten fingers slid its bow over the algae covered cords, producing more of that unbearable sound, more of that noise that dragged painful memories with it...

The Abomination had started to lunge to take a bite out the skeleton, but his legs gave under him as he gripped his shaking head. Baldwin braced himself to defend the rest of the team from the new foe, ready to cut it down as soon as it bared its fangs in his direction. But to his surprise, Bigby started to shrink down until only his scrawny form was left on the briny floor: “It feeds off my essence, and now … I falter” he muttered as his trembles rattled his chains in a sick accompaniment to the squeaks of the damned viola.

The Leper himself was feeling his resolve falter, he could grab his human companions and run, leave these beasts to themselves and save the ones who were not yet damned in the Light. The Guardian started making its move and raised its bladed fist over the hunched Bigby, one strike would be enough, and all that Baldwin needed to do to rid the world of this creature was to hold back…

The viola’s notes rang, and his mind caved in.

The slimy head of the Pelagic Guardian split under the weight of the massive sword in the bandaged hands of the Leper as he pushed the Abomination back to his teammates:

“Mountains defy the consuming sea!”.

After pulling out the heavy blade from its fishy sheathe, Baldwin proceeded to wildly swing around wherever he could see the Ghast, he wasn’t counting his swings anymore, all he wanted was to crush those cords and find again the respite of silence.

Until he realized that he could not hear the viola anymore over his screams. As his vision cleared, he found himself surrounded in wood and bone splinters, the rush of blood roaring in his ears calmed down until he could hear Paracelsus and Alhazred stabilizing the shivering Bigby.

Over, finally, some silence.

The Leper was too glad to finally be granted this peace of mind, but it was short lived. The team made its way back through the murky paths, carrying themselves as well as possible, but it was clear the Occultist would not be able to guide the Abomination for much longer with his wounds. Thus it was Baldwin’s duty to hold Bigby on their way out of the damp tunnels.

He was not enjoying this, keeping this creature in such close proximity, but at least he could maintain an eye on it. Bigby was clearly not focused on the walk and tripped over nearly every single piece of coral on the way out, after a few near falls, he started holding onto the Leper’s bandaged arm, like a drowning man holding onto a piece of wreckage in a storm.

At first Baldwin considered pulling back and letting the damn thing find its way out by itself, but something stilled his hand. A warmth had seeped into his arm, a familiar feeling he had not experienced for years before … before his illness turned him into the feared creature he was now, forced to hide under the heavy bronze mask. As he felt the finger, human fingers, curling over his bandaged skin, he had a vague memory of fonder times, when the sun shone and he could feel the caress of the rays over his face, when he still had a family with his name…

He didn’t shake off the Abomination on their way back home.

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

Back at the Hamlet, the team dropped off their loot in the vault and went their ways. Paracelsus was eager to analyze the samples she had gathered from the cove, Bigby ran out of view and Alhazred had to get stitches at the sanatorium, accompanied by Baldwin who needed his weekly injection. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was enough to keep his disease stalled, though not enough to cure him.

After dropping off the Occultist, the Leper was left to his own device. He noticed that his hand was still slightly trembling, and it was not because of the needle that had been implanted earlier. The ghost of the tune still sang in the back of his mind, and he needed to get it out.

He took the steps to the Abbey and cracked open the door, he expected the Vestal tending to the sacred fire, or the Flagellant in his rapturous devotion. Not the huddled and chained being bowing to the altar, furiously praying: “The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us. The world would be better off without us.”

Baldwin knew this feeling too well, it was something that needed peace of mind before the Light would grant him relief. The Leper went to sit himself in a corner of the church, lighting some incense, closing his eyes and focusing on his breath: In … Out … In … Out …

His heart was a war drum no more, just a slow tap reminding him that he was still alive.

In … Out … In … Out …

The tip of the fingers on his right hand had started to go numb a few days ago, and his eyesight was turning blurrier, this was probably why he couldn’t hit the Ghast at first back then. He had come to terms with his illness, he had no choice but to do so and accept that mortality would probably not come in a glorious strike, but in a slow loss of his senses as he decayed away.

In … Out … In … Out …

What had hurt most was the banishment, it was his choice, but he knew that if he didn’t do it himself, that choice would have ended up being taken for him. All who suffered like he were treated as outcasts, for the good of the people. But he had seen the colonies filled with the ones less fortunate than he, they were treated no better than monsters, he felt a twinge of regret toward his brothers and sisters in adversity.

In … In .. Out … Out.. In … In .. Out … Out..

Baldwin opened his eyes and saw Bigby, no longer shaking in front of the Altar, instead looking up to the Light, calmly breathing out his prayers of hope. Their gazes crossed for a few seconds of mutual acknowledgment before they went back to their respective communions.

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

A few weeks later, the two of them were sent together once more, this time in the Warrens to slay the Swine King. The Leper noticed that he was feeling less nervous with Bigby in his back, the rattle of his chains were a soothing sound over the squeals of the swine men roaming about these caves, and those very chains served well in combat to stun and slow down the enemy to let Baldwin push his sword into the enemy. The Vestal Junia was clearly still feeling nervous; but he figured that his presence alongside Milicent, the Arbalest, was aiding her in keeping her nerves calm enough to keep the torchlight up and their wounds closed.

Of course things were never easy for very long, especially when a Swinetaur decides to show itself. The squad set itself in position to face the massive enemy, but what they failed to notice were the two Swine Slashers lurking in the beast’s shadow. Only when the Arbalest fired her Rallying Flare did they find out too late. Baldwin did his best to try and let the first hook hit his plated armor, but was too late to dodge the swipe of the second one. The slash went upwards, leaving a mark upon his chin and hooking off his mask that went flying off into the piles of refuse, leaving his deformed face in view to the rest of the group. He didn’t need to look to feel his companion’s fearful gazes in his back.

More sword swings, more bolts, more prayers and a pair of horns put an end to the repulsive creatures. But at the cost of multiple open cuts that risked infection in the squalid conditions of the Warrens. Milicent suggested camping so she could dress up the worst of the wounds, a welcome respite, especially with all the food in their packs.

As the Vestal set down her sanctuary for the night, Baldwin noticed that Bigby had walked away, maybe to avoid distracting the nun during her important duty, he did not consider this situation much longer as Milicent had started unpacking her bandages and stitching needles. She was keeping her head down as she worked on him, averting her gaze from his face.

He could not blame her for it, but he had to admit that the waft of air on his face had an intoxicating feel after hours upon hours of treading through hot and humid tunnels. Though he was almost grateful for his lack of nose when he looked at the piles of filth surrounding them.

Speaking of those, as soon as the Leper was done getting patched up, Bigby walked out from one of them and approached him with something in his hand: “I don’t think you need to wear it, but if it makes you feel better, you can keep it.”. His bronze mask, still slightly stained with what looked like pig blood, but it seemed like the Abomination had tried to clean it the best he could with the rags on his back.

“... you went to look for it?” asked Baldwin as he took the piece of metal with slightly trembling hands, Bigby nodded: “I understand if you want to hide yourself. I just want you to know that … well, I don’t mind you taking it off.”.

Pulling back the few chains that had slipped off his shoulder, the scrawny man was about to walk away before the Leper spoke up as he grabbed a loaf of bread: “Won’t you stay by my side for supper?” he asked as he broke it in halves, offering one to his companion.

His answer was a small but grateful smile as Bigby sat himself next to Baldwin: “Thank you for this”.

The night in the Warrens felt less cold to the both of them with a shoulder to lean on.

Whatever happened with the Swine King, they were grateful for this moment.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I don’t know if you are away on vacation but did you celebrate Bastille Day in Paris?

I know foreigners call the celebration of the start of the French revolution of 1789 as Bastille Day but for the French it’s more commonly known as la Fête Nationale.

Traditionally the French celebrate the French Revolution all over France. Every town, city, and municipality usually puts on fireworks on July 13 and - I’m correct in saying - that only Paris is sanctioned to put on its truly spectacular fire works show on July 14 itself - traditionally by la Tour Eiffel on the Champs de Mars where the first celebrations took place. During the day there is a fabulous military parade and a fly by down la Place de Concorde from the L’arc de Triomphe.

Apart from commemorating the start of the French Revolution it also by custom marks the start of the French holiday season when thousands of French - often with their screaming small sprogs in tow - go on vacation. Paris empties itself of many Parisians getting out of the capital to their vacation or second homes - usually in the South. August is a dead month in Paris when many shops and restaurants are closed because they are on vacation. On a normal year the tourists fill the vacuum and for those Parisians still present it’s not too bad as it feels less crowded in the places where only Parisians usually go.

So I am still here...for now. Because of the ongoing Covid pandemic many people are not feeling confident about going out of Europe, let alone France for their month long vacation this year. I will be leaving for my vacation - because August is a dead month - in the next week or so after the initial rush to get out has thinned out a little. 

