#it could be an impossible and unattainable virtue

[biruesque]

"I'm going to become a prince!"

[sunseed-fandump]

if the gingerbrave crew were to have soul jams, what would their virtues be??? :0c

Gingerbrave = Courage - Offshoot of Freedom

Many things require bravery, not just when it comes to standing against evil, but when it comes to standing for what is right even when it's not clear.

It takes a lot of courage to truly embrace Freedom; to be brave enough to accept that the future is uncertain, but to be confident in one's own abilities that they can change it however they wish. One has to be brave enough to take those first few steps. To let go of all of their doubts and truly be Free. Even when it seems society is against them.

And with those steps, one might inspire others to follow. Joining everyone together under one common goal: to live life to its fullest.

Strawberry Cookie = Kindness - Offshoot of Passion

To be kind, even against those who seemingly don't deserve it is incredibly difficult. It is natural to get angry, be upset, maybe even vengeful. It is also easy to look at the plight of another and decide to do nothing, simply because going out of one's way to do so may be considered too hard.

But to offer a gentle word, to give to those less fortunate, to comfort those who need comforting, to forgive. It is a new level of strength that many fail to achieve.

Having the compassion to lift others when they are down, will truly make the world a happier place.

Wizard Cookie = Wisdom - Offshoot of Truth

Knowledge is meaningless if one is incapable of knowing fact from fiction. And even then, being able to discern the truth from the lies means nothing. The harsh truth can hurt more than any wound, meanwhile the fantastical lies of fairytales can inspire others into doing good. One is not wholly good, nor wholly evil.

Knowledge is only powerful if one knows how to use it, and use it wisely.

Sometimes a bit of harsh reality is needed to snap one out of a delusion. While a placebo can give even an elephant the means to fly. To be wise, is to know how to use knowledge and help others become the best they could ever be.

Wisdom cuts through the angst, sorrow, and pain that cloud one's judgement, and paves the path for a brighter future ahead.

Custard Cookie III = Hope - Offshoot of Resolution

Dare to dream, no matter how impossible it may seem. To have the strength needed to hold onto Hope even in the bleakest of situations is truly a beautiful gift. Hope is what drives us, Hope is what saves lives, Hope is like a North Star.

Get up no matter how many times you're knocked down. Keep going, no matter how unattainable the dream might seem. And if the worst happens, and the dream crumbles, then that light will shine upon a new dream to pursue.

Keep hoping for those better days, keep dreaming and wishing and working towards them. Be that North Star for others as well, give them the strength to pursue their dreams. Because when those dreams do ultimately come true, it will be a wondrous legend to remember.

Chili Pepper Cookie = Trust - Offshoot of Abundance

To give a thief one's trust seems absurd. Equally, a thief does not give out their trust all willy-nilly. But to earn that trust, and to be trustworthy, is to be reliable. To be reliable means one withstands whatever the world can throw at them, even the unrelenting march of time. It means to be the solid rock that others can steady themselves on throughout the chaotic and upsetting changes that happen in daily life.

Chaos is inevitable; for things to fall apart is to be expected. Not many things can withstand the test of time, but one must trust that creation will always follow destruction and roll with those punches. That gain will always follow loss.

Trust that those dear to you can support you through thick and thin, and they will give you the most glorious treasure in return.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hey! 😊 I’ve had this idea for a while now but kept putting off typing it out. Here it goes!

Donna and reader have been dating for some time, and everything has been going great. They’ve managed to keep their relationship a secret because Donna wants to protect reader from the other lords and believes that discretion is the best way to keep them safe.

One day, while they’re making out (or doing something else that clearly shows they're in a relationship), Mother Miranda unexpectedly appears and catches them. She becomes furious, telling reader that she'll only distract Donna and hinder her ability to oversee the village and do her job. The confrontation gets really intense and angsty, and as a punishment, Miranda sends reader to Castle Dimitrescu, forbidding Donna from seeing her ever again.

However, during a visit to the castle to see Alcina, reader manages to convince Miranda to allow her to be with Donna again. When reader finally returns to Donna’s house, she finds Donna completely broken. The moment Donna sees reader, she rushes in for a tight hug, breaking down into tears and declaring that she will never let anyone take her away again.

Thank you! 💖

Yessss!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

Forbidden love

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff,

Word count: 8,055

Summary: Your love is a secret, but it can't keep being anymore...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

The mansion was dark, gloomy even during the day but… For some time now, you stopped seeing it that way. The cracked walls slowly became a refuge for you, a place that protected you, where you felt safe.

The sound of the waterfall penetrated your ears, relaxing you, taking you away from any strange thoughts, from any worries. Love, you could only feel love, you could only think of her, of the warm atmosphere that surrounded you.

There was no longer fear in that dark place, there were no more cries, no more laments; only laughter, kisses, caresses, soft words that served to remind you where you were, why you wanted to be there.

The soft caresses of her hands on your hair, the relaxing sound of her breathing, her perfume impregnated in your clothes, her presence captivating your soul, everything was like a dream come true, like the conquest of an impossible goal, a utopian and unattainable objective. At least that's what you thought when you started to fall in love with her, that it was impossible.

Donna Beneviento, Lord, sick and dangerous woman, the lady of fear, of sinister dolls... It didn't seem like falling in love with a woman like her could have a happy ending, a fairy tale ending. You were wrong.

Your eyes had met several times; sighs had left your lips at the same time. So close, but so far. Nothing could make you, a simple villager, with no greater talent than your blind faith in the Black Gods, manage to attract her attention.

But again, being wrong was one of your greatest flaws, or one of your greatest virtues, you weren't sure.

Soon you began to get closer, to maintain that gaze you couldn't see, to focus on every detail of her dress, on the pale skin that could be distinguished on her hands. You would never take the first step. You would never even be able to hear her voice.

Mistake after mistake, prejudice after prejudice, those teenage dreams of that lady in black falling in love with you took shape little by little, almost without you realizing it.

A shy greeting, a tea, a conversation… Feats that fate granted you when you saw yourself lost in your own thoughts, in the love you felt irrationally for that mysterious lady, and after too much time, the kiss came.

A chaste, almost cold, innocent kiss she gave you for simply saying what you thought, for seeing the face that hid that black veil and discovering a beauty that you already knew existed. It could have been a reflex action, an involuntary movement of her dark soul when she heard that someone in that village didn’t say she was a monster, that she was beautiful.

Her intentions or thoughts didn’t matter to you, you only cared about that kiss, her soft lips on yours, her hands on your skin, the fact that you stopped dreaming, to live the reality, one that made you not want to sleep, that made your dreams mediocre compared to her kisses, with her whispers of love, with that smile when she saw you every morning… To hell with dreams.

You had become the girlfriend of fear, of death, of darkness, but… Did that matter to you? Not at all.

Moving to that mansion was the best of your decisions, the best of your compulsive behavior, the greatest success of your life. You never believed it was a mistake, not even for a second.

“You said you wanted to read with me,” her soft voice took you out of your own memories, her smile entered your soul to caress it gently, to remind you again and again that it was not a dream.

You smiled back, settling into her lap, lying on her just to enjoy that company you believed would be eternal.

“I'm fine,” you said with a sweet voice, with your hands traveling towards her, caressing her imperfect, but perfect for you, face. “Besides, I don't understand what it says.”

“Mm,” Donna murmured, lowering her head to kiss you, to mitigate the voracious hunger your lips had with hers. “Maybe you'd like to do something different.”

“No, no, I'm fine,” you said with a nervous smile, sighing, closing your eyes so her soft caresses on your hair would intensify, so nothing else existed in that mansion, just Donna.

“We could do something together,” the lady said, leaving the book aside, focusing all her attention on you, only on you. “How about making some cookies?”

You pretended to think about it, but you shook your head, smiling mischievously.

“I'd like to take a walk with you, you know, walk hand in hand through the forest…” you murmured, looking at her from below with bright, pleading eyes.

Her tender gaze faded, her eye separated from yours for a moment and a sad sigh came out of her lips.

“You know we can't, tesoro,” she whispered softly, with an apologetic look.

Your heart beat confused, hurt by the truth of her words.

“Um…” you protested, sitting with your arms crossed, frustrated by hearing the same answer over and over again. “Don't get me wrong. Being here with you is wonderful but… I wish I could go for a walk with you from time to time, you know, a romantic dinner in the moonlight… ”

“I know, amore mio, I know,” she said, with the same sad tone, pinching your cheek affectionately, turning so she could take your hand, as if hers felt the same addiction to your skin that yours had. “But we…”

“Yeah, I know, we can't,” you completed her sentence, that terrible mantra that took you out of your dream life. “I don't understand it, Donna.”

Your words were tinged with rage, with unfulfilled desires that blurred the happiness you lived in, that reminded you of what your parents repeated so many times: You can't have everything.

Yes, you could have Donna, she had you, you kissed her, you caressed her, you gave her all the love your little heart could hold but... You couldn't leave that house.

At first you thought that maybe it was due to her understandable fear of losing you, her jealousy, her sick possessiveness. Well, you weren't completely wrong but, there was something else, there was something that prevented you from living that relationship fully.

For Donna you were like a miracle, a fragile possession that could break at any moment, something to protect, something to fight for. That romantic feeling could be good, and it was, but it was just a small part of her absurd fears.

Lady Beneviento was a Lord, a powerful one. You were a stupid, love-struck villager who gave up the boring path young girls like you had. No one could, no one would ever dare to question the lady in black, and you knew it. The village was sinister, but among its rules there was nothing about the prohibition of loving whoever you wanted.

No, that was not the problem, it never was. Problems had names. They were in the form of a dark raven: Mother Miranda, the Lords.

Donna's siblings, Mother Miranda, those were the risks, the real dangers in your relationship.

According to the lady in black, someone like you would be like leaving a piece of meat near a lycan. You would be in danger, everyone would envy her because, in her own words: everyone would want to take you away from her.

You thought they were nothing but absurd worries of her wounded mind, that it was just jealousy, even fear that one of them would steal the heart that already belonged to her. It didn't seem that way, she was truly afraid of them.

And so your relationship was hidden, camouflaged by the sound of the wind. Your kisses and caresses, the nights of passion, were hidden behind the sound of the waterfall. You were like two ghosts who loved each other in the shadows.

Ghosts or not, you got used to living that way, but little by little, the delusions and desires of a young girl like you were overshadowing the pleasure of that tranquility, of that feeling of security that Donna felt by keeping you as a secret.

Those feelings began to bring out the worst in you, your selfishness, your own absurd jealousy. When Donna was at home you existed, when she wasn't, you didn't.

“We've talked about this many times, tesoro...” she sighed, shaking her head, her radiant face darkening at your words. “I'm sorry it has to be this way but…”

“Yes, yes, it's the best for us…” you said tiredly, bringing out your capricious side again, getting angry in a childish way.

“(Y/N),” Donna murmured, cupping your face in her hands, staring at you, fighting your stupid attempts to push her away. “If I lost you…”

“It's not about that, Donna,” you interrupted again, sighing, playing with the fabric of your dress. “I know it's to protect me, but what harm can it do to walk around with you? It's your land, no one will see us.”

“You can never know, (Y/N), the Black Gods are watching,” the lady commented, running her thumb over your skin, silencing your protests with her soft caresses.

“You mean Mother Miranda is watching,” you corrected with a mocking smile, relaxing the tension in your body. “You should tell her, Donna, I'm sure…”

“Hey, you dirty villager! Let my Donna go!” the Angie doll, inevitable guardian of your secret, approached you, climbing onto the sofa and waving her limbs.

“Angie, lasciala stare,” Donna ordered, angry at her doll's mocking attitude, at her constant attacks on you, ones that you knew weren't serious. To tell the truth, you got along quite well.

“You cheesy, clingy Donna!” the puppet scolded her, causing the lady to laugh shyly as she quickly kissed you. “Disgusting Donna!”

“Hey, come on, Angie, don't be jealous,” you said with a mocking purr, kissing the lady again just to annoy that sinister puppet.

“Me, jealous!? Please…” the doll protested, just as you wanted it to do. “Let her go, let her go, she has work to do.”

“Work?” you asked curiously, letting Angie comically untie your fingers. “I thought you were done with your dolls for today,” you said, looking at Donna, who frowned, drawing the puppet back with a gesture of her hand.

“And it's true, I don't have any more work,” she murmured, a little confused. “Angie,cosa vuoi dire?”

“Are you deaf? Didn't you hear the phone?” the doll asked.

Donna and you looked at each other confused, smiling mischievously. No, there were better things to do than to keep an eye on that thing.

“Yeah, I guess you didn’t,” the doll murmured, walking across the couch and pushing Donna by the shoulders with ridiculous force. “Meeting! There's a meeting, silly Donna!”

“Meeting?” Donna asked, shaking off the doll's annoying movements. “When?”

“Exactly…” the doll said, pretending to look at a non-existent wristwatch. “Half an hour ago.”

“What?!” the lady shrieked nervously, getting up from the couch immediately, ignoring your pleading look. “Cavolo, Angie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn't you say you were busy?” the puppet mocked, causing the lady to growl in annoyance. “You're going to be late again,” she sang.

“If you told me before, I'd never be late,” the woman in black protested, searching the entire room for her black veil.

“If you weren't making out with (Y/N) all day long, I could tell you,” Angie replied, crossing her arms and tilting her head towards you.

“She's right, I think I'm taking up too much of your time,” you commented amused, getting up as well and taking the veil she was almost desperately looking for. “Here, darling.”

“Oh, grazie…” she said with a relieved smile, playing with the black fabric in her hands. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You'd probably be later because you wouldn't find anything,” you joked, kissing her wounded cheek, which she was ashamed of. “Go, honey, I'll wait for you here.”

“Okay,” she said, smoothing her dress, ready to cover her face again. “Don't worry, I won't be long.”

“Wait,” you said with a frown, grabbing Donna by the wrist. “Let, let me go with you.”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed, shaking her head. “You know that…”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted hastily, with a nervous smile on your face. “I want, I mean I can walk with you to the door.”

“Mm?” she murmured curious about your proposal, forgetting that hurry she was in a few seconds ago. You always managed that. If there was someone to blame for her continuous delays, it was you.

“That way I could walk with you through the woods, even if it was just a few minutes.”

“Tesoro… What if…?” she murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, letting your hands gently grip her waist.

“It's a very short walk, so I won't complain about you not taking me anywhere,” you joked with a childish, expectant smile. She rolled her eye and sighed, capturing your lips in a wet, short, but intense kiss.

“Mm, okay,” she finally said, walking with you towards the exit. “But just to the door.”

You nodded profusely, stealing one last kiss from her before leaving the mansion for the first time in months.

Walking with her hand in hand clouded almost all of your fears, your worries. It was a silent, peaceful, relaxing walk. The snow crunched under your feet while your hands played at caressing each other. It was perfect, a pity that the wooden door was the end of that romantic walk.

“Come back soon, okay?” you said in a soft voice, your hands swinging with hers. A beautiful smile came to your eyes again, that loving smile you only thought you saw when you looked in the mirror, that you never thought you would see on her face.

“Sure, tesoro…” she sighed, running one of her hands over your cheek. “We could watch a movie when I get back, what do you think?”

“Only if you make dinner,” you joked, laughing with her, giving her a tight goodbye hug.

“Okay,” she said, laughing, without taking her gaze off yours.

“Hey, Donna,” you said when the warmth of her body left yours. “Won't you give me a goodbye kiss?”

The lady approached again, pulling your waist in a romantic, chivalrous way.

“Just one?” she asked with a hoarse voice, whispering in your ear before fulfilling your request, kissing you deeply, not wanting to let you go.

“Ahem,” a different voice, one that was not Angie's, bounced off the trees in the forest, startling you.

“Who's there?” the lady asked, looking around scared, just like you.

A shadowy figure, with golden claws, appeared in a dark cloud. The priestess of the Black Gods, the owner and mistress of the village, Mother Miranda.

The lady in black opened her eyes wide, moving her arms to hide you behind her body. You could hear her heart beating fast, similar to yours.

“Mother Miranda,” she whispered with a broken voice. “What are…?”

“Shut up,” the witch interrupted. “Well, well, what do we have here? You, come out,” she ordered, forcing you to look out and walk next to Donna, with your head down and your hands together in a sign of respect.

“M-Mother Miranda,” you whispered, feeling completely unprotected if it weren't for Donna keeping you by her side, with a hand on your shoulder.

“How curious… I've been wondering for months why my youngest daughter was neglecting her tasks… She was late for meetings, she didn't seem to be in this world… Well, more than usual,” Miranda commented, with a mocking tone that put your nerves on edge.

“It's not what it seems,” Donna whispered, with a dangerous tone, but inevitably scared.

“No? And what is it?” the witch joked, slowly approaching you, lifting your chin with one of her golden claws, looking at you with feigned interest. “Because I think you were kissing this beauty.”

“Le, leave her alone,” Donna murmured, with a dark look, annoyed by the priestess's touch on your face. “She h-hasn't done anything wrong.”

“Oh, you defend her, that gives you away even more, dear,” Miranda said, laughing mockingly, letting you go, letting the dollmaker's arms surround your body, keeping it safe. “Look…”

“(Y/N) is… Is… My girlfriend,” Donna said, keeping you close to her, diverting your head with her hand so you wouldn't look at her, so it rested on her shoulder.

“Girlfriend? You? Don't make me laugh,” Miranda said with a more mocking, unpleasant laugh, pointing her claws at you. “What a surprise... I thought you could only love your dolls...”

“You, you're wrong,” the lady hissed, still hugging you, thus evidencing the trembling of her body, the fear she felt from the woman who gave her a second chance when she had already given up, when she wanted to die. “(Y/N) is...”

“What is she? Apart from a stupid girl...” Miranda mocked again, making your insides burn. But that wasn't enough of a reason for the words to dare to leave your lips.

“Don't insult her!” Donna shrieked, enraged, terribly nervous. “She's not stupid.”

“No? What's wrong with her? What's her problem then?” the witch asked, pulling your arm to separate you, something she achieved due to her strength. “What are you, (Y/N)?”

“Please, Mother Miranda, I don't…” you stammered, hissing in pain as her golden nails dug into your skin.

“You're stupid, Donna,” the priestess said, ignoring your words. “Have you been fooled again? How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?”

“She hasn't fooled me,” Donna protested, struggling with her Goddess's grip, trying to free you from it. “She's my girlfriend, mine.”

“Yours? Please... Look, (Y/N), she's crazy about you,” Miranda said, separating you from Donna definitively, grabbing you from behind, holding your head up. “That's what you wanted, right?”

“I don't know what are you talking about,” you said shyly, nervous, scared but determined to protect the woman you loved.

“Oh, yes you do,” the witch hissed, very close to your ear. “It's not right to take advantage of someone like Donna, don't you think?”

“Mother Miranda, please, if I could explain…” Donna said, clasping her hands together, her eye wet from her imminent tears.

“Silence, Donna,” Miranda snapped, hardening her expression. “You're a stupid lunatic, how can you let yourself be fooled by these tender eyes?”

“Fooled? No, no, you’re wrong…” you protested, suddenly falling silent when you felt a strong tug on your hair. “Ah!”

“Lasciala!” the lady shouted, approaching furiously, trying to free you again from the grip of the priestess, who simply shook her head, moving away from her attempts to grab you.

“Shhh, be still, dear, if you want me not to hurt her,” the blonde threatened, putting one of her claws on your neck, exposing it in an unpleasant way.

Donna moved away, shaking her head, pulling her hair, suffering a terrible nervous breakdown that you could not relieve.

“No, no, no, no, no…” she murmured, walking erratically, out of her mind. Not even Angie could help her, she was not present, she had fled from the fury of her Goddess. “No! No! Cazzo!”

“Donna…” you sobbed, trying to get out of that fierce grip, watching how the lady in black knelt in the snow, babbling things without sense, completely losing her mind.

“You are pathetic, Beneviento… A naive woman,” the blonde hissed, with a calmer tone. “Did you really think someone could feel something for you?”

A heartbroken cry interrupted that horrible moment. The lady moved nervously, hitting the snow with her fists, babbling, cursing, screaming without any kind of control.

“You're making her nervous!” you shrieked, trying to free yourself from those golden claws. “She's having a crisis! Don't you see it?”

“How dare you to talk to me like that?” Miranda whispered, fighting your impulses to help your beloved, to comfort her.

“Let me go! I have to help her!” you screamed, with a furious push towards the priestess who finally let you go.

“Donna, Donna, my love…” you whispered, throwing yourself to the ground next to her, tightly grabbing her wrists, preventing her from hurting herself, like other times. “Don’t, don't do that… Don't hurt yourself, my love…”

“Tu mi ami!” she screamed among sobs, moving on herself desperately. You nodded, lowering her wrists, broken. “You, you don't want to hut… Hurt… Hurt me.”

“Of course not, baby… My sweet Donna, please, please stop, stop doing that,” you begged, feeling the cold snow on your knees, with your face wet from your helpless tears. “Donna…”

Miranda watched the scene with disdain, slowly approaching where you were, without saying anything, without intervening, just watching.

“Shhh, stop, stop please, my love…” you whispered, holding her head, resting her forehead against yours, breathing as calmly as possible. “Donna… Relax…”

“You're not evil…” the lady in black whispered, fighting with her demons, with the voices in her head. Her nerves had betrayed her. They had forced the woman you loved to lose control. “You're not evil… I love you…”

“I love you too, I love you so much,” you said, shaking your head, hugging Donna tightly, letting her tears soak your dress. “Don't pay attention to her, my love… She doesn't know how much I love you…”

Your crying also got out of control when you thought about how you had gotten to that situation. Your capricious and selfish side had provoked the worst of her fears: that your relationship would be discovered, by the worst possible person.

“Gods… I, I'm so sorry… It, it was my fault,” you lamented, melting into the deranged woman in an intense hug, controlling the terrible tremors of her body, the curse she carried with her since she was born, her madness.

“You're not going to leave me… You love me…” Donna stammered, a bit calmer thanks to your well-learned breathing exercises.

“Yes, yes darling, I love you, you're the love of my life,” you repeated in a low voice, keeping her gaze with yours, relieved to see that little by little, the madness disappeared from her eye.

“Mm, it seems I was wrong about you, (Y/N),” Miranda murmured, bending down to observe the situation, how your words were the best of relaxants for the lady in black. “You seem to know Donna very well.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda,” you said without paying attention to her, wiping the tears from the brunette's face. “Her well-being is the only thing that concerns me.”

“I see,” the witch sighed. “Lift her up.”

You nodded, obeying carefully, holding Donna by the arms, standing up.

“That's it my love... You're so good, Donna,” you said in a comforting tone, holding the lady in place, checking how her body relaxed, something her breathing was unable to do. “Calmati, amore mio…”

“You're good at it,” the witch commented, brushing the brunette's hair away, who growled at her touch. “Not any stupid villager would put up with someone like her.”

“Don't talk that way about her,” you hissed, clenching your fists tightly as the bird woman smoothed your lover's dress.

“Maybe you are stupid,” Miranda said, with a sardonic smile. “Don't you know who you're talking to?”

“Mother Miranda… Don’t, don't hurt her, I beg you…” Donna murmured, in a hoarse tone, broken by tears, her gaze fixed on the snow. You, seeing that she had already woken up from that terrible attack, approached her, holding her hand tightly. “(Y/N) is the most important thing in my life.”

“Mm, I see…” the witch said, with an amused tone that unhinged you even more. “More important than your duties as a Lord?”

“More important than my own life,” the lady in black hissed, adopting a protective pose again, not wanting to let your hand go.

“How romantic…” Miranda sighed, rolling her eyes camouflaged in a horrible mask. “Look, my terrible daughter is capable of love. I would never have imagined it.”

“Basta,” Donna said.

“No, no, I'm the one who says basta, dear…” the priestess said, walking around you like what she was, a carrion bird. “How many times have you been late to meetings? How many times have you ignored masses to the Gods? Do you know how many stupid monster hunters have come to the village?”

“I don't know,” the lady said, defeated, embarrassed by her words, keeping you close to her.

“Oh, you don't know,” Miranda said, crossing her arms haughtily, giving a soft slap to Donna, a mocking one, one that didn't mean to hurt her, but to humiliate her. “Stupida…”

“I'm sorry,” Donna said, totally helpless, avoiding looking at her Goddess, her Mother.

“I'm sorry…” the blonde mocked, with an expression that feigned surprise. “Save your apologies, Donna. You have neglected your duties, your position as a Lord. Tell me, what will the villagers think if they realize that my fearsome daughter, Lady Beneviento, no longer behaves like one?”

“Please, Mother Miranda,” you interrupted, catching her attention when she grabbed Donna by her chin, squeezing her face tightly. “Leave her alone, please.”

She let your beloved go, approaching you again with a dangerous step, with a sinister laugh.

“It's all, it's all my fault, Mother Miranda. I, I have distracted her…” you confessed, trying to free Donna from a severe punishment, from the fury of the Black Gods.

“You… Of course it was you, what else could it be?” Miranda murmured, laughing mockingly again. “You are the one to blame, of course.”

“No!” Donna shrieked, shaking her head, putting herself between you and her Goddess to try to protect you from her wrath. “It's not her fault!”

“She said it was, and look… I believe her,” the blonde said, unfazed by Donna's aggressive gesture. “What do we do with you now?”

“Please don't hurt her, please, Mother Miranda,” Donna hissed, with darkness in her voice, but also a desperate plea. “Please…”

“You've got her crazy, huh?” the witch said, looking at you. “Well, okay… I feel merciful today.”

The two of you looked at each other with a smile of relief, believing that the danger had passed. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Get Alcina,” the witch whispered to a nearby crow, which made an ominous sound after flying away.

You didn't hear it, and neither did Donna. The two of you were hugging each other, whispering to each other that everything would be okay, how much you loved each other, how much you would be able to fight for your love.

“Say goodbye to her, Donna,” Miranda said, interrupting those soft and fearful kisses, those intense caresses.

“What?” the lady in black said, moving away from your hold and looking at the priestess with a frightened expression.

“You don't expect me to let that silly girl distract you anymore, do you, dear?” Miranda murmured, with a passive gesture with her golden hands.

“What?” you asked, confused, protected again by the arms of your beloved.