Yes, I did ‘celebrate’ la Fête Nationale in Paris. Celebrate being a contentious word for some. My French partner - as is his custom - did not celebrate at all but went to Mass instead and had a quiet dinner with his family. Being a royalist the 1789 French Revolution is not a cause for celebration but of mourning. His family were victims in that bloody revolution when a couple of his ancestors literally lost their heads to Madame Guillotine for being loyal aristocrats to the Bourbon monarchy. The family - if not their lands - survived and somehow thrived through the tumultous times in the 19th Century.

I observed their custom last year of going to Mass (didn’t take Communion because I’m an Anglican) and joining their dinner party of friends and family. I found it a pretty dull affair and I had my fill of listening to tales of lament of how it all went wrong on 5 May 1789 when the King called for the recovening of the dormant but defunct Estates General assembly. That was the day he gave up his absolutist sovreignty and the slide down the slippery slope began. So they say. It’s true too but that’s not the point.

I firmly believe one does not lament the dead but live for the dead. One can look back to move forward of course but to stay there is a waste of time. I prefer as Roger Scruton said once using very good English common sense that one ‘lives in the pastness of the present’. 

So this year I got out of it attending this dull as dish water dinner of old farts using the excuse that I was celebrating the birthday of one of my heroines, Gertrude Bell, the British Oxford educated archaeologist, explorer, writer, diplomat, and Middle East power broker - she was born 14 July 1868. I don’t think my partner’s mother was amused. Too bad.

Perhaps there’s still the party girl in me from my less than stellar past - I was expelled from one of my English girls’ boarding schools for being a little too wild - but I hate being a party pooper. Besides: fire works. Who can say no to fireworks? You have to be a real sour puss to pass up the chance to see a spectacular show of fireworks.

So I went to a party hosted by a French friend who happened to live in an apartment that directly oversees la Tour Eiffel so as party guests we had a great (and noisy) view of the wonderful fireworks display taking place in front of us. It was a great party and it felt liberating - because of being cooped up during the lock down - to let my hair down and dance a lot. I had too much champagne (can anyone ever really have too much?). I had fun. And yes, I raised a glass to Gertie Bell too.

Thanks for your question

[steveng-rogers]

Hostie and Wine PRIEST AU(happygowriting kinktober day 1=Food Kink )

Pairings: Stucky(StevexBucky), Dandy(DaytonxAndy), slight Ducky(DaytonxBucky) Dark-ish!Steve and Andy. College boys Bucky and Dayton. 

Rating: M+ (to be clear that is Mature, meaning if you’re under the age of 18 DO NOT READ or INTERACT)

Word Count:  4,143 

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ ONLY. M/M. Heavy blasphemy kink. Food kink. Restraints, gagging(not too heavy). Dirty talk, mild degrading. Alcohol. Demonic chants(not too weird, translation will be at the end of the fic) the real warning is the bad Latin. Blowjobs, hand jobs, anal sex, male giving and receiving. Praise kink. (If there are any thats not listed and you think I should list, let me know)

Summary: Harmless fun for Bucky and Dayton turns into a fantasy filled night with the help of father Steve and Father Andy. 

A/N:  I used CPDV(Catholic Public Domain Version) translation of the Bible because it’s easier to understand. I don’t know any Latin, so what you find here is google translated. Don’t repost this anywhere unless you have asked me for permission. I worked very hard on this :) thankyou for curtisbb for proof reading this and happygowriting for providing this awesome prompts. 

    Morning Sunday mass, early, boring, and so hard to pay attention to. It’s 

their day off and if it were any other colleges, they would be in bed and do

 whatever they desired. But being in a Catholic private college means they live

 under a strict rule of Catholicism and their many masses and some might say

 “rituals”. 

    Dayton White and Bucky Barnes are now sitting on the third row from the 

altar. Not stiff enough to sit on the very first row and not rebellious enough to

 sit in the back row like those hooligans. Plus they have enough heads to keep

 them from getting in trouble from talking to each other and from here they 

have enough distance between those heads to steal glances at their new

 priests. That is exactly their topic of whispers for almost three weeks now. 

    They look at each other, giving each other the “eyes” when the Bishop is 

trying to use slang or use any remarks to be funny. 

    “In our reading today we learned that Jesus was brought out by the spirit to

 be tempted by Satan. Now as you all know Jesus was or rather still is the OP

 (Over Powered)  man and God. He refused to be tempted you see..”

    Dayton rolled his eyes, really OP? “What is this? A video game convention?”

 Bucky laughs quietly at Dayton’s comment, making sure to bow his head so it’ll

 look like he’s coughing or something. Dayton smirks and pat Bucky’s back to

 make it more convincing to others that are watching. The angels and the

 heavens are not the only ones who've been watching the two, there are two

 pairs of glistening blues who already set their eyes on them. They know their 

ticks and their subtle coded movements. 

    Dayton felt the burns of their stare and because he is Dayton White he

 dares to look at the two priests. Father Andrew Barber holds up a finger to his

 lips, ever so subtle and quick to tell him to “hush” and Father Steve Rogers on

 the other side of him, just raised his eyebrows at the younger men. Dayton

 nudges Bucky’s elbow and points with his chin to them. He looks up, a little too

 quickly and finds Father Steve already looking at him. They look away and

 back to the Bishop. Both of the young men feel the cold shiver running down 

their spines, making them clutch the matte black blazer of their school’s 

uniform tighter around their body. Something is amidst. Something dark.  

    “And just like Jesus said in Matthew 4 verse 7, you can say to Satan that

 they cannot tempt you for you are a child of God and your faith will save you.” 

    When the time of the communion came, their favorite part. They wait for

 their turn and go in line to receive their hostie and wine. The body and the

 blood of Jesus. 

    Father Andrew holds out the white, round hostie and Dayton submissively

 opens his mouth to receive it. And father Andrew places the hostie in Dayton’s

 mouth and gives a light pressure on his thumb as it reaches the top of

 Dayton’s tongue. Bucky on the other hand is on his way to receive the wine

 from none other than Father Steve. Father Steve extends the gold chalice to

 Bucky and Bucky couldn’t help but to lick his lips. The wine is not the one he

 had in mind to satiate his thirst and father Steve saw that in his eyes. So he

 tips the chalice to Bucky’s mouth, his index finger brushes lightly against

 Bucky’s lips as it was so strategically placed on the outline of the chalice by

 father Steve. 

    No one noticed when these exchanges happened, for they are subtle and

 very easy to miss. But for the four of them, it leaves them breathless and

 wanting more, so much more. 

    Long after the mass was done and dinner was served, Bucky and Dayton

 decided to lounge around their common room. Dayton is sitting on the sofa,

 close to the window, catching up on some assigned reading and Bucky is

 sitting close to the fireplace finishing up his essay. After hours, both boys grew

 bored. Their minds start to idle and they can’t seem to concentrate on their

 task. And the saying goes, “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.” Usually 

Dayton is the one who would come up with things to do, but today Bucky came

 up with something. Rather devilish. 

    “Dayton.” Bucky closes his laptop and sits towards his bestfriend, a playful 

grin on his face.

    “What is it?” Dayton looks up from his book and raises his eyebrows at him,

 clearly interested. 

    “You know when the priests and church staff go to sleep right?”

    “Yeah, around 9 oclock. Why?”

    “What do you say we steal some hostie and raid the wine cellar?” Bucky

 suggested and Dayton just shakes his head, impressed at how reckless Bucky

 is being right now. 

    “No and you know why.”

    Bucky stood and went over to Dayton. “They’re not yet blessed, so we'd only

 be guilty of stealing. Plus the confession room opens tomorrow and you know 

who is going to be there.” Dayton thought about being alone in the room with 

father Andrew and he’s sold. 

   “Okay fine, you got me. If we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

    “Alright so you’re calling cauliflower?” Bucky said their code word and

 Dayton gave him a nod. The plan is locked and loaded. 

     Around nine oclock, the two best friends waited until the light on their hal

l was dimmed. Then Bucky leads them to a room where the unblessed hostie

 are made. Dayton waited outside while Bucky went in to snatch some bags of 

hostie, sure they tasted like nothing but when you’re tempted the devil will help

 you indulge. 

    Then out of the corner of his eyes, Dayton saw two figures walking towards

 where he is at. It was so dark and Dayton can only see dark shadows and by

 God, if these are ghosts he’s gonna make a run for it. Then as they walk

 closer, Dayton can make up the outline of a face and oh. Oh. He knows that 

beard, those broad shoulders, and the cross necklaces. It’s the twin priests.

 They were too busy arguing quietly until father Andrew saw him and father 

Steve followed his gaze. 

    “Mister White? What are you doing out so late?” Father Andrew raises his

 eyebrows in question and Dayton can feel his palms getting clammy. 

    “And where is mister Barnes? You two are usually together, are you not?” 

Father Steve asked as he looked around for Bucky. Dayton smiles nervously 

and reminds himself to be calm.

    “Oh well, Barnes and I are looking for uh..” He trails off as he hears Bucky’s 

footsteps getting closer to the door. “Cauliflower!” Dayton exclaimed, loud 

enough for Bucky to hear and the footsteps stopped abruptly. 

    “Cauliflower?” Father Steve and Father Andrew look at each other and back

 at Dayton. 