“You have me fed up, Donna, I'm fed up with you not being able to maintain your status as Lord because of a stupid girl,” the witch hissed. “You should thank me. I'm not going to hurt her.”

“What are you going to...?” the lady asked, backing away from something you still couldn't see, quickly putting on the black veil that rested in the snow.

“How fast,” Miranda said, amused, as a long shadow appeared next to you.

“I wasn't far from here.” A sensual voice, a huge size, an elegant step, a snow-white dress. The first Lord, the lady of the castle, Alcina Dimitrescu, appeared behind the wooden door, staring at you.

“Her,” the witch said, pointing at you. “Take her.”

“What?!” Donna protested, hugging you tighter, angrily looking for a place to escape. There wasn't one. “No, no!”

“Yes, yes, and yes, Donna,” Miranda mocked. “(Y/N) is not good for you.”

“No, please...” you begged, noticing how the lady of the castle had put her interest in you.

“Enough of your complaints. The girl will serve in the castle as punishment for your incompetence, Beneviento.”

“No!” Donna shrieked again, interrupted by a strong grip on her shoulder, which almost made her let you go.

“Did I miss something?” Alcina asked, clearing her throat to get your attention.

“This girl will be your new maid,” Miranda said, sighing, pointing at you with her finger. “I trust there will be no objections.”

“None, Mother Miranda,” Alcina murmured, reaching out to grab you.

“Don’t touch her! Don’t touch her!” Donna protested. “She’s mine!”

“Yours?” Alcina asked, looking curiously at the lady in black.

“No, not anymore…” Miranda sighed, shaking her head. “Take her away at once.”

“No, I won’t let you! You can’t take her away from me!” Donna shouted angrily, holding you tightly against her, something Miranda prevented with a strong tug on your hair.

“Do you prefer that I take her life? Because that's what I'm going to do if I hear you say one more word,” the priestess threatened, pushing you hard against the lady in white, who was still confused by the situation.

Donna shook her head, crying again, trying to reach you without success, the witch prevented her.

“You will not see her again, do you hear me? I forbid it,” Miranda hissed, holding the furious Lady Beneviento, who was unable to say anything but curses or insults in Italian.

“No, Donna!” you shouted, grabbed by the waist by the lady of the castle, reaching out your hand to hers while she did the same.

The tips of your fingers touched, as a last attempt at farewell. You growled to be able to touch her, to be able to enjoy the softness of her hands one last time.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Donna shrieked, being dragged away from you by Miranda. “No!”

“Donna!” you screamed with all your might, lowering the hand that was unable to touch hers, retreating from the grip of the lady in white, who pulled you. “Donna!”

It was over.

There would be no more kisses, no hugs, no caresses. Your whole life, that dream you were living became a nightmare. You couldn't go back to her, you couldn't love her, you couldn't even see her. All because of you.

Your absurd desires and your lack of understanding of the danger had taken you to hell, to a place far from her. You couldn't imagine something so unfair, you couldn't imagine waking up and not seeing Donna by your side.

“Do you want anything else, my lady?” you said in a sad voice, after having spent entire nights crying, longing for her kisses, her hands, serving the Dimitrescu family for a couple of horrible weeks, the worst of your life.

“Mm, no,” said Alcina, your mistress since that fateful day.

The phone rang, startling you as you were about to leave the room, ready for another day of nightmares, of memories that would never return

“Yes, stay,” the lady in white said, pointing to a place in front of her while impatiently expelling the smoke from her cigarette. “There.”

You nodded, head down. You couldn't ignore her orders. She was your new owner, owner of your presence, maybe one day of your body. But if there was something Alcina could never possess, your heart.

“Hello, dear…” Alcina murmured, picking up the phone with a tired sigh. “Stop crying, I don't understand you,” she protested, under your confused gaze. “Donna, stop, speak in my language, Gods…”

Donna, it was she who spoke on the other end of the phone. Your heart skipped a beat, your cheeks flushed, and your body began to tremble. You didn't know if you didn't want to be there, or if you wanted to leave to forget her presence, to force your mind, and your soul to forget that love you felt and that you could never experience again.

“Mm, thank you, Angie,” Alcina said, rolling her eyes. “Oh, yes, she's here…” she said in a seductive tone, guiding her gaze to you. “Mm, well, she's wearing the uniform that maids wear… Gods, Donna, no, it’s not about that I haven’t touch her,” she squealed, annoyed by something.

“My, my lady,” you stammered, looking at the floor, too blinded by your feelings, by the desire you had to hear her voice again. “Please, let me talk to her.”

“Wait a moment,” ​​Alcina said disinterestedly, covering the phone and sighing sadly. “I can't do that, dear.”

“Please,” you sobbed, reaching out your hand towards that phone, towards the only way you could communicate to her.

“Don't, yell, Donna!” the lady in white protested with a furious growl. “You know what will happen if I do.”

“Please…” you repeated again, your voice cracking from crying, from helplessness.

“Oh…” Alcina murmured, rubbing her eyes with a tired sigh. “I'll give you a minute,” she finally said, gesturing for you to come closer, but moving the device away when your impatient hands went to grab it. “On one condition.”

You nodded nervously.

“You're going to tell me what the hell is going on between you and my sister,” Alcina said, with an amused look.

“Yes, my lady,” you said with a sigh, picking up the phone, your whole body shaking. “Donna, it's me…”

“(Y/N), amore mio, tesoro…” the lady in black said, sobbing, just like you. “I'm so glad to hear your voice.”

“Me, me too,” you said with a radiant smile, enjoying the soft melody of her words. “Donna, I miss you so much…”

“The house is so empty without you… I can't stand it anymore…” she said, her voice breaking. “I can't…”

“Donna…” you murmured, with a tear falling on the wooden dresser. “It’s, it's all my fault…”

“No, don't say that… Don't say that, amore mio… Just, just tell me that… That… That… That you still love me as much as I love you…” the doll maker begged, with a voice increasingly broken by tears.

“I could never stop loving you, Donna, never,” you said with an angry voice, clenching your fist tightly, almost hurting yourself. “I love you, my love.”

“(Y/N), I think about you every day, every hour… I love you, I will always love you…”

“Donna…” you sobbed unable to say another word different than her name, the name of your love. “Donna…”

“(Y/N)…”

“Okay, that's enough,” Alcina said, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it up abruptly, ending that conversation.

“No!” you screamed, picking it up again, knowing that the love of your life was no longer on the other end. “Donna…”

“Well,” the lady of the castle sighed, crossing her arms and nodding to a place for you to stand. “Start talking, dear, I'm listening.”

“I love her.” You were able to say, wiping away your tears. She was now your mistress, you couldn't forget that.

“Mm, that seems obvious,” the vampire commented, offering you a cigarette that you refused. “If before I met you they told me that my dear sister has a girlfriend, well, I probably wouldn't have believed them.”

“With all due respect, my lady, but that's none of your business,” you hissed, without thinking about your words, forgetting again the dangers that surrounded you.

“Mm, how bold,” the lady in white joked, tilting her head mockingly. “It turns out that you're here for that reason. It’s my business. You're clumsy and you can't stop crying. That vase over there is a better maid than you.”

“That's because I don't want to be here,” you replied wittily, crossing your arms. “It's not fair.”

“Life isn't fair, my dear…” she murmured, shaking her head, ignoring your scorn.

“Then kill me,” you said angrily, helpless, unable to contain that burning in your chest, that lack of her heart beating against yours. “If I'm not fit to be a maid, finish me off. I have nothing left.”

“And take away poor Donna's toy? Mm, I don't think she'll take it well,” Alcina joked, with a sinister laugh. “You must be very important to her. She keeps calling me day after day, asking about you.”

“I only know how important she is to me and that… I, I've lost her,” you said, with a more confident tone, with tears threatening to run down your face again. “I'm not her toy, nor her girlfriend, I'm nothing.”

“You'd have to ask her, wouldn't you? She's very... Insistent,” the lady joked again, confusing you. “Look, dear, I'd like to let you leave my property and return to her, but...”

“You can't do it. I've heard that before,” you finished, lowering your head.

“I'd like to, dear,” Alcina said, with a softer tone, as if she were really being sincere. But even if your heart harbored that slight hope, you knew it wouldn't be possible. “You've angered Mother Miranda.”

“She's the one who's angry!” you shouted nervously. “We've done nothing but love each other! Is that now bad too? Doesn't Donna having the right to be loved? Just because she's a Lord mean she doesn't have the right to be loved?”

“Relax, little bird…” Alcina whispered, with a threatening voice. “Mother Miranda wants the best for her children.”

“Mother Miranda has no idea what's best for Donna, she only cares about this stupid village,” you growled, forgetting what you were doing, who was listening to your desperate complaints.

“And I suppose you do know, don't you?” she asked, with a soft smile, not bothered by her attitude.

“Donna has to be with me… I, I have to be with her…” you stammered, shaking your head.

Alcina sighed, putting out her cigarette.

“Mother Miranda is a woman who likes to have everything controlled, (Y/N),” the lady began, crossing her legs, with her eyes fixed on yours. “You and I know the problems Donna has. I'm not going to tell you anything you don't know.”

“That never mattered to me,” you said firmly.

“Mm… Love does those things, doesn't it?” she commented amused. “Now think: if Donna stopped paying attention to her duties because she is drawn to you like a fly to the light… How do you think that would mean to someone like Miranda?”

“Donna doesn't get distracted, it's my fault,” you confessed, remembering the many occasions in which your affection, your hugs, made a dent in the duties of the Lord.

“Of course it’s yours… I don't blame her for going towards the light of your smile,” Alcina murmured, with a seductive tone, one that caused an embarrassed smile to stand out on your face. “Well, I don't like to agree with one of my maids but… Look, I wouldn't have to tell you this but… Donna is not well.”

“I already know that,” you hissed, imagining what the hell your absence had caused must be like, the times she would have screamed, that she would have lost control. “Me neither.”

“Mm, you have no idea, dear…” Alcina whispered, with a darker tone. “Donna has not attended the meetings for two weeks, coincidence? I doubt it… Gods, I know she is alive because she doesn’t stop harassing me with her stupid calls.”

“Is Miranda's fault, she is to blame for everything,” you said, hurt by the truth of those words, by the descent that the brunette made towards the darkness again.

“You won’t hear me say something like that,” Alcina laughed, shaking her head. “You said it.”

“Then… Then do something, let me go with her,” you begged again, joining your hands.

“You are a very stubborn girl, of course you are made for each other,” the lady sighed, rolling her eyes. “I can't do anything… But you can.”

“Me? What? I'll do anything,” you said excitedly, knowing that the light inside you was shining brighter and brighter.

“Mother Miranda has a habit of having tea with me every month…” Lady Dimitrescu explained. “What a coincidence, that day is today.”

Your smile faded when you realized the situation. It didn't matter what you said, she would never give in.

“I won't be able to do anything to convince her,” you whispered furiously. “She'll never let someone like me get away with it.”

“You can't know if you don't try, dear…”

The rest of the day passed as always, sad, grey, empty. In the hallways you heard Alcina's daughters screaming, laughing out loud. You remembered Angie, you remembered those afternoons when her sinister laughter was always there to bother you. Miranda's visit would be soon…

“Enough,” the witch said while you served her tea with trembling hands. You were sure that someone like you would not have that privilege, was it Alcina's doing?

“Go away, dear,” murmured your lady, to which you nodded with your head down, standing to one side of the door.

“Did Donna call this morning?” Miranda asked with disinterest.

Your body stirred at hearing her name, but you didn’t give yourself away, you remained rooted to the spot.

“Like every day, Mother,” Alcina said, with a tired tone. “She's getting worse.”

“Mm, I suppose that... Damn stupid girl...” the witch muttered, with a look of contempt towards you. “She'll never learn.”

Alcina sighed, but nodded, agreeing with the priestess. Both Alcina and you knew she wasn’t right.

“Don't be hard on her, you know she's not right in the head,” the lady in white said. Your hands were shaking more and more.

“Mm, believe me, I know, but this is too much. She hasn't picked up the phone for days, ignoring her chores,” the witch said, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “I suppose it's the whims of a stupid child... By the way, how is your new acquisition doing?”

“She's a pain in the ass, Mother Miranda,” your lady answered, looking at you in the same way as the priestess, studying you with her eyes. “She's clumsy, she doesn't know how to do anything and besides, my maids can't sleep because of her.”

“How is that?” Miranda asked, horribly amused.

“She don't stop crying,” Alcina said, bringing her teacup to her lips, looking at you intensely.

“I can't believe it... Come here,” the priestess said, pointing at you unpleasantly. Your body burned with fury, but you obeyed reluctantly, walking slowly, denying her the look she asked for.

“Mother Miranda,” you whispered elegantly, but revealing a certain mockery.

“I still don't understand what Donna could see in you,” she commented with a serious look, looking you up and down in a contemptuous way. “You are a simple villager.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda, I’m a stupid villager,” you repeated through clenched teeth, making the witch raise her eyebrows, with a sinister smile.

“I see that you have been taught manners,” she commented amused, settling down on the sofa. “I want you to answer my questions, (Y/N).”

You nodded slowly, looking for Alcina's help with your gaze, which came in the form of a slight nod.

“What exactly did you do to Donna to make her completely lose her mind?” she asked in a passive tone, one that did not reflect any emotion. “Answer me.”

“I don't know, Mother Miranda,” you answered sincerely, remembering that smile, the one you didn't want to forget.

“Are you comfortable here?” she asked again, nodding slightly after your stammering answer.

“Y-Yes, Mother Miranda,” you lied, earning a dark look.

“Oh, so you don't feel like going back to your dear Donna, do you?” Miranda joked, looking away to pick up her cup of tea.

“I dying to do it, Mother Miranda,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Mm,” she murmured, taking a sip from her cup, tasting the tea you made and which unfortunately wasn't poisoned. “Love makes people stupid… I thought that taking my little daughter away from you would be a good punishment for having been ignoring her chores but… I see that I've only made it worse.”

“Mother Miranda, please, I beg you…” you interrupted closing your eyes, kneeling down pathetically. “Allow me to return to her side.”

“Here we go again…” Miranda murmured, shaking her head. “If I let you go… How do I know that Donna will fulfill her chores?”

“Mother Miranda, I must intervene,” Alcina interrupted, gesturing for you to stand up. “That girl may seem stupid, but she is not, believe me, I know her. I think there may be a solution that pleases us all.”

“I hear you,” the priestess said, looking away from you.

“The girl will be in charge of ensuring that Donna fulfills her obligations. It is a good idea, don't you think? If that is the only thing she responds to… Well, she will surely listen to her, if she loves her as much as she says…”

“Mm, interesting…” Miranda sighed, looking at you with interest. “There is only one way to check it. Well, (Y/N), you heard me. Go with Donna but… If she misses one more mass, one single meeting, well… I won’t be so pious anymore.”

Your face could only sketch a smile, your legs were already moving to leave through the door, but not before nodding to the lady in white, you knew that without her, nothing would have been possible.

“Thank you, Mother Miranda,” you said happily, leaving definitively through the door.

You ran out of the castle, forgetting about the cold, the snow, any stupid obstacle that interrupted your way back, back home.

“Donna?”  you said as soon as you entered the estate again.

The landscape was desolate. Battered furniture, broken plates, shattered dolls... The darkness of that place was soaked with suffering, with pain. Donna had destroyed everything, she had directed her anger towards anything that was on her way.

“Donna...” you sighed, horrified by what you saw, by being able to feel her madness through the broken glass, the dismembered dolls.

You walked stepping on the result of her fury, looking for some remains of the brunette anywhere. A dark shape in the corner indicated her position. Sitting on the floor, her head buried in her knees, was Donna.

“D-Donna,” you called again, walking quickly towards her. She didn't seem to see you. She didn't seem to hear you, to know you were there. It was a terrible sight for your fragile heart.

“Silly!” Angie shrieked, appearing behind you while you tried to move her frozen arms, to lift her head so she could see you. “You're back!”

“Of course I'm back, I couldn't…” you murmured, unable to make the Lord react, who stammered a constant mantra.

“Don't leave me, don't forget me…” she whispered with a hoarse voice, torn by her tears.

“Angie, help me,” you ordered the doll, trying to lift the lady in black off the floor, who struggled with you, pushing you away as if you were one of her demons.

“Donna, Donna! The fool is back!” Angie shrieked, tugging at her dress when you finally managed to get her to her feet.

“Donna, my love… It's me… I'm here,” you said in a soft voice, stopping her head from moving erratically.

“No…” she growled, pushing you unpleasantly. “You're not here… You're not here!”

“Honey, my love… I'm, I'm here, Mi, Miranda has released me, please, darling, react, I beg you,” you said nervously, managing to grab her hands, holding them tightly in yours.

“(Y/N),” she sighed, once her skin made contact with yours, slowly raising her gaze, her eye reddened by suffering. “(Y/N)!”

Her reaction was overwhelming. She threw herself into your arms, holding you tightly against her, kissing you desperately, almost without letting you breathe.

“Amore mio… You're back…” she whispered crying, with a romantic smile, not leaving an inch of your face unkissed. “But… But how?”

“It's known that you can't live without me,” you joked, elated, happy to have returned to the arms of your beloved. “She has allowed me to come back.”

“Oh, I… Gods… I… I'm, I'm sorry,” Donna said, nervous, caressing you, assuring herself that you weren't a hallucination.

“No, don't apologize”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed again, hugging you, pulling your dress with her hands, clinging to you to never let you go. “I will never, ever let anyone else take you away from me… I, I promise you… I love you, I love you, I love you…”

[agentrouka-blog]

omfg you have every right to be angry over that anon. What a condescending, arrogant ask. There's an extra level of insult, because people aren't just trying to dispute your opinion, they're trying to waste your time, energy, and thinking too. It's not an honest and equal debate, it's just pure entitlement.

Something for your perusal: I've been reading the ASOIAF books again and was curious when I came upon Catelyn's passage up the Eyrie in AGOTA, where she laments that Mya Stone won't be able to marry the boy she's in love with because she's a bastard. Then Catelyn muses that Mya reminds her of Sansa. I thought this was interesting because of how the information is introduced, and then the Mya-Sansa parallels. Sansa becomes a bastard when Jon is a secret prince sort of business. I haven't seen anybody mention this and thought it was curious.

Thank you! <3

And there's actually a lot of stuff in that Mya Stone moment.

For one, it happens at a time when we already know that Sansa's own dreams are as hopeless as Mya's, no matter that Sansa is trueborn, because Cat and Ned both agreed to marry her to House Lannister and at the Trident Joffrey took off his mask and nothing is being done about it regarding Sansa.

Then we have the parallel to Littlefinger, whose crush (trueborn but low status) was always as hopeless as Mya's.

Then we have the fact that Cat foregoes an obvious comparison (tomboyish Arya) by focusing on not one but two other people in regard to Mya. First the unpleasant association with Jon Snow, followed by a softening when she recognizes the resemblance to Sansa.

"Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady," the girl said. It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply. [...] "Mychel's my love," Mya explained. "Mychel Redfort. He's squire to Ser Lyn Corbray. We're to wed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after." She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side of the sheet. (AGOT, Catelyn VI)

Mya makes her feel guilty and angry when thinking of Jon Snow, but bittersweet when contemplating her similarity to Sansa and the impossibility of her dreams. It's easier to handle Mya's status when connecting her to Sansa, someone Cat knows how to love, rather than Jon, whose existence strips all romance from the veneer of the brutal society and the reality of patriarchy for Catelyn herself. She doesn't hate bastards, she even has sympathy for them. She only hates what Jon represents for herself.

Sansa ends up modeling her own bastard figure after Jon Snow (fourteen and bastard brave), and from what we have seen of Jon's own struggles with bastardy, his own unfullfilled dreams, it becomes easy to directly compare Sansa and Jon as similar souls, with similar hopes and disappointments, with their shared longing for something unattainable by the rules of their society.

Within the one mirroring scene coming down the mountain in AFFC, Sansa contemplates Mya Stone's lost virtue (after Cat's predictions have come to pass) and potential future husband of fitting status who would love her anyway, and she will also be reminded of Jon Snow. "I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be."

The chapter ends with a proposed miracle transformation. Littlefinger paints the picture of a reveal of true identity: The bastard sheds their mask and is recognized for their true self. Something that can only happen to a false bastard. Like Sansa.

Who is so similar to Jon. With his impossible dreams.

[garr9988]

Y'know what I'd have loved to see in OUaT?

If Mother Superior/Blue amended her spell on August/Pinocchio when he was reverting to a puppet as an adult. Or if the spell amended itself without her (unnecessary) input. It's unrealistic to expect anyone, especially someone starting as a child, to adhere to such incredible and impossible standards of pure selflessness, honesty, and braveness. It's foolish and unattainable.

You know what is being human? Being selfish. Lying. Being cowardly. Selflessness, honesty, and courage are virtues, yes, but not one single person can be those things at all times. Having flaws makes you more human!

Not even Blue could maintain those standards! She's lied (she was coerced into doing so, but still)! She gave up on Regina and punished Tinkerbell for trying to give help to the one person who needed it the most! Nor could his own father (the one who made Blue lie in front of Pinocchio, and who had, until after the First Curse, never forgave Jiminy/Archie for accidentally killing his parents) So how can she expect a child to do better than her, an immortal paragon of goodness, for his whole life?

[tutuandscoot]

It really is a bewildering thing to watch VM and, for arguments sake, their PYC SD and all the comments about how much Tessa just makes women feel Iike women and how inspiring she is and powerful and sexy and confident and is just like…. The woman we all want to be, but really, her whole career she was scared people would ‘find out she’s faking it’. That she’s not a ‘real athlete’. That to her, Scott was like this pinnacle of athletic brilliance and she was just ‘along for the ride’ trying not to screw it up for him..

Like OMG!!!!

That’s just insane. Like talk about #mood- women not feeling good enough

Ok it’s IWD so let’s take a minute to appreciate the brilliance that is TESSA FREAKING VIRTUE:

The girl is a real life superwoman. Like she’s the sweetest, most adorable kind hearted person but you know on the ice she could fucking end you with a look. How insanely committed to her goals she is. The amount of shit we know she dealt with and after all that, along with her best friend who happens to be a man and supports and loves her to no end, achieve essentially the impossible!!! She has all the accolades her sport can offer along with all these other incredible achievements and honours but ignoring all that coz really it pales in comparison to the person she is. The talent she is, the SPECTACULAR skater and dancer and performer she is- literally this level of arguably unattainable brilliance within her sport, and that whole time she never really thought she was good enough.. she was just trying not to screw it up for her partner..

WOW.

I Stan one (1) humble queen 👸

[goldenornstein]

There’s this historical anecdote on how St. Sebastian’s martyrdom was often depicted in ways that were less than dolorous — and rather attractive. It was an excuse to get away with painting beautiful men posing lavishly; a display of forbidden homo-erotism, whereas such 'proclivities' were deemed criminal in any other context.

The Dragon Slayer’s image was that of an impossibly heroic and holy icon.

Yet Ornstein was beautiful in his untouchable and unattainable perfection, radiating what people believed could only be the unparalleled splendour of holiness. There was something soft about such a beauty, though. It was an unexpected quality, and one most people failed to perceive under his golden armour. A touch of fragile elegance, in contrast to the harshness of a warrior.

The artists of Anor Londo noticed every detail, as such was their gift. They were particularly fond of creating sublime masterpieces featuring him. His long hair; cascading in loose waves akin to the finest blood-coloured silk. His golden eyes; large and somewhat feline looking, like those of a lion. His plump lips; soft and lovely to the point of inspiring passionate admiration, however unwilling he was to gift anyone with a sweet smile --- let alone a sinful kiss.

The most glorious of warriors’ body would also receive a worthy treatment. Special care was put in depicting every hard muscle’s strength, every firm line and graceful curve. Armour proved to be optional in these cases, often omitted in a necessary artistic license. Hence, the Lord’s favoured Knight appeared slaying the dreadful Everlasting Dragons --- in a magnificent display of righteous might --- whilst wearing some strategically placed scrap of fabric. 

Or nothing at all.

Ornstein found this artistic fixation with his person to be rather curious. Nonetheless, he accepted it and even publicly praised the more stunning pieces. His fondness and admiration for the fine arts surpassed any concerns, and the petty rumours about some sort of lewd intent.

After all, Anor Londo was a realm of divine pleasures and exquisite opulence. A place where beauty was revered as a higher virtue and proof of holiness.

[bigskydreaming]

I honestly think Infinite Crisis was supposes to make Dick a Christ figure. His morality literally saves the world. Your thoughts?

Eh, to be honest, I wouldn’t have been a fan of that (and I hiiiiighly doubt that’s where Didio was going with that because he likes people being LESS focused on Dick’s impact, not more).

I’ve expanded on this a LOT in the past, too often to really want to go into it all that much again, but hopefully this will bring up a lot of those older posts as “more like this” options.....

But I really really REALLY dislike the emphasis canon and fanon tends to put on Dick at times as being so much more moral and pure and just GOOD than other characters, especially when its framed as something that’s innate to him, like its fundamentally just who he is.....

Because to me, that devalues it and him so much.

Doing the right thing, being good, its a choice one makes with every single choice they make. And our tendency in society to try and sort people into “good people” and “bad people” just glosses over that and ends up excusing so many of the bad CHOICES people make as they just go “oh I guess I’m just an asshole” and like....hiding behind that as though they never really had a choice in the matter, doing the right thing instead of the wrong thing was never really an option, because they are who they are and who they are is just an asshole, y’know?

And at the same time, it actually takes away from the triumph that is Dick Grayson consciously, willfully making the choice to do good with so many of his actions when there’s so much temptation and justification for him caving to making a less moral choice most of the time. I think this is a huge contributor to people hyping up the one good deed various villains or antiheroes make at times in the comics, while paying no real attention to the ten heroic things Dick does for every one of those....because there’s nothing really impressive about making the right choice, the hard choice, when its because you’re just innately a good person, a ‘better’ person than everyone around you. There’s nothing to celebrate or honor about someone making the decision to be helpful and healing and positive with their actions and contributions to stories if there was never any doubt that they would go that route, and they never really had the option to make a bad choice there and then instead.