    “For what?” Dayton cursed in his heart, damn it. “For a project that we’re 

working on.”

    “Well, I better not find you in the confession booth tomorrow confessing

 about this lie. Or they will be severe punishments.” Father Andrew 

emphasized on the word punishment and that sends chills throughout Dayton’s

 body. 

    “Yes, father.” With that the two priests left him there and once they’re out of 

sight, Dayton exhales and knocks on the door for Bucky to come out. “Oh my

 god, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bucky laughs with the bag of hostie in

 his hands. “Shut up, we almost got caught.” Bucky grins and throws one of the

 bags at Dayton. “But we didn't, so come on. One more stop.” 

    Dayton went inside the wine cellar this time and Bucky was outside, to look

 out for them. Once they got the goods, they head back to their dorm room 

completely unaware that they’ve been followed. 

    The clock strikes midnight and the two boys are enjoying their wine and 

hostie in their dorm room. They’ve spiked the wine with vodka, a gift from their

 Russian friend Pietro. They’re a giggling mess, the slight buzz was a nice 

feeling, and the tasteless hostie somehow is sweeter in their mouths. 

    At exactly 12:12 am, the door opened and the boys were met with large 

figures standing on the door. “You didn’t lock the fucking door Barnes.” Dayton

 glares at Bucky, who is now looking up at father Steve. “I’m sorry..” 

    “What do we have here?” Father Steve crouches down and grabs the 

opened bag of hostie from Bucky’s hand. 

    “This doesn’t look like a cauliflower, does it?” Father Andrew asked as he 

inhaled the tip of the wine bottle. 

    Bucky and Dayton weren't sure on what to do other than to look up to the 

two men. “But you knew that Dayton and Bucky?” Father Andrew looked into 

their eyes. Both boys look down, shame burns the words out of their mouths. 

    “Come on, you two are smart right? Use your words.” Father Steve edge on.

 But they can’t even whisper a word out. “Get up both of you.” Dayton can feel

 his legs wobbles as he slowly stood. Bucky was not much better because he’s

 still on the ground. 

    “Bucky.” Father Steve warns and Bucky immediately stands. “We can expel 

the both of you for this. Do you want that?” Father Steve said, tilting Bucky’s

 chin up to look at him. Both boys shake their heads. “Didn’t I say use your 

words?” He warned them, annoyance laced his tone. “N-no father.” Bucky 

managed to stammer out. 

    “Please we’ll do anything to not get expelled.” Dayton finally spoke. “Hm 

anything?” Father Andrew hums as he locks the door behind him. “Yes, father 

Andrew anything.” He stalks over and stands in front of Dayton. “Call me 

Andy.” Dayton swallows the lump on his throat and nods. The older men

 exchange a knowing look to each other and when they turn their heads to the 

boys, the pupils in their eyes grow dark. The younger boys gasp, prickles of

 arousal dance down their bodies as the men extend their hands out to them. 

    Steve snakes his arm around Bucky’s waist and Bucky voluntarily steps 

closer to him, pressing their bodies together. Andy runs his index finger down

 Dayton’s jawline slowly, eyes following Dayton’s lips. 

    “Kiss me.” They whisper to the boys with their lips so temptingly close to 

them. 

    Bucky and Dayton close their eyes and kiss them. Dayton almost whimpers 

when Andy returns his kiss, so demanding his kiss was. He kissed Dayton so 

deeply, almost as if he wanted a taste of the wine he’d been drinking. 

    Bucky inhales deeply when Steve kisses him back, so soft as if he is to savor

 Bucky’s lips with his. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulder, one hand 

running through his golden locks and he tugs as Steve bites down on his lips. 

That earned Steve a hopeless moan from Bucky. 

    Andy backs Dayton to his bed. His lips find its ways to Dayton’s neck as he 

pushes him down to his bed. “Been wanting to taste you. Ever since you lick 

my finger on our first communion. You know exactly what you’re doing to me.” 

Andy whispers with his thumb brushing against Dayton’s lower lips and he bites

 down on his thumb teasingly. “ ‘course I do father, had to lay my claim on you.”

 Andy chuckles, dark and deep as he tugs Dayton’s white button down off. 

    Steve has Bucky’s legs wrapped around his waist as they kiss hungrily.

 When Bucky lays down on the bed and looks up, Steve’s black button down

 was already half opened thanks to Bucky’s wandering hands. Steve ripped his

 shirt open and maybe it’s the alcohol, but Bucky lost it as he looked up, seeing 

Steve’s bare chest and the little sun tattoo just underneath his left collar bone.

 He groans and moans out, “Daddy.” Steve smirks down at him. “Oh? You’re 

daddy’s boy huh?” Bucky’s face flushed red, pupils blown darker than the new

 moon. “Hm.” And he nods. Steve huffs, hand palming Bucky’s crotch “Use your

 words Bucky.” He gasps out, “Yes! I’m daddy’s boy.” 

    Andy pulls down Dayton’s pants along with his red briefs, then he starts to 

stroke his length drawing sweet little noises from him. “You’re already

 throbbing baby. What happens if I put my mouth on you hm? Are you gonna 

cum right away like a horny teenager?” Dayton groans in protest. Sure he had 

been deprived of this kind of fun, but that doesn’t mean he and Bucky hadn’t 

fooled around or that he was an inexperienced virgin. “Why don’t you find out

 mister Barber? Put your mouth around me and I’ll prove to you how 

‘inexperience’ I am?” Dayton smirks, he can see a flash of anger on Andy’s

 dark eyes. “You think you’re in charge here? Oh I don’t think so.  I am and 

you’ll do as I say.” Andy pulls his belt off his waist and runs the metallic tip on 

Dayton’s bare chest, making him tremble. “I told you there is going to be a 

severe punishment if I caught you and here we are.” 

    Bucky was bare as the day he was born, a quivering, and a flushed little 

thing Steve thought. “Play with yourself sweetheart, imagine it was me just like 

you’ve been confessing in the booth.” Bucky bites down on his bottom lips,

 trying to contain his moans as he slides his hand up and down his own cock. 

Steve grabs the bottle of wine and takes a huge swig out of it, palming himself 

as he watches Bucky play with himself. “Don’t bother being quiet, come on let

 daddy hear how good you sound .” Bucky’s toes curl as he moans out Steve’s

 name. “O-ohhh S..S-Steve, daddy please touch me, touch me.” Steve takes 

another swig of the wine, then he leans down to kiss Bucky, filling his mouth 

with the red liquid. “Good boy, keep going. Keep touching that pretty thing. 

Make daddy proud.” Bucky is a sucker for praises and Steve amplified that, 

with his husky and soft voice and Steve, he goddamn knows it. 

    Dayton’s hand is now all tied up to the upper railing on his bed, his fingers 

bare down on his palm, making his knuckles white as Andy toys around with 

his nipples. “Don’t you make a fucking sound. Or I’ll edge you and make you

 watch your best friend get fucked like you wanted while you’re here,

 pathetically begging for me to make you cum.” Andy sits up and takes his 

black button down off him, showing off the little moon tattoo under his left collar

 bone and that makes Dayton’s mouth water at the thought of having his mouth

 all over that tattoo. “Maybe I like to be edge Andy, won’t be the first time I 

watched my best friend get his way.” Now that was a mistake and Dayton was 

too late to pull back. Andy fished out his white, clergy collar, and enfold it

 around Dayton’s jaw, muffling his mouth. The priest breaks down the hostie 

into smaller pieces, placing it down Dayton’s chest to his happy trail where the

 skin glistens with Dayton’s precum. “I want you to remember that verse from

 Luke 22nd, about the last supper. Recite it, the last of verse 19.” Andy pulls 

down the collar just a little so Dayton could talk. The younger man breathes 

heavily as he tries to remember it. “This is my body, which is given for y-you. 

Do this as a commemoration of me ohh...” Andy growls as he licks and eats

 the white pieces of hostie along Dayton’s body. “Good, good boy.” He coos

 softly, putting the collar back on to Dayton’s mouth. 

    Bucky almost came under Steve’s watch and of course, Steve being the 

sadist that he is pulls his hand away. Bucky whined, closing his legs to hide his

 painfully hard on from Steve. “No sweetheart, keep it wide open. I want you to

 recite the memory verse I have given you. Come on I’ll help you, Luke 22nd,

 the last of verse 20.” Bucky’s wine stained lips quiver as he struggles to

 ground himself, Steve is all but smiles and proud because he knows Bucky

 could do it. “This.. uhm chalice is the new covenant in my blood, which will be

 shed f..f-for you.” Steve opens up Bucky’s jaw and pour the remaining of the

 wine into his mouth. “Drink sweet boy and don’t waste a single drop.” Steve

 commands him and Bucky gulps it down like he was told to. Before Bucky 

could finish, Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s neck and squeezes it, 

enough to make him gasp and then he kissed him like a starved man. His 

other hand, strokes Bucky’s cock making the younger man moan into their 

kiss. “Bucky, sweetheart. Cum on my hand. You deserve it, for being so fucking

 good to me.” He whispers as he licks the droplets of the red liquor along 

Bucky’s lips and like the command of God, Bucky moans out and came all over

 the priest’s hand. “Ah! Steve-oh god, da-daddy..ah.” Bucky’s whole body 

trembles as Steve strokes his cock some more. 