Which then culminates in so much of the nit-picking we see in fandom (and with characters in canon) as people attack and condemn every single little thing Dick does wrong even at the exact same time they gloss over other characters in the same stories going around committing murder, betraying and backstabbing other friends or family, and a hundred other things. Because Dick is SUPPOSED to just be ‘better’ than everyone else, and innately just a good person while everyone around him has to STRUGGLE with their morality, any time Dick does anything that’s less than 100% noble or that prioritizes himself in a selfish way or even just is him expressing bitterness or resentment at his own mistreatment.....this is framed and contextualized as a FAILING of his. He’s failing to live up to the standard of “the best, most moral person in the DC universe, the multiversal constant” instead of accepting that he’s just a man like any other character, and every choice he makes is the end result of his own internal struggle against right or wrong. The fact that he so often makes the right choice or the more positive or helpful choice, even at his own expense a lot of the time....THAT is what makes him Dick Grayson....and that IS to his credit.....but the problem is, he never gets that credit when he’s just cited as being so good and pure and noble, because people are like “well duh, what else was he going to do? The wrong thing? The selfish thing? LOL, that would be OOC.”

And so he’s put up on a pedestal he has no reason to be on any more than anyone else does, and condemned every time he fails to live up to the impossible expectations that come with being placed up there......which means, he either never slips up and does anything that would go against the idea he belongs on that pedestal....in which case he’s rendered two-dimensional and cast as ‘impossible to relate to’ given that nobody is just so innately good that they make the right choice all the time, no matter what......

Or else he does slip up and does things that go against the idea he’s supposed to be on that pedestal and STAY on that pedestal....in which case people call him OOC or write essays about how what he did was so fucked up when what he did was like....have one fight with someone where he said mean things to the person saying mean things back, and somehow this ends up magnified to being on an equivalent level to actual murder, torture, cheating, betrayal and other things that are associated with other characters as their ‘flaws’....

Because this is what people point to as his flaws, and thus when talking about characters and flaws in general.....these things end up on the same level as those other things and thus get blown entirely out of proportion, when those same choices or flaws on display with any other character would barely warrant a second glance with fans.

So I just really really really dislike any association with Dick and Christ-like imagery or symbolism or implications, and extend that to pretty much any and all talk of him being so much ‘better’ as a person than even other DC heroes, or just innately good or kind-hearted or virtuous....

Because Dick Grayson is all of those things, I think, yes....but he’s all of those things by CHOICE, because he makes the choice to do things and act in ways that lead to him having that reputation, even when he has every reason in the world to lower himself into the muck and roll around in it like every other character gets free rein to do when they’re recovering from trauma or facing someone who’s hurt them or taken a lot from them.

And that’s not easy, but the difference between him and so many other characters isn’t that its any easier for him to make those choices.....its that he does it any way, despite the difficulty.

And that’s why I always spend so much time focusing on the fact that Dick killed the Joker, and that he was originally intending to kill Zucco before he decided he had more to lose and nothing to gain from it. And why I talk so much about the fact that killing didn’t break him, and likely wouldn’t break him if he felt he had to do so in the future in defense of his own life or to save someone else, or even to avenge another family member like with the Joker and Jason, or if he did so under someone else’s control or while brainwashed by the Court of Owls, etc....like, he’s not ‘too good’ to kill someone without it destroying who and what he is, the way that’s often framed with him.

And its why I’m so defensive about Dick’s infamous temper, and never because I think its OOC for Dick to be angry, but because I think the problem is he’s never ALLOWED to be angry, never considered justified, with his anger portrayed as something readers and other characters understand and support him expressing, and instead is pretty much only ever just labeled a character flaw, with it coming up in the context of him being TOO angry, TOO hot-tempered, TOO hair-trigger. Unreasonable, irrational anger, the kind that makes him hard to deal with instead of someone you root for when they get angry because they SHOULD be mad, the situation calls for it.

Because Dick has the same spectrum of emotions as any other character, and to deny him the same access to all of those emotions, not just the good or happy or positive ones, is to cut him off from a full half of his potential portrayals or depictions.....which y’know, pretty inevitably leads to a less realistic, less fully rendered or three dimensional character....which is what people often cite as why they don’t like him as much as other Batfamily characters, why he’s harder to relate to. Well no duh, when you restrict him from displaying or acting on half the emotions that make up the human experience! He’s going to seem less human, more ‘pure/noble/above it all’ - and nobody’s going to find someone’s struggles as compelling when the likely outcome of those struggles is expected to be Dick making a choice that’s so good, so honorable, so PURE, the mindset required to make that choice would be virtually unattainable for any of us - thus there’s no incentive, or even the possibility, of placing ourselves in his shoes, trying to view a situation through his eyes.

And Dick has the same option to make the negative choices, the harmful choices, the toxic or vindictive or vengeful or selfish or self-centered or callous choices that are available to every other character and every reader when following his stories and picturing themselves in that situation.....but when Dick never ever makes any of THOSE choices, and indeed, is never given even the option by the narrator, of making those choices - and has no chance at the forgiveness or understanding of readers, SHOULD he make those choices.....then again, of course you’re going to wind up with a character people find harder to relate to, and see little reason in putting in the extra effort to do so. 

Because who wants to follow the stories of a character who makes them feel bad or dirty or ‘lesser’ than him by virtue of the fact that he never acts on a situation in any of the more negative ways people feel they might act if they WERE in his shoes....who wants to actually project themselves into those shoes if the end result is just going to be them feeling UNHEROIC simply BECAUSE they tried to relate to the hero and came away with the impression that this was a wasted effort, because they could never be as pure and good-hearted as that, they’d be too tempted to make the more selfish choice at times, the more vengeful choice, the more HUMAN choice....

And all of the above stems from just one simple thing, one sole mindset....

The idea that there are some people who are just innately good, and who don’t have to struggle to MAKE the good choice, the noble choice, the heroic choice....because they’re just so pure, so down-to-the-bone honorable by virtue just of who and what they are......and thus, if we’re not that way ourselves, if another character isn’t similarly regarded....there’s not even any point in trying to relate to that first character or be more like them....because its impossible.

You’re either that good by nature, or you’re not. You’re either Dick Grayson, or you’re no Dick Grayson and by extension there’s no point in even TRYING to be. No point in aspiring to be more like the example he sets in-universe or out, no point in trying to view him as an ideal to strive for instead of a benchmark for how far from a good person you are by nature and should just make your peace with being less ‘good/pure/noble’ than.

And so I’m always going to be knee-jerk UMM NO and also BUT HOW ABOUT NOT any time any discussion of Dick’s pure-of-heart status, too-good-too-noble-to-kill-and-not-be-just-shattered-by-it status, or any allusions to Christ-like symbolism or messianic narratives come up. I’m just always gonna be like, NOPE, no and also thank you but I like my Dick Grayson the same as any other hero, anti-hero, villain or just casual lookie-loo watching the superhero brawl happening downtown on their lunch break.....just a person, no innately better or worse than anyone else, with the same temptation to do wrong, be selfish, inflict retribution as the next person, and occasionally falling prey to his worse inclinations or instincts or behavior....

Because THAT’S what makes all the times he DOES rise above that behavior and set a standard in-universe for what a hero should be like, COULD be like, an example that actually CAN be followed, and met by others striving to make similar choices to him because they’re inspired by the fact that he makes those choices rather than resentful because they can’t imagine ever even being capable of making those choices....

THAT’S what makes all of that actually mean something, IMO.

Not his status as the DC universe’s multiversal constant and just all around best, most virtuous or good-hearted guy, an unreal gift that no mere mortal could ever actually hope to match or live up to.

[albertfinch]

                     UNLOCKING THE POWER OF GRACE

Ephesians 2:8 - "For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God."

Paul says that grace saves us "through faith." Faith unlocks the power of grace and releases it to function in our world--and faith itself is another gift of God. The difference between both gifts are, the grace-gift must be activated by the faith-gift.

WE MUST:

1. Believe that God is "rich in mercy". 2. We must accept as true that God loves us with "great love." 3. We must not doubt that He atoned for "our transgressions." 4. We must be confident we are "alive together with Christ."

John 1:16 - "For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace."

The same grace that turns our hearts toward Christ continues to work in us, transforming even our sufferings and trials into virtue and power.

We've been taught that grace is God's unmerited favor, which of course, it is. Yet unmerited favor is only one aspect of grace. In reality, grace is God's promise to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.

Romans 4:3 - "Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness." When Abraham "believed God" it meant that he believed what God had promised would come to pass. God promised to do for Abraham what Abraham and Sarah could not fulfill on their own. This is the glory of God's grace: it accomplishes what is otherwise impossible for us.

OBSERVATION:

Grace not only chooses me, saves me eternally and blankets my life with mercy, but grace also works in me realities unattainable without divine help.

Zechariah 4:7 -- "What are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become a plain; and he will bring forth the top stone with shouts of 'Grace, grace to it!'"

Zerubbabel had mountains in his life that were too much for him. He had a task that was beyond his abilities. Yet God promised His Spirit would help, and when it was done, multitudes would be shouting "Grace, grace" at the finished work.

AFFIRMATIONS:

I don't postpone my breakthrough -- I believe that God's grace is here to release me!

I don't run from the mountains in my life -- I face them with faith -- and shout "Grace, grace" to them and let God make my mountains into "a plain."

I speak to the mountain of discouragement, sickness or financial need -- GRACE, GRACE!

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY http://afministry.ning.com/

[nibelheimraised]

@onepartbrave is giving feels AGAIN:

[Voicemail received:] 

Hey, good morning Chocobo. I know you’re not gonna be up yet but I’m missing you already. How pitiful is that? Not even an hour gone and all I want to do is return home to bed with you. *pause* I… they asked me to lead a mission but the time spent away would be undisclosed. That implies a month or more, and I… I can’t do it. I told them no, like fuck am I leaving for that long ‘cause I’d have no outside contact. *longer pause* …It’s weird, you know, I’ve never wanted to be around someone so much. I guess I never knew what real love was until you, hm? I have to go now, I’ll see you real soon, okay? 

[End of message – would you like to delete?]

It’s half past 10 when the rays of sunlight finally irk a reaction from him, Cloud giving an unintelligible grumble as he stirs awake and shudders at Griever’s chain touching him, yet to be used to it. Instinct takes over, scooting along the bed to blindly feel for either Squall or Rinoa under the covers. All he’s met with is the edge of the bed, the fact making drowsy eyes finally fall open in clear annoyance and confusion. 

With a groan, he pushes the covers off him, scanning the too-bright room only to find it empty of either body. Sleep-addled mind scrambles to find an answer for this dilemma, presented to him minutes later. Right, Squall had a meeting early today and Rinoa hadn’t been able to stay over because... a reason he couldn’t remember at the moment. Blame her for telling him when he’d been at the verge of falling asleep. No, he’d blame them both for not being here in his time of need.

Grabbing his phone, he squints at the screen to check the time only to be surprised by a missed call and voicemail from Squall. Oh? Had he forgotten something at home? Clicking for the message to play, he plops the phone back down on the side table before hiding his face against Squall’s pillow when the light proves to be too much. The other’s voice fills the room, earning a lazy smile from him as he grunts in turn. It’s a sweet way to wake up, the other’s admittance of craving home getting a hum in agreement. “Then come home,” he mumbles groggily, his voice lost against the pillow. He wouldn’t mind it right about now, the warmth in the bed from another having gone cold hours ago.

As Squall continues, the ease from his warm greeting wanes as Cloud notices a change in tone, the man sounding too serious for his liking. His hunch proves right as the other begins to give details about a new mission, Cloud's expression dropping to a disappointed frown as he lifts his head to stare at the phone in silent disbelief. A month. Maybe more... Squall wouldn't be around the house. Sure, there'd been times they'd been apart for long periods of time, even a day once. But not a month. Not when they'd grown too used to their time together, to the hugs, kisses, and gentle affections that would grant him peace of mind. Worry and dread gnaws at his gut, the news a rude awakening as he sits up in bed only for Squall's voice to interrupt the rising distress.

He'd said no to the job. A slow exhale in relief escapes him, not having realized he'd been holding in his breath. Asshole, why give him the small heart attack, especially telling him he wouldn't have been able to contact him in anyway. "Don't scare me like that," he mumbles, though there's no heat in his tone as his features relax and he rests his back against the headboard. The pause allows him a moment to breathe, tilting his head back against the wood and biting his bottom lip to try and stave off the smile that the other wouldn’t slip away for so long.

Squall continues after a beat and he hums in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue, only to blink and feel a flutter in his chest at the confession. Oh. It’s unexpected, Cloud only used to hearing such things during intimate moments, not over the phone like this. He straightens against the headboard, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his arms over them. It’s no use trying to act casual though, a subtle blush spreading on his cheeks as he finally relents and allows a small smile on his lips. Damn it. Why did he have to say it over the phone when he wouldn’t be back for a few more hours? Had he done it to torment him? He sighs, shaking his head even as the smile lingers, “...Come back soon, okay?...” Squall doesn’t answer him, instead the mechanical machine asking for a command. He gives it in the form of saving the voicemail and sending a simple text message.

[ Text: Squall 🦁 ]  when are you coming home?

Thinking about it now though, he needs to get up too, get some things before the other’s inevitable return. If he wasn’t able to, only Squall would be to blame with saying something like that to him. He knows what things like these do to him.

...Real love. He’d always heard about it in old movies, rolled his eyes at how fluffy and cutesy it sounded (even if it partly appealed to him). The main character would go on and on about how their true love was comparable to some celestial being in their perfection and chastity. Maybe that’s why it had seemed unattainable to him, thinking he’d need to find someone with virtues beyond his own. Someone who’d be interested in someone as broken as he was with the patience to put up with all the luggage. It’d be impossible, simple as that.

It’s how Squall was able to slip in so easily though. The man came into his life with his own history and skeletons in the closet, piercing eyes, body language, and even cold tone making it pointedly clear. They’d been able to get along of course and go from there. One minute they’re exchanging sarcastic quips, the next Cloud’s counting the seconds until the other returns. Everything in between had just... felt right. Maybe that’s what real love actually is, when it’s effortless to be drawn to the person, when their mere presence brings comfort and offers shelter from the madness of the world.

Maybe.

Or maybe he’d gotten lucky and found the one hopeless romantic who could put up with him. A quiet scoff escapes him at the thought, already imagining the roll of Squall’s eyes if he were to suggest it even in jest to him. That man... His hand finds its way to the pendant resting under his loose shirt, fingers tracing the edges in thought. His eyes drift to the dresser nearby, landing on the drawer where the ring box is safely tucked away. Hopefully the other would be back before dinner... 

[thousandbirds]

¥

put ¥ in my ask and my muse will rate your muse on:

looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10  ( kakashi really appreciates his commitment to his work, training everyday really does give great results. plus the fact that he is taller--- something hard to come by, since kakashi is not what one could consider small by any means--- and renji being so much larger than him.......... he likes that ).personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10  ( between 6 and 7 because honestly crushing on his Boss seems like a huge mistake but at the same time, renji does seem the kind of person you can feel something for without any guilt because he is so unattainable, so out-of-reach...... a fascination that kakashi doesn’t have to try and suppress simply by virtue of being impossible to see returned ).would they date them: yes | nofavorite thing about them: how hard he works and how dedicated he is to his job. how he strives to reach perfection in everything he does. how he demands his best out of himself and in others.least favorite thing about them: on the other side of the same coin, the commitment and effort he spends......... it can be somewhat uncomfortable to witness. single-mindedness, when run unchecked, can become obsession. at this point kakashi can’t say whether renji steps across that line or not. but it does seem unhealthy.

[morethanaprincess-a]

📰my muse has trouble reaching out for a book.

In a Library RP Starters

“And here, you’ll find the Miyamoto wing. Donated in 1975 by Tokyo’s prestigious Miyamoto family, this houses our exclusive collection of Japanese history from the 16th Century to the present...”

Sonia, though she smiled and nodded as the head curator of the Tokyo Metropolitan Library led the group of foreign dignitaries throughout the building’s many floors, was bored. With little time to stop and explore the various rows of books, the tour had become something of a forced march focused on praising the virtues of the building’s many donors. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more: the increasing effort made by the library to encourage donations or the blister that was beginning to form on her left foot, punishment for breaking in a new pair of heels.

But when a Swedish Duke insisted on a break, fatigue having caught up with the elderly gentleman, Sonia took the opportunity to slip away from the party. It was impossible to disappear entirely within the various stacks, her blonde hair and powder blue skirt suit a stark contrast in the sea of school uniforms and business casual. No matter how often it happened, it was something Sonia had yet to become used to. In Novoselic, outfitted with a crown and an entourage, she felt more at ease: the citizens assembling for a glimpse of a member of the Royal Family. But here, it was her looks, not her title, that garnered stares, points, and whispers while she perused the various book displays. Perfectly acceptable behavior in Japan, but jarring to her more modest sensibilities.

The weight of the stares, over a dozen in number, were too heavy for Sonia to bear. Darting into what seemed to be an empty aisle, she finally paused when she felt she was finally alone.

But she wasn’t. The sound of struggle and strain interrupted her solitude and sigh of relief. Straightening her posture, she quietly approached the person in duress, a man of a short, yet familiar stature, reaching as high as he could for a book on an unattainable shelf.

“Hamasaki-san, is that you?” Sonia asked brightly with the first genuine smile she’d had all day, “I am quite surprised and pleased to find you here! Do you require assistance?”

[clarityinobscurity]

Journal Entry # 8: Good Loving and Loving the Good

“Anyone Can Whistle” by Stephen Sondheim

Anyone can whistle, that's what they say, Easy

Anyone can whistle any old day, easy

It's all so simple,

Relax, let go, let fly,

So someone tell me why can't I?

I can dance a tango,

I can read Greek, easy,

I can slay a dragon

Any old week, easy.

What's hard is simple,

What's natural comes hard.

Maybe you could show me, how to let go,

Lower my guard, learn to be free.

Maybe if you whistle, whistle for me.

What is it about fortitude that makes most things unattainable? It seems anything that relates to the will eludes me. Well, maybe anything that relates to anything that strengthens or fortifies the will is what I find difficult. For most of my life, I find understanding the good, acknowledging it, appreciating it, a pleasurable journey. Actualizing it, on the other hand, has always proven to be difficult for me.

The cardinal virtues are far from easy to attain. Prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance in respect to our will, intellect, and desires, are in reality, often in disharmony with each other. But the constant struggle to reclaim oneself is what makes the virtues not just exciting but ultimately essential. Imagine going through life giving up on getting to know yourself!

I would describe my tastes in life as high and I enjoy many pleasures in life but the journey of virtue is a tempestuous one. Sondheim puts it eloquently, “What’s hard is simple, what’s natural comes hard.” In this song, he speaks of love, but isn’t virtue simply a love affair between one and oneself’s and another’s true worth?

I realize also how the virtues precisely exist not in a destination but a journey. Fortitude, a determined pursuit of what is good, cannot exist without an acceptance of one’s own limitations. I once heard from a friend that “humility is truth”. Therefore, it can be safely said that fortitude is not a blind pursuit of something but a determined disposition to, despite one’s weaknesses, attempt and attempt again to pursue what is good.

Personally, I find the greatest challenge to fortitude is the inability to see failure as an integral part of the journey. I have a very fearful relationship with my faults and recovering is something I find very difficult. Resilience and a dogged resolve to keep going is sometimes close to impossible. But maybe, like Bruce showed in Dark Knight Rises, it just takes a matter of holding to one rock at a time. To acquire the virtues, we first need to cling to life and hold a little bit tighter each day and along the way, the good will show itself. At the end of the day, the good’s already there.

[phatjosh180]

Even More Quotes for Runners

Did you need more quotes in your life? No? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re getting a bunch. I collect quotes like how single women my age collect cats. I can’t get enough of them.

There’s something about a good thought provoking quote that can change not just your perspective, but shift it as well. It’s one thing to be inspired by a quote, but it’s a total different thing to be changed by one. Something that’s happened to me many times in my life.

In addition to keeping a database of quotes for running, I hoard quotes for inspiration and motivation — socially, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I might share some of quotes on my personal blog Josherwalla.com sometime later, but for here — this is all about running, fitness and health.

I use many of these quotes also to make into memes for the Trails & Pavement Instagram page. So make sure to follow the page for some great running related quotes and more.

Anyways, without any further adieu, here are some more running quotes …

“As every runner knows, running is about more than just putting one foot in front of the other; it is about our lifestyle and who we are.” Joan Benoit Samuelson

“Running allows me to set my mind free. Nothing seems impossible. Nothing unattainable.” Kara Goucher

“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” Haruki Murakami

“If you set goals and go after them with all the determination you can muster, your gifts will take you places that will amaze you.” Les Brown

“Obstacles can’t stop you. Problems can’t stop you. Most of all, other people can’t stop you. Only you can stop you.” Jeffrey Gitomer

“Action is eloquence.” William Shakespeare

“You didn’t beat me. You merely finished in front of me.” Hal Higdon

“Appreciation is a wonderful thing. It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.” Voltaire

“Adversity causes some men to break; others to break records.” William Arthur Ward

“It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” Edmund Hillary

“It’s very hard at the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually, you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit.” George Sheehan

“The biggest mistake an athlete can make is to be afraid of making one.” L. Ron Hubbard

“Running is real and relatively simple … but it ain’t easy.” Mark Will-Weber

“We all have bad days and bad workouts, when running gets ugly, when split times seem slow, when you wonder why you started. It will pass.” Hal Higdon

“Nothing, not even pain, lasts forever. If I can just keep putting one foot in front of the other, I will eventually get to the end.” Kim Cowart

“Set aside a time solely for running. Running is more fun if you don’t have to rush through it.” Jim Fixx

“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.” Marcus Aurelius

“I’m not as fast or flexible as I once was, but running keeps me young” Nicole DeBoom

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No Matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” Samuel Beckett

“Winning doesn’t always mean getting first place; it means getting the best out of yourself.” Meb Keflezighi

“It’s a treat being a runner, out in the world by yourself with not a soul to make you bad-tempered or tell you what to do.” Alan Sillitoe

“Winning has nothing to do with racing. Most days don’t have races anyway. Winning is about struggle and effort and optimism, and never, ever, ever giving up.” Amby Burfoot

“The Secret to a long and healthy life is to be stress-free. Be grateful for everything you have, stay away from people who are negative stay smiling and keep running.” Fauja Singh

“I’ve learned that it’s what you do with the miles, rather than how many you’ve run.” Rod DeHaven

“Our doubts are our traitors and make us lose the good we oft might get by fearing to attempt.” William Shakespeare

“What I’ve learned from running is that the time to push hard is when you’re hurting like crazy and you want to give up. Success is often just around the corner.” James Dyson

“A goal is not always meant to be reached, it often serves simply as something to aim at.” Bruce Lee

“What is the source of my success? I think it’s a combination of consistency and balance.” Mark Allen

“Racing teaches us to challenge ourselves. It teaches us to push beyond where we thought we could go. It helps us to find out what we are made of. This is what we do. This is what it’s all about.” PattiSue Plumer

“The real purpose of running isn’t to win a race. It’s to test the limits of the human heart.” Bill Bowerman

“For me, races are the celebration of my training.” Dan Browne

“God has given me the ability. The rest is up to me. Believe. Believe. Believe.” Billy Mills

“There is magic in misery. Just ask any runner.” Dean Karnazes

“If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” Frederick Douglass

“Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.” Jim Ryin

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” Eleanor Roosevelt

“You have power over your mind – not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” Marcus Aurelius

“Running is the greatest meaphor for life, because you get out of it what you put into it.” Oprah Winfrey

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” Ursula K. Le Guin

“Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.” Dean Karnazes

“Happiness lies, first of all, in health.” George William Curtis

“The pain of running relieves the pain of living.” Jacqueline Simon Gunn

“It was being a runner that mattered, not how fast or how far I could run. The joy was in the act of running and in the journey, not in the destination.” John Bingham

“Success doesn’t come to you; you go to it.” T. Scott McLeod

“If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way.” Napoleon Hill

“Heroism is endurance for one moment more.” George F. Kennan

“This above all: to thine ownself be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.” William Shakespeare

“Some people dream of success, while other people get up every morning and make it happen.” Wayne Huizenga

“Courage is the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.” Maya Angelou

“Getting more exercise isn’t only good for your waistline. It’s a natural anti-depressant, that leaves you in a great mood.” Auliq Ice

“The reason we race isn’t so much to beat each other … but to be with each other.” Christopher McDougall

“Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal.” Henry Ford

“Victory is in having done your best. If you’ve done your best, you’ve won.” Bill Bowerman

“It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.” Theodore Roosevelt

“That’s the thing about running: your greatest runs are rarely measured by racing success. They are moments in time when running allows you to see how wonderful your life is.” Kara Goucher

“Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.” Earl Nightingale

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” Confucius

“I always tell my athletes, don’t confuse difficulty with failure.” Eric Orton

“That’s the thing about running: your greatest runs are rarely measured by racing success. They are moments in time when running allows you to see how wonderful your life is.” Kara Goucher

“Ability is what you are capable of doing. Motivation determines what you do. Attitude determines how well you do it.” Lou Holtz

“Running has taught me, perhaps more than anything else, that there’s no reason to fear starting lines…or other new beginnings.” Amby Burfoot

“Running has taught me to love my brain, my body, and what both can do for me when I use them wisely and appreciate them” Meggie Smith

“‘I breathe in strength and breathe out weakness,’ is my mantra during marathons—it calms me down and helps me focus.” Amy Hastings

“Make each day your masterpiece” John Wooden

“There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.” Ella Wheeler Wilcox

“My drops of tears I’ll turn to sparks of fire.” William Shakespeare

“Winners are losers who got up and gave it one more try.” Dennis DeYoung

“Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Failures to heroic minds are the stepping stones to success.” Thomas Chandler Haliburton

“Do you want to know who you are? Don’t ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.” Thomas Jefferson

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“It doesn’t matter whether you come in first, in the middle of the pack, or last. You can say, ‘I have finished.’ There is a lot of satisfaction in that.” Fred Lebow

“Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” Melody Beattie

“Act like a horse. Be dumb. Just run.” Jumbo Elliot

“If you want to run, then run a mile. If you want to experience another life, run a marathon.” Emil Zatopek