    Andy and Steve are prepared to have this moment with them, have been 

planning it for months, and it’s finally here. They came willingly, well one of 

them certainly did. They glances at each other as they grab the small pack of 

lube that they’ve brought with them. Once they’ve stripped themselves naked 

and on their knees above their chosen ones, the twins starts to chant 

something like prayers under their ragged breaths. 

            “Satanas Domino, per gratiam tuam

            Concede mihi precor te 

            Ut ad virtutis in 

            Mente consipere ac reddere 

            Quam ad facere cupio.” 

    Steve teases the rim of Bucky’s hole and he shudders, still sensitive from 

coming too hard. Steve hush him quietly as he slides his lube coated fingers 

into him. Stretching him open and getting him ready for him. “Barely put up a 

fight with me. Was I always the subject in your wet dreams Bucky? Those 

things you’ve confessed to me in that dark booth, all me huh?” Bucky thought 

he was being subtle, but the shame of getting caught shot arousal to his dick

 and he tightened around Steve’s digits. “Answer me.” Steve demands and

 Bucky whimpers out, “Yes, yes. ‘S all you Steve.” 

    Dayton is painfully hard, he wanted to protest, but his mouth is stuffed and

 not in the way that he likes. Andy chuckles darkly at his attempts and without

 warning he drips the cold liquid of the lube on Dayton’s red rim and that earns

 him a choked out moan from Dayton. “You’ve finally found your match? 

Somehow you know only I can make you like this, you came with me with your

 inappropriate comments thinking that I might blush and came again wishing

 that I do them to you.” Andy slides his digits in and made a scissoring motion 

inside him, Dayton bites down on the collar trying his hardest to be quiet. Andy

 adds to the torture as he licks and sucks on the top of Dayton’s cock. 

“Mmmph-Andy!..” 

    They toy and play around with the two for what feels like hours. They want 

them savored and teased like Satan did to Eve in the garden of Eden. 

    Steve strokes himself and with Bucky all ready for him, he slid inside him 

slowly. Bucky immediately tightened around him, feeling every veins on Steve’s

 cock. “F-fuck Steve.” He moans desperately, cock already twitching and 

wanting to cum again. “By God Bucky, don’t you cum before I tell you to.” Steve

 sets a slow pace until he’s all sheathed inside him. “Fuck. Oh yes, all hot and 

tight for me. All for me huh Bucky? Goin to fuck the sweet sin into you.” Bucky 

wraps his legs around Steve, hands on his back with his fingers clawing at the 

older man’s back. Steve’s words, his cock, and the way his hand squeezes his 

legs made Bucky desperate to let go, but he can’t it all feels so good and all he

 wanted is for Steve to have him like this for the rest of his days. “Daddy oh 

god, ngh- please fuck me, harder Oh!” Steve grabs the headboard and starts

 to fuck him slow and hard, making Bucky feel every inch of him. 

    Andy has Dayton’s legs on his shoulders as he keeps teasing him, sweeping

 the tip of his cock and slowly putting it inside Dayton but not quite fucking him. 

Dayton let out a frustrated, pushing his hips down to seek more of Andy. 

“Darling you’ve got to earn it, you know that don’t you?” Tears slipped down 

Dayton’s flush cheeks, he’s so unbelievably hard and he hasn’t cum in the last 

hour. He’s aching and desperate for Andy to just fuck the daylight out of him. 

Andy took the collar off Dayton’s mouth, wanting to listen to Dayton’s pleas 

more clearly. “Andy please, you’ve tortured me enough, ah-I can’t please.” 

Andy smiles devilishly, kissing Dayton’s wet cheeks. “Can’t what hm? Take it 

anymore?” Dayton nods, his walls finally crumbling down under Andy’s touch.

 “I love hearing you beg. That honeyed voice of yours darling.” Andy gave 

Dayton what he'd been pleading for and Dayton swore he saw the halo on top 

of Andy’s head as he felt the delicious stretch on his hole. Dayton’s hole 

swallows Andy’s dick almost all the way in and Dayton is already a whimpering 

mess under the priest. Andy pushed in some more till he bottoms out, making 

Dayton cry out in pleasure, “Jesus-ah! Andy, A-ah Andy.” The said man starts 

one unrelenting pace as he pressed Dayton’s legs up to his chest to fuck him 

deeper. “Sweet heavens, you felt better than I’d imagine. Look the way you

 take my cock. Like a good fucking whore.” 

    Steve fucked Bucky until he’s on his third orgasm, Bucky is all but a writhing,

 sweet thing under him and Steve hasn’t even come once, but he’s so 

goddamn close. Steve’s hand closed around the metal railing of the headboard

 as he moves his hips hard against him. “Steve, Steve oh daddy. Fuck, fuck. ‘S 

too much.” Bucky whined, high pitched and breathy and that edged Steve on

 even more. “Almost sweetheart, daddy’s gonna cum in you yeah? Fill up that 

sweet ass of yours and make you cum again.” Bucky clenches around Steve, 

making Steve bend the metal in his hand. He rams his hips harshly as he 

finally spills his seed inside Bucky and Bucky moans lewdly as his own cock 

twitch and he came for the fourth time. “Ouhh daddy. Steve hahh.” Steve holds

 Bucky close as he rides his high, his hand loosened around the metal and he

 moans deeply in Bucky’s ear. 

    Andy has Dayton on all fours, his reddened ass in the air and his face all 

flushed against the pillow. Andy spanks Dayton’s ass as he rails him from

 behind, making Dayton whined all high pitched into the pillow that he’s 

clutching. “Fucking Christ Dayton, darling look at you. All nice and fucked out.

 Want me to cum inside you hm? Fill you nice till all you can feel is me?” Andy 

whispered in Dayton’s ear with his deep voice that made Dayton shiver. “Yes,

 yes. Give it to me. Fill me up, fill me up -ah!” Andy rams that sweet spot of 

Dayton’s as his hand snakes down to pump his cock. “Cum Dayton, you’ve 

earned it. Be a sweet boy for me darling, make me fucking proud.” Dayton’s 

mouth falls open, but not a whisper of word comes; instead his ass clenches 

around Andy’s cock as his cock shoots out hot, white cum on the sheet 

beneath him. “Yes, there you go sweet boy. You’re my sweet boy, keep coming

 baby.” Andy gave a couple of hard thrusts till he came inside Dayton, his head 

falling upward like Cain did when he worshipped God. Andy growled deep and

hoarse as he filled Dayton up, Dayton hums sweetly as Andy leans down and 

kisses down his back. 

    The twin cleans their partners up with warm towels, making sure they’re 

going to be comfortable come morning. The clock strikes 3 am and the two 

priests quietly slip out of the dorm room. Their eyes gave out glints of red, a

 devilish smirk painted across their lips as they walked side by side. “Who 

would’ve thought?” Steve chuckles. “You know what he said,  fruits taste better 

when they’re forbidden.” Who would’ve thought that demons only prey on 

beautiful women? They prey on beautiful men too.

Translation of the Latin piece: Lord Satan, by your grace, grant me, I pray thee the power to conceive in my mind and to execute that which I desire to do. 

[conquerthedevil]

Confusion and How Demons Work Together to Destroy a Person

Confusion is defined as a situation of panic or a breakdown of order. This definition describes exactly what happened to me during the years I was attacked by witchcraft. When the attacks first started, I was confused because the effects of the attacks were so unlike me. This kind of confusion was a normal reaction to a new and strange set of circumstances. But the spirit of confusion is much more than being puzzled about something. It is like being surrounded by a thick cloud that affects everything about you and your life. It changes the way you process information by affecting your ability to think and reason as you used to. Because my thoughts were all mixed up, it made it very difficult for me to accomplish much of anything.

here are many spirits, and they all contributed greatly to my confusion. I want to make this as clear as possible. Witchcraft affected the way I experienced emotion. I was no longer able to feel joy in any way. I was nervous all the time, and I walked through life in a state of panic. I could feel the presence of evil all the time, and no matter what I did, nothing stilled me. Demons attacked me all day and all night. Some demons were more prevalent during the day and others at night. In the next few paragraphs, I will try to give you a picture of what happened to me so that you can identify the evil spirits that may be affecting your life.

I want to start with the spirit of obsession, which affected me mainly during the day. Obsession is defined as an idea or a thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes a person’s mind. The word intrude describes exactly what happened to me. It was like there was an intruder who somehow gained access to my mind, and I was no longer in control of my thoughts. The spirit of obsession is relentless. It floods the mind with a short phrase that is repeated continually throughout the day. The phrase will be particular to the person since the demon knows how to cause the person the most mental anguish. It is like a song getting stuck in your head, but the message is always negative. This demon will harass you until he wears you down and drains you of every bit of energy you have.

Now I want to focus on what happens during the night. Terror is defined as violence or the threat of violence used as a weapon of intimidation or coercion. You have to remember that there is a war being waged against you. And in war, the enemy uses violence and intimidation tactics to control its victims. Sleep deprivation is one of the devil’s most powerful weapons. He uses it to terrorize his victims, causing incredible fear and total exhaustion, which increases the confusion and leaves a person unable to live their life in any kind of healthy way. My anxiety increased at night because I knew that when I went to bed the demons would come, and they did. They were spirits of terror that used violence and intimidation to make every night unbearable for me. I was afraid to stay awake, and I was afraid to fall asleep. I heard strange sounds, saw evil shapes roam around the walls of my bedroom, and I even heard demonic voices whisper in my ear. I was lucky if I even got a few hours of sleep a night, and when I did drift off, I saw demonic images that woke me right back up. There were times that I slept long enough to have horrible nightmares that were extremely vivid and very real. I felt demons poke and push me, and there were other supernatural occurrences that just defied explanation. I was terrified and exhausted all the time. If it wasn’t for God, I don’t know if I would have survived.

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.”

I want to tie the spirit of confusion into all of this now. Confusion interferes with a person’s ability to live a healthy life and affects the psyche, or one’s entire being, body, soul, and spirit. After a while, you can’t think. Everything is a blur, and the spirit of confusion takes over. The more dominant the spirit of confusion becomes, the more damaged a person will be. As all of the other spirits worked together to tear me down, the spirit of confusion silently grew stronger, leaving me unable to function or problem-solve like I used to. I knew that the order of my life had been snatched right out from under me, but over time the confusion became so debilitating that I had no idea how to get my life back. And that process took years. What I am trying to show here is how the different spirits work together to destroy and oppress a person.

The spirit of obsession can work in conjunction with the spirits of depression, harassment, anxiety, doubt, discouragement, despair, and more. The spirit of terror can work in conjunction with the spirits of fear, control, destruction, violence, torment, and many more. So any spirit can interact with another at any time, and the effects on the person undoubtedly empower the spirit of confusion. The point is that demons feed off of each other, and if they can continue to do that, then they will gain more control over a person’s mind. And without the ability to think clearly and problem solve, it will be much harder to escape the influence these demons have over your life.  

“There are two things the devil is afraid of: fervent communions and frequent visits to the Blessed Sacrament”

The following prayer by Father Chad Ripperger will limit the demons from collaborating. It is an easy step you can take toward freedom and finding yourself again. But the process is slow, and you will need support and encouragement. I urge anyone dealing with something like this to participate in the sacraments as often as possible. Daily Mass if you can, and weekly confession. Pray and fast in the best way you can, and sit before the Blessed sacrament so you can find peace. Call a priest, they are the most powerful people on the planet. They will be able to guide and help you through these difficult times, and if they are unable to, they will know a priest who can. Go beyond your fears and the lies the demons are telling you and make the call. You won’t regret it.

Prayer of Command  

In His name and by the power of His Cross and Blood, I ask Jesus to bind any evil spirits, forces, and powers of the earth, air, fire, or water, of the netherworld and the satanic forces of nature. By the power of the Holy Spirit and by His authority, I ask Jesus Christ to break any curses, hexes, or spells, and send them back to where they came from if it be His Holy Will. I beseech Thee Lord Jesus to protect us (my family, etc.) by pouring Thy Precious Blood on us and I ask Thee to command that any departing spirits leave quietly, without disturbance, and go straight to Thy Cross to dispose of as Thou sees fit. I ask Thee to bind any demonic interaction, interplay, or communication. I place N. (person, place, or thing) under the protection of the Blood of Jesus Christ which He shed for us. Amen.

Read more articles at my personal website:

https://www.conquerthedevil.com/

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

8th February >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Mark 6:53-56 for Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘All those who touched him were cured’.

Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA)

Mark 6:53-56

All those who touched him were cured

Having made the crossing, Jesus and his disciples came to land at Gennesaret and tied up. No sooner had they stepped out of the boat than people recognised him, and started hurrying all through the countryside and brought the sick on stretchers to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, to village, or town, or farm, they laid down the sick in the open spaces, begging him to let them touch even the fringe of his cloak. And all those who touched him were cured.

Gospel (USA)

Mark 6:53-56

As many as touched it were healed.

After making the crossing to the other side of the sea, Jesus and his disciples came to land at Gennesaret and tied up there. As they were leaving the boat, people immediately recognized him. They scurried about the surrounding country and began to bring in the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. Whatever villages or towns or countryside he entered, they laid the sick in the marketplaces and begged him that they might touch only the tassel on his cloak; and as many as touched it were healed.

Reflections (7)

(i) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

It is striking to me that the first book of the Bible, the beginning of the Bible, begins with the words, ‘In the beginning’. Today’s first reading gives us the opening nineteen verses of the Bible. It is a statement of faith, in highly elevated prose, almost poetry. It is not a scientific statement but a religious one. In these verses the people of Israel express their conviction that the created world in all its complexity and diversity is fundamentally good because it came from God who is supremely good. The sky, the earth, the seas, the earth’s vegetation, the two great lights of the heavens, the sun and the moon, reflect something of God’s goodness and beauty. Heaven and earth are full of God’s glory, as we say in one of the responses of the Mass. In the words of today’s responsorial psalm, ‘The earth is full of your riches’. God comes to us in and through his good creation, which is why we need to treat God’s creation with great reverence and respect. If the created world reveals God’s goodness and glory, the fullest expression of God’s goodness and glory is Jesus, God’s beloved Son. Jesus is the pinnacle of God’s creative work. If people were often drawn to God through God’s good creation, they are drawn to God more powerfully through his Son, Jesus. Today’s gospel reading portrays the extraordinary drawing power of Jesus. No sooner had Jesus stepped out of the boat with his disciples than people started hurrying towards him from all through the countryside. The sick, the broken, the weary, the excluded were especially drawn to him. According to the gospel reading, they begged him to let them touch even the fringe of his cloak. God continues to draw us all to himself through his good creation, but even more powerfully through his Son. Jesus once said, ‘when I am lifted up from the earth I will draw all people to myself’. Our calling is to allow ourselves to be drawn.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading brings home to us the extent to which Jesus drew people to himself, especially those who were sick and broken. We are told that ‘people started hurrying all through the countryside’ and that they ‘brought the sick on stretchers to wherever they heard he was’. It was above all those in need of healing who reached out towards Jesus and sought to touch even the fringe of his cloak. They reached out to him because they recognized him as the source of life and healing. We ourselves very often reach out towards the Lord with greatest energy in those times when we experience our own need of healing, whether it is physical or emotional or spiritual healing. The struggles of life, the brokenness and suffering we experience in the course of our lives, can make us more aware of our need of the Lord and more open to his presence. It is often the cracks in our lives that allow the Lord’s light to enter and shine on us. It can sometimes be through our experience of the cross that we in grow in our relationship with the risen Lord. The darker times of our lives can leave us more spiritually aware by bringing home to us our need of the Lord. It is in such moments that we truly make our own that prayer which forms part of a well-know hymn ‘Help of the helpless, o abide with me’.

 And/Or

(iii) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel we are told that Jesus is surrounded by the sick everywhere he goes, whether it was village, town or farm. According to the gospels, the sick were one of the groups that were most open to Jesus. They flocked to him in large numbers. Those who were broken in body, mind or spirit wanted to draw upon God’s power that was at work in and through him. The path to the Lord today for many people is often through their brokenness. When we are desperate, for whatever reason, we tend to approach the Lord with the greatest earnestness and passion. It is in our brokenness that we recognize our poverty and our need of the one who came as strength in our weakness, life in our death, light in our darkness. In the gospel reading the sick wanted to touch the fringe of the Lord’s cloak; they wanted not only a personal contact with Jesus. For us today, it is above all in the Eucharist that we touch the Lord and the Lord touches us. It is there above all that we bring our brokenness before him for his healing touch.

 And/Or

(iv) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading today conveys a sense of the great popularity of Jesus among the ordinary people of Galilee. In particular, it was the sick and broken that he attracted, because God’s healing power was at work through him. People begged him to let him touch even the fringe of his cloak, as the woman had done who was healed of her flow of blood. It was above all the broken and needy who were desperate to get to him and to connect with him. In our own lives too, it is often in our brokenness that we seek out the Lord with the greatest urgency. Something happens to us that brings home to us our vulnerability, our weakness, our inability to manage. It is often in those situations when we come face to face with our limitations that we seek out the Lord with an energy and an urgency we don’t normally have. It is those moments when we experience life as a real struggle that bring home to us our need of the Lord and our dependence on him. It is often the darker and more painful experiences of life that open us up to the Lord. Saint Paul bears witness to that. When he was struggling with his ‘thorn in the flesh’, he said that he pleaded with the Lord three times to be rid of it, and he heard the Lord say to him, ‘My power is made perfect in weakness’. The Lord can come powerfully to us in our weakness if, like the people in this morning’s gospel reading, we hurry towards him.