“I often lose motivation, but it’s something I accept as normal.” Bill Rodgers

“Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out.” Robert Collier

“Be patient with yourself. Self-growth is tender; it’s holy ground. There’s no greater investment.” Stephen Covey

“Age is no barrier. It’s a limitation you put on your mind.” Jackie Joyner-Kersee

“Stamina, speed, strength, skill and spirit. But the greatest of these is spirit.” Ken Doherty

“If you believe you can, you probably can. If you believe you won’t, you most assuredly won’t.” Denis Waitley

“I can’t change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.” Jimmy Dean

“The only disability in life is a bad attitude.” Scott Hamilton

“You don’t have to be a fantastic hero to do certain things – to compete. You can be just an ordinary chap, sufficiently motivated to reach challenging goals.” Edmund Hillary

“First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.” Epictetus

“You’ve got to get up every morning with determination if you’re going to go to bed with satisfaction.” George Lorimer

“Now bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.” William Shakespeare

“If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.” Albert Einstein

“We are all faced with a series of great opportunities – brilliantly disguised as insoluble problems.” John Gardner

“I dream my painting and I paint my dream.” Vincent Willem van Gogh

“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

“If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon.” Kathrine Switzer

“Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day whispering ‘I will try again tomorrow” Mary Anne Radmacher

“Mental will is a muscle that needs exercise, just like the muscles of the body.” Lynn Jennings

“Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.” L.M. Montgomery

“A course never quite looks the same way twice. The combinations of weather, season, light, feelings and thoughts that you find there are ever-changing.” Joe Henderson

“Part of a runner��s training consists of pushing back the limits of his mind.” Kenny Moore

“Running is my private time, my therapy, my religion.” Gail W. Kislevitz

“Have a dream, make a plan, go for it. You’ll get there I promise.” Zoe Koplowitz

“Only those who risk going too far, can possibly find out how far one can go.” T.S. Elliot

“If you fell down yesterday, stand up today.” H.G. Wells

“Every run is a work of art, a drawing on each day’s canvas. Some runs are shouts and some runs are whispers. Some runs are eulogies and others celebrations.” Dagny Scott Barrio

“In many ways, a race is analogous to life itself. Once it is over, it cannot be re-created. All that is left are impressions in the heart, and in the mind.” Chris Lear

“You need to choose to be great. It’s not a chance, it’s a choice.” Eliud Kipchoge

“It hurts up to a point and then it doesn’t get any worse.” Ann Trason

“He knows not his own strength who hath not met adversity.” William Samuel Johnson

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” Confucius

“I look at struggle as an opportunity to grow. True struggle happens when you can sense what is not working for you and you’re willing to take the appropriate action to correct the situation. Those who accomplish change are willing to engage the struggle.” Danny Dreyer

“Seventy percent of success in life is showing up.” Woody Allen

“You cannot propel yourself forward by patting yourself on the back.” Steve Prefontaine

“The greatest pleasure in life, is doing the things people say we cannot do.” Walter Bagehot

“You do not write your life with words … You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.” Patrick Ness

“Our food should be our medicine and our medicine should be our food.” Hippocrates

“Nothing is more beautiful than the loveliness of the woods before sunrise.” George Washington Carver

“The man who goes farthest is generally the one who is willing to do and dare.” Dale Carnegie

“If you want to run, then run a mile. If you want to experience another life, run a marathon.” Emil Zatopek

“People with goals succeed because they know where they’re going.” Earl Nightingale

“Keep steadily before you the fact that all true success depends at last upon yourself.” Theodore T. Hunger

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” Helen Keller

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” Steve Prefontaine

“Exercise should be regarded as tribute to the heart.” Gene Tunney

“Most people never run far enough on their first wind to find out they’ve got a second.” William James

“You may be the only person left who believes in you, but it’s enough. It takes just one star to pierce a universe of darkness. Never give up.” Richelle E. Goodrich

“Some sessions are stars and some are stones, but in the end they are all rocks and we build upon them.” Chrissie Wellington

“We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.” Kenji Miyazawa

“Don’t fight the trail, take what it gives you. If you have a choice between one step or two between rocks, take three.” Christopher McDougall

“Every race is a question, and I never know until the last yards what the answer will be. That’s the lure of racing.” Joe Henderson

“There is nothing so momentary as a sporting achievement, and nothing so lasting as the memory of it.” Greg Dening

“Run hard when it’s hard to run” Pavvo

“Strength does not come from the physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” Mahatma Gandhi

“We all know that if you run, you are pretty much choosing a life of success because of it.” Deena Kastor

“The obsession with running is really an obsession with the potential for more and more life.” George Sheehan

“Don’t measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability.” John Wooden

“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” Will Rogers

“Stadiums are for spectators. We runners have nature and that is much better.” Juha Vaatainen

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Confucius

“The marathon is not really about the marathon, it’s about the shared struggle. And it’s not only the marathon, but the training.” Bill Buffum

“Action is the foundational key to all success.” Pablo Picasso

“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” Jack London

“It doesn’t matter where you came from. All that matters is where you are going.” Brian Tracy

“The harder the hill, the steeper the climb, the better the view from the finishing line.” Paul Newman

“Patience, persistence and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success.” Napoleon Hill

“As athletes we have ups and downs. Unfortunately you can’t pick the days they come on.” Deena Kastor

“The point is whether or not I improved over yesterday. In long-distance running the only opponent you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be.” Haruki Murakami

“If you train your mind for running, everything else will be easy.” Amby Burfoot

“Things turn out the best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.” John Wooden

“A goal properly set is halfway reached.” Zig Ziglar

“Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” Rose Kennedy

“I determined never to stop until I had come to the end and achieved my purpose.” David Livingstone

“Champions keep playing until they get it right.” Billie Jean King

“Even when you have gone as far as you can, and everything hurts, and you are staring at the specter of self-doubt, you can find a bit more strength deep inside you, if you look closely enough.” Hal Higdon

“Tough times never last, but tough people do.” Robert H. Schuller

“Success is not the absence of failure; it’s the persistence through failure.” Aisha Tyler

“Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.” Frank Zappa

“Without hustle, talent will only carry you so far.” Gary Vaynerchuk

“Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.” Winston S. Churchill

“Running is like celebrating your soul. There’s so much it can teach us in life.” Molly Barker

“I am not afraid to fail; to get lost, to dream, to be myself, to find. I am not afraid to live.” Killian Jornet

“Happiness is like a butterfly. The more you chase it, the more it eludes you. But if you turn your attention to other things, It comes and sits softly on your shoulder.” Henry David Thoreau

“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” Helen Keller

“The secret of success is constancy to purpose.” Benjamin Disraeli

“There is one quality that one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.” Napoleon Hill

“Don’t be afraid to dream of achieving the impossible.” Shalane Flanagan

“We must not allow other people’s limited perceptions to define us.” Virginia Satir

“The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person’s determination.” Tommy Lasorda

“The whole universe is change and life itself is but what you deem it.” Marcus Aurelius

“I’d rather regret the things I’ve done than regret the things I haven’t done.” Lucille Ball

“Success seems to be connected with action. Successful people keep moving. They make mistakes, but they don’t quit.” Conrad Hilton

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.” Robertson Davies

“Every single one of us possesses the strength to attempt something he isn’t sure he can accomplish.” Scott Jurek

“If you start to feel good during an ultra, don’t worry, you will get over it.” Gene Thibeault

“Love the life you live. Live the life you love.” Bob Marley

“Challenges are what make life interesting and overcoming them is what makes life meaningful.” Joshua J. Marine

“All progress takes place outside the comfort zone.” Michael John Bobak

“Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing.” William Shakespeare

“Success consists of getting up just one more time than you fall.” Oliver Goldsmith

“Nothing, not even pain, lasts forever.” Kim Cowart

“Success is getting what you want, happiness is wanting what you get.” W. P. Kinsella

“Everything that happens to us leaves some trace behind; everything contributes imperceptibly to make us what we are.” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“You can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them.” Shonda Rhimes

“I didn’t give myself enough breaks during the training year to recover. I didn’t understand the power of periodization.” Alberto Salazar

“If you cannot be a poet, be the poem.” David Carradine

“Sometimes, success almost haunts you. You want to be the best at everything you do and know you have to work hard.” Katarina Witt

“All great achievements require time.” Maya Angelou

“We cannot start over. But we can begin now and make a new ending.” Zig Ziglar

“The power of imagination makes us infinite.” John Muir

“The virtue lies in the struggle, not in the prize.” Richard Monckton Milnes

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, I used everything you gave me.” Erma Bombeck

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Even More Quotes for Runners was originally published on My Life in the Slow Lane.

[romancatholicreflections]

1st November >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 5:1-12a for the Solemnity of All Saints: 'How happy are the poor in spirit'.

Solemnity of All Saints.

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 5:1-12a

How happy are the poor in spirit

Seeing the crowds, Jesus went up the hill. There he sat down and was joined by his disciples. Then he began to speak. This is what he taught them:

‘How happy are the poor in spirit;    theirs is the kingdom of heaven.Happy the gentle:    they shall have the earth for their heritage.Happy those who mourn:    they shall be comforted.Happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right:    they shall be satisfied.Happy the merciful:    they shall have mercy shown them.Happy the pure in heart:    they shall see God.Happy the peacemakers:    they shall be called sons of God.Happy those who are persecuted in the cause of right:    theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

‘Happy are you when people abuse you and persecute you and speak all kinds of calumny against you on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 5:1-12a

Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,    for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.Blessed are they who mourn,    for they will be comforted.Blessed are the meek,    for they will inherit the land.Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,    for they will be satisfied.Blessed are the merciful,    for they will be shown mercy.Blessed are the clean of heart,    for they will see God.Blessed are the peacemakers,    for they will be called children of God.Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,    for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you    and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.Rejoice and be glad,    for your reward will be great in heaven.”

Reflections (4) 

(i) Solemnity of All Saints

I always think of today’s feast as the feast of holiness, the feast of goodness. ‘All saints’ are all those holy, good, loving people who graced our world and are now with the Lord. There is a great number of such people. Today’s first reading speaks about a ‘huge number, impossible to count’, standing in front of God’s throne and before the Lamb of God. The letter to the Hebrews speaks of a ‘great cloud of witnesses’.

Pope Francis has recently written an apostolic letter on ‘the call to holiness in today’s world’, entitled ‘Rejoice and Be Glad’. I would like to reflect a little with you on what he says in the opening chapter of this letter. At the beginning of this letter, speaking of this ‘great crowd of witnesses’, the Pope says that ‘these witnesses may include our own mothers, grandmothers or loved ones. Their lives’, he says, ‘may not always have been perfect, yet even amid their faults and failings they kept moving forward and proved pleasing to God’. He goes on to say that these ‘saints now in God’s presence preserve their bonds of love and communion with us’. They remain with us on our own faith journey to support us. As the Pope says, ‘I do not have to carry alone what, in truth, I could never carry alone. All the saints of God are there to protect me, to sustain me and to carry me’. Today we remember ‘all the saints of God’ who will never be formally canonized by the church. We can all put names and faces on such people. They graced our lives in ways that we will never fully understand on this side of eternity. They revealed something of the Lord to us, and we were greatly blessed because of their loving presence to us.

Pope Francis is very keen to stress in his letter that if we look around us we will see such people today. He speaks about a holiness found in our next-door neighbours, those who, living in our midst, reflect God’s presence. He mentions parents who raise their children with immense love, those men and women who work hard to support their families, the sick, elderly religious who never lose their smile. We can all make our own list of such people from our experience. Pope Francis invites us to ‘be spurred on by the signs of holiness that the Lord shows us through the humblest members of’ God’s people. We need those living signs of holiness to help us on our journey. We need each other’s holiness, goodness, loving nature, on the journey of life. We cannot reach our ultimate destiny alone, as isolated individuals. Rather, God draws us to himself in and through the witness of others. When any one of us responds to the Lord’s call to be holy as he is holy, good as he is good, loving as he is loving, we make it easier for everyone around us to answer that same call.

The Pope in his letter is very strong on this personal call to holiness which each one of us receives. He says at the beginning of his letter, ‘I would like to insist primarily on the call to holiness that the Lord addresses… personally, to you’. He goes on to say that we shouldn’t become discouraged before examples of holiness that appear unattainable. We are not asked to travel someone else’s path to holiness. Pope Francis says ‘the important thing is that each believer discern his or her own path, that they bring out the very best of themselves, the most personal gifts God has placed in their hearts, rather than hopelessly trying to imitate something not meant for them’. There is that old saying in the Church’s tradition, ‘grace builds on nature’. We all share a human nature, but each of us also has a nature that is unique to each one of us. It is that very personal nature that the Lord, through the Holy Spirit, wants to enhance, so that it becomes a unique reflection of the Lord’s own nature. ‘We are all called to be holy, each in our own way, by living our lives with love and by bearing witness to the Lord in everything we do, wherever we find ourselves’.