 And/Or

(v) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s short gospel reading gives us a picture of the ordinary people of Galilee hurrying to Jesus, once they recognized him, with many of them bringing with them the sick on stretchers. They asked Jesus that the sick be allowed just to touch the fringe of his cloak. They believed that would be enough for them to be healed. The people’s determination to get to where Jesus was and their total trust in his healing presence is very striking. It generated tremendous energy in them. We all need to have something of that energy for the Lord for ourselves. Just as the crowds hurried to Jesus with a very clear focus on him, we too need something of their determination and focus when it comes to the Lord. We can all become a little lukewarm and indifferent in regard to our faith. Every so often we need to ask the Lord, in the words of Saint Paul, to fan into a living flame the gift that we have received, the gift of our relationship with the Lord that was given to us at our baptism.

 And/Or

(vi) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading gives us a very vivid picture of people hurrying towards Jesus and his disciples in large numbers. We are told that people hurried through the countryside to get to him. It is striking that according to the gospel reading the people did not hurry to him alone. Rather, they brought the sick on stretchers to wherever he was and laid them down in open spaces. The sick having been brought to Jesus by their healthy neighbours and friends then begged Jesus to allow them to touch even the fringe of his cloak. That image of the healthy, those healthy enough to enough run, bringing the sick to Jesus, can speak powerfully to us today. There are times when we can do something for others that they cannot do for themselves. In many homes in our parishes, that is happening every day, as a healthier spouse looks after a more infirmed one, or a son or daughter looks after a frail or housebound parent, or parents care for a son or daughter who, even though younger, is not as healthy as the parent. Then there are neighbours who visit the housebound and the sick in their neighbourhood. There are parishioners who bring Holy Communion to the sick and housebound. In all of these ways today’s gospel reading is being re-enacted. The people in the gospel reading brought the sick to Jesus. We can bring Jesus to the sick by sharing the Lord with them in all sorts of simple, practical ways that are nonetheless truly life-giving for them, in the way that Jesus in the gospel reading was a life-giving presence for those who came to him or were brought to him.

 And/Or

(vii) Monday, Fifth Week in Ordinary Time 

Today’s first reading consists of the opening nineteen verses of the Bible. It is a poetic expression of the people of Israel’s understanding of God as Creator of the universe. There are a number of little refrains in that very poetic text. One of the refrains that has always struck me is ‘and God saw that it was good’. There is a conviction coming through in the author of this text that the created world is essentially good. In some way, all of created reality reflects the goodness of God. In these times when we can be so aware of and so preoccupied with evil, it is good to be reminded of that truth. When it comes to God’s creation of the human person on the sixth day, the author declares not only ‘it was good’ but ‘it was very good’. The human person has the potential to be a much fuller revelation of God’s goodness than anything else in all creation. In the gospel reading, Mark portrays something of that human goodness. It is said that in the countryside people brought the sick on stretchers to wherever they heard Jesus was present and that in the villages, towns and farms they laid down the sick in the open spaces, so that the sick could touch even the fringe of Jesus’ clock. The sick, who could not come to Jesus by themselves, were carried and brought to Jesus by the healthy. There is an image here of what is best in human nature. We are all capable of great good and with the help of the Holy Spirit we can live as that unique image of God’s goodness that we were created to be.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[fericita-s]

Vanished (part 2)

Vanished on AO3

Part One

Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic​ for beta-ing this, making the moodboard, and general and specific obsessive talk about this story, these two, and how best to kill you all with the angst.

Part Two

Iduna barely knew her husband when they married.  She barely knew herself.  Often upon waking she could recall the edges of things – an idea of sunlight on a stream, reindeer grazing nearby, the smell of smoke from a campfire and singing voices that joined with hers. But before she could see faces or hear names or make sense of where, it was gone.

Despite not knowing her husband well or her own memories at all, she felt quite safe with him.  He was a kind man and he was devoted to her. His kindness was not only for her. When he had taken her to the cobbler’s shop, he asked after the man’s children by name and left castle-made sweets for them when he settled the bill. On a tour of wheat fields, he rolled up his sleeves to examine the planting, complimenting the farmers on their use of fertilizer and asking about planned crop rotations. 

She found him endearing, so willing was he to share his deficiencies as he saw them. When he showed her the inner workings of the clock tower he had haltingly confessed it was his favorite place to escape his father’s ire or tutor’s schedules, the many flights of stairs a deterrent to both. He pointed to his favorite reading spot and told her his favorite tales and histories, promising to send his volumes to the Calders’ if she wished to read them too.

And yet he could be the commanding King when necessary. Shortly after their wedding, she accompanied him to the trial of the men accused of dragging Northuldra traders out of their Arendellian homes and killing them in retaliation for a skirmish in the north that had happened around the time she was rescued from sea.  She listened in the Byrett, rapt, as Agnarr extolled the importance of welcoming all people to their port kingdom, letting justice prevail over vengeance, and calm over anger.  He spoke of the Northuldra people as peace-loving, and the battle at the border as a confusing chaos where the magical elements had attacked Arendellian and Northuldra without discrimination.  He stated that he saw his father fall to his death, but not by whose hand.   He declared that both the Northuldra spears and Arendellian swords had been directed at the attacking Earth Giants and gusts of fire.  She wondered at the mist that closed over all of them now, and knew it weighed heavily on him, though he did not want to talk about it with her.

Sometimes their bodies spoke without any words needed.  She thought they were best at understanding each other through touch, though it made her blush to think of it.  She couldn’t have told him her birthday or her mother’s name or the color of her eyes unless she looked in the mirror yet she seemed to know how to kiss the curve of his neck, stroke the plane of his back, admire the cords of muscle along his arm and encourage the tickle of his mustache on her stomach. Her favorite evenings were the two of them in their wide bed, exploring each other and needing no words to do so.  In their bed, it was just the two of them, and figuring out what they liked wasn't frustrating like learning the names of all the monarchs of Europe or the rank of each council member. His pleasure and hers were a delicious goal to seek, an assignment she enjoyed as much as he clearly did.

It became easier to look forward instead of back once she was expecting.  Agnarr had nearly wept at the news, solemnly promising to love her and the baby more than his duty to his kingdom.  Linnea had begged to be named godmother. Thea helped her let out dresses, confessing that she hoped to be doing the same for herself in a year or so, if only her parents would let her and Elias set the wedding date.  Elias had come to congratulate Agnarr, but left in anger. She supposed it had to do with his own delayed wedding plans and the frustrations that went along with that.

The Arendelle dishes she learned to like became unbearable in the first few months, and all she could eat for a while was fjellbrød and pepperkaker, the ginger soothing her riotous stomach. Just walking through Market Square and smelling the fish market was enough to send her to gutters, adding the contents of her stomach to the waste there. She had to excuse herself from a state dinner when the delegation from Finland presented a tray of lutefisk, the graying mass of it taking up residence in her nose.

Then, suddenly, at four months she was ravenous.  Agnarr delighted in feeding her, making a game of it.  The kitchen staff made meals of every nation they knew, and each dinner was a tasting course to see what the queen liked and what she politely declined.  She felt her happiness swell with her growing baby, and thought Agnarr’s was too. She felt powerful in their lovemaking, her round middle and full breasts proof that her body and his had communion.  Look what our bodies can do, look what we did. Look at the family we are making, look at this life I am building.

***

Iduna had few memories.  And she was eager to make more.  She walked in the Market Square, sometimes with Agnarr, sometimes with just her guard, and learned the names of the shopkeepers and shoeshiners and the merchants setting up carts with blocks of ice or fresh produce from the outlying farms.

She walked along the docks, giving out food to the women there whose fate she might have had if the Calders had not intervened, and learned the names of the boats and their crews. She learned the time of day that school let out for lunch and met the children with treats on Fridays, and when she learned one of the teachers was feeling ill, she sent her home and read the children stories until the end of the day.  Later, the queen’s physician came to call on the woman with a basketful of food and medicine, packed by Iduna. 

She judged the Harvest Festival Pumpkin Carving Contest and then gamely wore the pumpkin crown that was carved by her husband in one of the most popular events of the day.  She and Agnarr stayed for the length of the festivities, and when she showed him how swollen her feet became after standing for most of the day, he carried her back home to the castle.

The people of Arendelle watched as the queen grew and shouted name suggestions for the baby when they saw her.  Some gave her gifts – a carved reindeer, a cornhusk doll, a crown of entwined crocus stems and petals.  She cherished them all and felt the hard plane of the wood, the rough and delicate husk, the velvety softness of the petals as she thought These are my people now.  I belong here.

***

In November, Iduna and Thea picked flowers from the castle greenhouse for Thea’s bridal bouquet.  Thea confessed to feeling nervous about the act of consummating the marriage, even though it had been difficult to wait through such a long engagement.

“Will it hurt? Will it be awkward? Will we just laugh and not be able to?”

“I thought it would be awkward, us not knowing each other well.”  Iduna blushed, but continued.  “But for a time it was all we could do well, without awkwardness.  He was always hesitating before speaking, or starting to say something but then stopping. Perhaps that's the royal way? To be so guarded?” She blushed again. “But alone in our bedchamber, there is no hesitation.”  She sighed, turning her head away from Thea, fingering the petals of a tulip. “I suppose he is a king. And was a young, eligible prince for a long time.  I'm sure he had many opportunities to woo the ladies and learn.”

Thea selected a crocus and then reached for a rose.  “I've lived here my whole life but there's never even been a hint of him courting anyone.  Elias never mentioned anything either.” She shrugged. “But I suppose there are other ways of learning.”

Iduna cut the stem of the tulip she had inspected and handed it to Thea. “When you know each other as well as you and Elias do, it is sure to be wonderful.” She smiled, feeling mischievous.  “Or it’ll become wonderful after the first few tries.”

***

Agnarr had one arm on the rope, and one around Iduna. The castle courtyard was packed with citizens eager to celebrate the start of the season. As Agnarr pulled on the rope and rung the bell, the crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. 

“You’ve done this, Agnarr.  You’ve turned their mourning into joy.”

He leaned down to kiss her, and the crowds cheered even louder.  “No, you have.”

***

When Elsa was born later that month, it coincided with a blizzard that shut down the ports for a month.  The fjord was frozen over, which no one could remember happening ever before.  Agnarr was secretly delighted. He leaned Iduna against his chest as she held Elsa to hers, and the soft hair on Elsa’s head, so white it seemed invisible until touched. “What a boon! To have more time with our daughter and with you.”

The council carried out Agnarr’s orders to pay the workers usually dependent on trade and the sea their usual wage, even though they could not work. “Call it a gift to the kingdom to celebrate the arrival of our princess!” When Lord Hannesel protested, Agnarr was firm.  “My father levied taxes that were overmuch.  We can give back to the people this way, in their time of need.”

Iduna tried to wrap the baby tightly and sit close to the fire. But for all that baby Elsa seemed cold, with hands like icicles and layers of frost on her blanket in the morning despite the roaring fire in her nursery, she was a happy baby.  When she smiled at six weeks of age, Agnarr stroked her cheek and said “Just like your Mama! A smile fit for a queen!”

Iduna felt the familiar sensation of tears in her eyes, something that had been happening frequently during the pregnancy and still now in these early stages of motherhood and little sleep.  She thought Here is a person who looks like me.  And she will always know where she belongs and who she is. She closed her eyes and made it a promise, a vow, a hope, a prayer.

***

“It’s so dark in here.” Iduna said as she walked past Agnarr, pushing a sleeping Elsa in a pram, and drew back the curtains. Dust fell lightly from them, making her cough, and she shielded Elsa’s face from it.  Agnarr was still standing in the doorway.  When she saw him, frozen by the open door, she walked back to him and gently took his hand.  “It’s time.  You want to do this.”

He squeezed her hand and shook his head, looking down at the wooden floors.  “I don’t really want to.  But I should do it.  It’s been a year. I should look through his desk and his belongings and see if anything should be archived or shared with the council.”

“Has no one been here since he died?”

“No one.  I told the servants to seal it off.  I wish I could have just forgotten about him entirely.  It would be easier to sort out my emotions that way.” Agnarr’s head jerked up quickly, a stricken look on his face.  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It sounds like he was a hard man. I can see how your feelings for him would be complicated.”

Agnarr sighed and walked further into the room.  He hesitated behind the large cherry wood writing desk. Iduna walked behind him and picked up a portrait in a gilded frame and ran her finger over the woman’s face.  “I see you in her.  Is this your mother?”

“Yes.” Agnarr smiled.  “She died when I was a small child and I don’t remember her much. My father always wanted to tell me about her, but I never wanted to hear it.  I thought knowing her would make me miss her more.”  He paused.  “Is – is it better, do you think? To not know what you’re missing? Is that how it is for you?”

Iduna leaned down to kiss Elsa’s head and then straightened to answer.  “I think I would rather know who my mother is and miss her. The feeling of loss is still there.  I would like to have a name for it.”  She put the picture back on the desk and picked up a stack of papers.  “Now.  Let’s get to work.”

***

They sorted the letters from the receipts and council notes, read aloud correspondence from a fussy Duke of Weselton, and laughed over a series of portraits that Iduna found of a ten-year-old Agnarr, chest puffed out with pride and hair neatly combed back.  When cooing issued from the pram Iduna picked up Elsa and nursed, sitting in the large chair behind the desk.  Agnarr smiled at her and started in on the next stack.  Iduna let her eyes close as Elsa nursed, enjoying the sense of accomplishment that nourishing her baby gave her.  She might not be able to give Elsa portraits of herself as a child or a family home steeped in tradition and riches, but she would be her mother, she would give her what she needed, and she could give her as many memories as she could hold.

She heard the soft rustle of papers stop and opened her eyes.  “Did you find anything?”

Agnarr was squinting and reading the document again. “Listen to this.  My King, The troops are readied for our trek to the North, though they do not as of yet know the orders you plan to give.  We will be armed and ready to attack at your direction. The soldiers have not attacked civilians, have been trained never to do so unless it’s life or death, so you may have trouble with compliance on that.  I will do my best to ensure that bloodshed is minimal and that we are victorious in annexation. – General Sorensen.”

“Your father planned the attack? The one that killed him?”

Agnarr looked at the letter again. “So he started the battle.  He was killed in retaliation, not in ambush.”

Iduna watched as several different emotions passed over his face: anger, sadness, and then – was that hope?

“I’ll show this to the council.  We’ll organize a day of lamentation for our kingdom’s plot and the soldiers we lost to the mist as a result.  We will pray and seek forgiveness and atone.” He looked up from the letter and into her eyes, the intensity of his feelings clear.  “Perhaps it will be enough to begin talks for peace among the council.  And perhaps – maybe – it is what will bring down the mist.”

***

The bishop bowed his head and those in the chapel followed suit. “We ask for mercy and we ask for forgiveness.”

“Oh Lord, hear our prayer.” The many voices of a full congregation – Agnarr and Iduna, the families of missing soldiers, the Council members, the leaders of industry, the farmers, and the working men and women of the kingdom echoed in reply.  Crowded into the pews, they all hoped for a change in the mist.

“Our nation has sought its own glory and not yours, we have sought to conquer the land rather than steward it, we have sought to rule over our fellow man instead of treat him as an equal.  We ask for mercy and we ask for forgiveness.”

“Oh Lord, hear our prayer.”

“Friends, hear the promise of the gospel.  In Jesus Christ, you are forgiven. Amen”

Agnarr bowed his head with the rest, but prayed also to the spirits, that the Air, Earth, Wind and Fire would see fit to release the Enchanted Forest from the grip of the mist it had sealed it with.  He prayed that his daughter would grow up knowing the two halves of her identity, and that Iduna’s identity would be restored to her. He prayed for his soldiers, for his kingdom, and for his family, and he wasn’t sure who he trusted to answer the prayer.

***

Spring came late and the castle still felt cold. There were drafts of icy air as late as May and Agnarr asked the servants to seal up wherever the cold was coming from, not wanting his wife or child to catch a chill.

Then on a warm day in June while the royal family sat on a blanket in the sun, baby Elsa propped into a seated position between them, they watched as her hands that had been empty only a moment ago were suddenly holding a ball of ice.

“Where did that come from? That bit of ice she has?” Iduna reached for it, feeling the coldness of it and her daughter’s hands, checking for frostbite on her fingers.  

They watched as Elsa clapped her hands together and snowflakes fell between them.

“Is she – is she making that? Is she making snow? Is she making ice?” Agnarr’s voice was incredulous. “I’ve never heard of a child doing that.  Here or in any kingdom, even those with more magic.”

Iduna picked Elsa up quickly and laid her in her lap, checking her feet, her arms, her legs.  “Is this my fault? Is this something common where I am from? Have I cursed our daughter with magic that will be dangerous to her?” Her questions had become frantic, the words pushed against each other as she said them.

“No!” Agnarr’s answer was quick and she looked over at him.  He reached for Elsa and picked her up under her arms, lifting her high in the air.  “No.  Elsa is a gift.  Her magic is a gift.  And we will work to make the kingdom safe for a magical queen.”

“People were lynched less than a year ago for being associated with the spirits of the Enchanted Forest.  The day of lamentation might have swayed some hearts on the Northuldra, but not all.  And mothers tell their children stories about the terrible trolls who kidnap little ones with glowing crystals that tell the future.  People don’t trust magic. How can you keep her safe? She’ll be in danger every day if people find out!”

Agnarr brought Elsa down to his chest, holding her with one arm, and put his other around Iduna.  “No, we’ll protect her. She can learn to control it I’m sure. ‘Til then we’ll lock the gates. Reduce the staff. We will limit her contact with people. We’ll keep her powers hidden from everyone.”

Iduna shook her head, reaching to hold Elsa’s hand.  “Won’t that raise suspicion? Suddenly changing staff and access to the castle?”

“Not for a new royal family who wants their privacy.  I can explain it simply, believably.”  

Iduna breathed in deeply, leaning into his side.  Elsa blew bubbles, and as they dribbled out of her mouth, they turned to wisps of snow, floating away but never melting in the heat of the June sun.

That night in their bedchamber, he reassured her with kisses, nuzzling into her neck and laying her down on the crisp linen sheets. They grasped and pulled at each other, desperation and worry dissipating into the pleasure of his hands on her thighs and her legs wrapped around him. As they rocked into each other, their steady rhythm and the press of their bodies was soothing, like a cry for mercy or a prayer of hope.

***

“I won’t sign this.” Lord Hannesel crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “This is not good for our kingdom.”

“Our kingdom wrongfully attacked another, with no provocation.  We must sign this declaration of peace and post it – on the docks, in the Byrett, near the stones where the mist begins.  It will serve as a sign of our intention to keep to our own borders and to respect the lands and resources of the Northuldra as a distinct sovereign power from our own.”

“It will serve as a sign of our weakness!” Lord Hannesel spat out his words, derision in them.  “A sign of a young king who is afraid of battle.  Your father was not afraid.”

“My father committed war crimes.”  Agnarr pushed the paper across his desk, pointing to the inkwell.  “All of the other council members have signed.  Willingly and happily.  You will sign too or you will resign your position on my council.”

Lord Hannesel stood, pushing the document away. “Your father was right about you.  You’re too soft.  And he was right to not tell you of his plans for annexation. You wouldn’t have understood the need to display military might then and you aren’t making the right choice for your kingdom now.”

Agnarr stayed seated and calm, mustering as much command into his voice as he could. “I am making the right choice for my kingdom.  You are no longer welcome in my council or in my confidence.”

Lord Hannesel turned to leave, the edge of his coat knocking the inkwell over and it looked to Agnarr like a seeping wound on the desk, soaking and sprawling, spreading its stain.

***

For Elsa’s first birthday, every child in Arendelle was given a book of fairy tales and fireworks lit the cloudy sky. The castle gates were opened for a celebration in the courtyard and Iduna hoped any signs of snow or ice could be blamed on the December weather.

After having the gates closed for half of the year, it felt disorienting to have them opened again.  There were too many eager faces and curious looks, and all Iduna could think about was a mob hurting her baby like the rioters had done to the Northuldra traders not even two years before.

Iduna rocked Elsa long after she had fallen asleep, needing to feel the motion of it and the crush of her daughter’s body against hers.  Agnarr came into the nursery at midnight and found Elsa asleep in her crib and Iduna asleep in the rocking chair, their hands linked through the slats of the crib.  

He ran his hand along Iduna’s cheek and then scooped her into his arms, tucking her head against his chest and walking them back to their bedroom.  She awoke as he settled her into their bed.

“I have a gift for you as well.  It’s not complete yet, but it will be by summer.  By the time we need to keep Elsa’s powers more hidden.”  He curled his body around hers and spoke into her hair.  She sighed and settled into him, feeling safe and warm.  “It’s a cottage on our border, near the Enchanted Forest. The architects are calling it the Royal Sommerhus. A barn and attached guesthouse for servants if you want some there.” He nuzzled against her neck under her ear, giving it a small kiss.  “We can go when the weather is warm to keep her from suspicion.  Open the gates here again, stay at the castle only in winter. The Sommerhus will be our refuge in the warm months.”

Iduna turned so she was facing him and placed a hand on his cheek. “That’s good.  Thank you..”  She kissed him, grateful.  “Did you give out the fairy tale books so that some in the kingdom might long for magic instead of fear it?”

Agnarr smiled and she saw hope in his eyes. The promise of a better future. “I did.  And it might.  We can hope.”

Iduna touched her nose to his.  “We can.”

***

Iduna hoped but she also researched.  She bought books on enchantments and spells, hunted down by a broker in town who thought they were being bought by a royal dressmaker looking for unique ideas.  She asked Captain Calder to tell her about the various ports of call he had seen while still sailing, paying particular attention to those with fantastical or magical elements.  She learned about undead pirates who were cursed to sail forever, mermaids who sang so beautifully it drove men mad, princes who transformed into beasts.  But nothing about ice or snow. She used a room next to the library, not exactly a secret from Agnarr, but not something she shared with him.  Because she was beginning to suspect that she had brought this to Arendelle.  That wherever she was from was central to the mystery of understanding their daughter.

She was coming to believe that Agnarr might think so too.  Though they had been married for almost two years now, he still seemed closed off, unwilling to tell her certain things.  He wouldn’t talk about the day that made him king, or about what the conflicts with his father were about.  He had been silent to her teasing questions about how he learned to be so skilled at the movement of their bodies together.  Could her past be poisoning their marriage, even though she didn’t know what it was?

After months of this, the answer came quite suddenly.  Iduna and a maid were giving Elsa a bath.  As Iduna wrapped her in a warm towel, she hummed a tune under her breath.

“What’s that, You Highness? What’s that you’re singing?”

Iduna stopped and thought about it.  “I don’t know.  It just came to me. I suppose I’ve heard it in the Market Square?” She sang a few more notes of it and stopped when the maid tilted her head.

“Pardon me for saying, Your Highness, but that’s a Northuldra lullaby.  How do you know it?”

Iduna shook her head, fear rising in her chest.  “I…I don’t know.”

She handed Elsa to the maid, directing her to dress her and walked quickly down the hall to the library.  She thumbed through the books until she came to the section on foreign kingdoms, her fingers shaking as she felt on the spines and squinted her eyes to read the dusty titles.  No one used this section, but she knew there were some books in the Northuldra language here.  She found one and pulled it down, opening it up, and immediately dropping it.

It was written in Northuldra runes.

And she understood it perfectly.

***

“I need to tell you about my past. And where I’m from.” His fingers touched her hair and she nestled her cheek against his palm.

“I’m listening.”

It was always easiest to talk to him when they were touching.  She thought about how safe he always made her feel, how he had promised that he would keep his vows to her even if she was a pirate. But wasn’t it worse if she was Northuldra, at least for most in Arendelle? He might be trying to change that perception with apologies and justice, but would he really want his wife to be from the tribe that murdered his father? Where Arendellian soldiers were still stranded in the mist or killed in battle? She shivered and leaned closer to him, the words barely above a whisper. “I think I’m Northuldra.”

He stiffened, but didn’t pull away, so she continued.  “I can read their runes and I know one of their songs.  I know the language.” She looked up to his eyes, but she wasn’t sure what they held.  They were glassy and shone with something she couldn’t comprehend.  She swallowed hard and drove on, praying he would believe her.  “I didn’t realize until today -” With a shock she realized that he was crying.  His tears were running down his face and falling to her arm.   He leaned his forehead against hers and let out a deep sigh. He was silent for a long moment.

“You are.  You’re Northuldra. We escaped the battle with the spirits, the North Wind helped us flee, and I brought you out of the wood before it closed.”  He gripped her tightly against him and gently rubbed his thumb over her cheek.  “You were injured.  Somehow, you had hit your head.  You were unconscious - barely breathing.  I didn’t know how to help you.  So I took you to the trolls.  They could save your life, save your mind, but it came at the cost of your memory.  They warned me it might - but I couldn’t live without you, Iduna.”

Iduna drew back, tensing, her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps.  It was too much, all at once.  He had said it so quickly, like it was a relief to say the words, but there was no feeling of relief for her. “You’ve known? You’ve known me and not told me who I am?”

She pulled away from him and he reached for her, palms up, arms outstretched.  “I wanted to keep you safe! I was worried you’d be killed if people knew!”

“But to keep it from me? You could keep it from others, Agnarr, but you should still have told me! Do you trust me so little?  I am your wife!” She continued to back away from him, hugging herself tightly and focusing on her anger to keep the tears out of her voice.

“Please, Iduna, I just wanted to keep you safe!”

“No!”  She began to cry, choking on her words as she did. “You didn’t trust me!  You didn’t trust me with the truth. Or is it that you don’t trust any Northuldra? That you wanted me to stay ignorant about my past so I would be the perfect queen, no wild ways or savage impulses?”

Agnarr took a step back, his hands still reaching for her.  “No! No, of course not! I love you and I love the ways of the Northuldra! I want peace between our people!”

She scoffed. “So I’m a token, a way to gain their trust if the mist ever opens? Queen Iduna, the Northuldra bride?”  Her voice cracked on the last word.  “How could you use me like that?”

“Iduna, I love you!”  He said desperately.  “I loved you before any of that happened. We were handfast to one another a year before the battle, before any of this.  I was wrong to lie, but it was to keep you safe! Please, believe me!”

She swallowed, her voice a whisper.  “Do I have a mother? Father? Brothers or sisters?”

He spoke gently, still trying to touch her but she stepped away again and he stopped moving.  His hands dropped uselessly to his sides.  “Yes.  Your mother and father and three older brothers loved you very much and you loved them.  But...the battle was so chaotic, and you and I were away from where it started. I don’t know who else besides my father was killed.”

She backed up until she hit the doorknob of their room.  “I’m leaving.  Elsa and I. I’m taking her.  I can’t - I can’t look at you.” She reached behind her, gripped the doorknob with white knuckles, turned and ran until she got to Elsa’s nursery. Iduna collapsed next to the crib, silently weeping so as not to wake their child.