Pope Francis goes on to remind us that in the end, holiness, a loving life, the kind of life that is outlined in the Beatitudes of today’s gospel reading, is the fruit of the Holy Spirit. It is much more the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives than our work, and the Holy Spirit never ceases to work in our lives. In the light of this, Pope Francis goes on to say, in his very down-to-earth way, ‘When you feel the temptation to dwell on your own weakness, raise your eyes to Christ crucified and say: “Lord, I am a poor sinner, but you can work the miracle of making me a little bit better”’.  This Spirit-inspired growth in holiness does not normally show itself in heroic deeds. The Pope says that ‘the holiness to which the Lord calls you will grow through small gestures’. Sometimes, he says, ‘we need only find a more perfect way of doing what we are already doing’. If we allow the Spirit to shape our lives in these small ways, we are being faithful to our deepest self. As Pope Francis says, ‘holiness does not make you less human, since it is an encounter between your weakness and the power of God’s grace’.

And/Or

(ii) Solemnity of All Saints

A lot of people do not like large gatherings. They work on the principle that small is beautiful. They find big crowds exhausting and long for space where they can be alone or perhaps with one or two chosen others. Today’s feast, however, is precisely about crowds of people. The first reading expresses it well, ‘a huge number, impossible to count, of people from every nation, race, tribe and language’. Today is the feast not just of a few chosen saints, but of all saints. It is not even the feast of all the saints who get a mention in the church’s calendar of saints. Today we honour all the saints, those who are canonized and those who are not, those who get a mention in the prayers of the church and those who are never mentioned by name in any liturgy anywhere.

Villains are generally considered more newsworthy than saints. If our vision of humanity is shaped exclusively by the media we might be tempted to think that there are a lot more villains out there than saints. It is reassuring to be reminded by today’s feast that there exists a huge number of saints, impossible to count. In the words of the letter to the Hebrews, we are surrounded by a ‘great cloud of witnesses’. None of us can live as the Lord wants us to live by our own efforts alone. We need the good example of others to inspire us and to show us what is possible. Today’s feast declares that we are surrounded by an abundance of role models, if only we could recognize them. Some of these people have already passed beyond us and are now ‘standing in front of the throne of the Lamb’, in the words of today’s first reading. Many of them, however, are our companions on the journey of life. They are mothers and fathers, single people and celibates, men and women, young and not so young; they are from every nation, race, tribe and language. They do not look at all like the statues in our churches. They are very ordinary and, yet, they are also very special. They are fully alive and, in virtue in that, they give glory to God. We are grateful for having met them and having been around them.

The feast of All Saints encourages us to believe that any one of us could be part of that huge number impossible to count. In that sense, today’s feast is not just about a great crowd of people out there; it is about every one of us. John, in today’s second reading, is speaking about all of us when he declares that, ‘we are already the children of God’, and that, in the future, ‘we shall be like’ God. We are all destined for sainthood. God intends that all of us would be conformed to the image of God’s Son. For most of us, that will only come to pass fully beyond this life when, in the words of St Paul, the Lord will ‘transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory’. Yet, because we are already sons and daughters of God, through baptism, we are called to be growing now towards that wonderful transformation that awaits us. The road to sainthood begins here, wherever we happen to find ourselves.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus shows us what that road to sainthood looks like. In the beatitudes, Jesus painted a portrait of himself, the living saint par excellence. He was also painting a portrait of the person that we are all called to become. The beatitudes give us different facets of the person of Jesus, while at the same time showing us different ways in which we might reflect the person of Jesus. We might find ourselves strongly drawn to one of the beatitudes rather than to another. If so, that is perhaps where we should focus, because it is through that particular beatitude that we will probably find our own particular path to sainthood. One beatitude we can all make our own is, ‘happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right’ or ‘for what God wants’. We can all find our home somewhere in the beatitudes because we are all on the way to being conformed fully to the image and likeness of Christ.

And/Or

(iii) Solemnity of All Saints

A lot of people do not like large gatherings. They find big crowds exhausting and long for space where they can be alone or perhaps with one or two chosen others. Today’s feast, however, is precisely about crowds of people. The first reading expresses it well, ‘a huge number, impossible to count, of people from every nation, race, tribe and language’. Today is the feast not just of a few chosen saints, but of all saints. It is not even the feast of all the saints who get a mention in the church’s calendar of saints. Today we honour all the saints, those who are canonized and those who are not.

I heard a story of someone who asked the children in the local primary school who the saints were. One of them, thinking of the stained glass windows in her church, said that a saint was someone who let the light in. She said more than she realized. Saints are, indeed, those who allow the light of Christ’s presence to shine through them.

Today we remember all those through whose lives the light of Christ’s love streamed into our world. We will all have known such people. They have lived and continue to live among us. They are the people whose lives have blessed and graced us in a whole variety of ways. When we think of them, we thank God for them. When we have been in their company, we feel the better for it. They somehow brought out the best in us and helped us to become all that God was calling us to be.

In today’s gospel reading Jesus paints a portrait of what it means to be a disciple of his. It is a portrait of a saint, what someone who lets God’s light in looks like. Fundamentally, this is Jesus’ own self-portrait. There is a sense in which he alone fully fits the portrayal he puts before us. Yet, this is also an image of the person we are all called to be. We can easily think of the beatitudes as describing a variety of types of people – the poor in spirit, the gentle etc. Jesus is really putting before us one type, which can be looked at from various perspectives, like a diamond that appears differently as you look at it from a variety of angles. The elements in Jesus’ portrait are of a piece. It is only the poor in spirit, those who acknowledge their dependence on God for everything, who can be true peacemakers. It is only the gentle, those who do not insist on their own way to the detriment of God’s way, who can hunger and thirst for what is right, for what God wants. It is only the pure in heart, those who are single-minded in their focus on God and on what God wants, who can be merciful as God is merciful. In speaking the beatitudes, Jesus calls on us to identify with the person he portrays. He wants us to come away from them saying to ourselves, ‘This is the person I want to be. This is the life I want to live. Here are shoes that are worth stepping into’.

Today’s feast is an opportunity to give thanks for all those people in our own lives who embodied the beatitudes for us; it is also a moment to renew our own desire to become the person the Lord portrays in the beatitudes. In painting that picture, the Lord is not holding out something to us that is beyond us, teasing us with what will always be out of reach. He knows that with his help we can grow into the person of the beatitudes. Here is a life that is attainable, a truly human life, a life that is worthy of those who have been made in the image and likeness of God. We appreciate people who take us seriously, who give us a task that corresponds to what we are capable of. The Lord takes us more seriously than any other human being possibly could. He points beyond who we are to the person that we could be, and he invites us to keep setting out on a journey towards that goal. As he does so, he promises to travel that journey with us. In calling, he also empowers, as Paul writes at the end of his first letter to the Thessalonians, ‘The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this’.

The life of the beatitudes is not a higher calling that is given to some special group of people within the church. We are all called to be saints. This evening’s second reading calls on us to ‘think of the love that the Father has lavished on us by letting us be called God’s children’. God has poured the Spirit of his Son into our hearts crying, ‘Abba, Father’. We have been brought into the same relationship with God that Jesus himself has. That is our starting point of our journey. The finishing point of our journey comes when, in the words of that same reading, ‘we shall be like God, because we shall see him as he really is’. Between such a wonderful starting point and such an unimaginable finishing point, the beatitudes are given to us as our road map.

And/Or

(iv)  Solemnity of All Saints

The word ‘all’ in the title of today’s feast is important. Today we celebrate not just the canonized saints but all those who lived holy lives and are now with God in heaven, most of whom have not received any formal recognition from the church. This is what is referred to in today’s first reading as a ‘huge number, impossible to count, of people from every nation, race, tribe and language’. What distinguishes this vast crowd is that they opened themselves to the presence of the Lord and allowed the Lord to live in and through them. All of them, in different ways, reflected something of the portrait that Jesus paints for us in the beatitudes. They were poor in spirit, humble people who recognized their complete dependence on God for everything. They possessed something of the gentleness of Christ, who spoke of himself as humble and gentle in heart. Like him, they mourned and wept because the world was not yet all that God wanted it to be. They hungered and thirsted for what is right, for a more abundant life for everyone. Like Jesus, they were merciful, extending God’s forgiveness to those who needed it, and being a life-giving presence to those who were broken in mind, spirit or body. They were pure in heart in that their hearts were focused on God’s purpose for our lives, after the example of Jesus whose heart was given over completely to God. They were people who tried to bring peace where there was conflict, who worked for harmony in communities after the example of the Prince of Peace whose gift was a peace the world cannot give. Today we celebrate and give thanks for all those men and women who revealed the Lord to us in some of these ways. These were people who remained faithful to the values of the gospel by keeping their eyes on the Lord. Many people we know belong among this great multitude. They were our teachers, godparents, friends, co-workers, family and acquaintances. They encourage us to be what we are all called to be, what God dreams us to be, saints.

Today’s feast reminds us that we are all called to belong among all the saints. The second reading tells us that here and now we are already the children of God. We already share in Jesus’ own relationship with God, because of our baptism. That is our basis for sanctity. Holiness is not just something far beyond us that we have to strain towards. Rather, the fundamental movement is one of entering more completely into what we already are in virtue of our baptism, allowing the Lord who dwells within us to live out his life more fully in and through us. The end of that second reading declares that in the next life we shall be like God because we shall see God face to face. That process of becoming like God can happen for us here and now in this life, in so far as we allow the Lord to live out his life in us so that we become holy as he is holy, loving as he is loving.

We are helped on that path to holiness by each other. When we try to enter more fully into our baptismal identity we make it easier for others to do the same. We journey as members of the one body of Christ, interdependent on each other. We support each other and the Lord supports us all. He is constantly at work in our lives through the Holy Spirit inspiring us, moving us, to live the beatitudes. We are also helped by the saints who have gone before us and who stand before the throne of God, in the words of today’s first reading. Those who are already home are waiting for us, praying for us and hoping that we will do great things for all God’s children in our own time and place. We journey together among this great crowd of witnesses, who are in communion with us, urging us onward toward our final reunion with God and with them.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  frmartinhogan@gmail.com

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

[sabraeal]

Could you write something with obiyuki plus getting themselves into awkward situations, cuz honestly these dorks have no idea what's going on 95% of the time.

(Part 2 of If Thy Set Thine Heart to Wooing)

It’s never been Obi’s job to be the center of attention, not as long as he’s been with Master. Not before it either.

He might have caused a distraction or two – knocking over barrels, setting free horses, and on one memorable occasion, scaring a whole coop of chicken – but his place has always been the shadows, unnoticeable as wallpaper. It’s been him that would wander into the kitchen for a hot bun and the freshest gossip, or share a drink with the off-duty guards and come back with a head full of the latest rumors. He’s the one people talk to, the one they trust with their thoughts and forget about when he leaves.

He’s not supposed to be the one rumors are about.

He’s not supposed to be seen at all.

Obi only suspects when he walks into the mess one evening and all conversation hushes.

That’s not – not strictly true. He had noticed the guards‘ chatter hitting a lull when he passes them on the walls, how ladies he passed would lean toward each other and whisper behind soft hands, how –

How suddenly he would walk into the pharmacy, and all that would greet him were glares.

“Obi!” Miss’s smile pulls tight when she sees him, clutching her books to her chest. Things have been different between them of late, almost awkward. He’s not sure what’s changed, but it’s like – like he has too many limbs around her and not enough words. There’s a gulf between them, and he doesn’t know how to fill it, how to cross it.

“I didn’t –” She ducks her head, cheeks flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was just on my way to the – the stockroom!”

“Oh.” The word falls dumbly from his lips. His hands sit by his side, useless. “I could go with you. Reach the things on the high shelves.”

“I –” Her eyelashes flutter like frantic heartbeats against her cheeks. “I’ll be fine. Izuru said they fixed the ladder.”

He laughs, and even to his own ears it sounds forced. “And you trust it?”

“Ah…” Her gaze skitters around him, settling somewhere past his shoulder. “I should – I’ll see you at dinner.”

He grimaces; tonight is his extra session with Haki. “I took an extra shift –”

“Right!” She slips right past him. “You’re – busy. Of course. I’ll…see you.”

Obi stares after her, lost. He’s not quite sure how he cocked up that conversation, but clearly he’s got a gift.

“What are you doing?” Suzu mutters, grinding his seeds with more force than Obi thinks is strictly necessary.

He blinks. “What?”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” He’s never seen Suzu angry – upset, yes, dramatically wailing in front of the university bulletin, of course, but angry? Never.

He’s not, not now, but there’s a hint of it in the way he looks at Obi, like he’d glare if he didn’t like him so much.

“With Shirayuki?” He sighs, shaking his head. “I wish I knew. She won’t –”

“No,” Suzu snaps. “With Mistress Haki.”

“Oh,” Haki yawns, offering him one of the mugs of chocolate her ladies have brought them. “You hadn’t heard those?”

“Wha?” He gapes, accepting the cup with boneless hands. he hardly even noticed how the ceramic burns at his finger tips. “You did?”

“It was bound to happen.” She shakes out her hair. It’s too long for anything but a civil fight, but Obi knows Haki’s more likely to take a roll with a stable boy than cut it.

“Bound to happen.”

“Of course.” She shrugs. “You’re a handsome, young, inappropriate man. I’m a beautiful, young, proper lady.”

He snorts. “Humble too.”

“False humility is not a virtue,” she snips, savoring a sip of her chocolate. “In any case – you’re my guard, people see us alone together, we get on…it was only a matter of time before someone suggested that your extra hours with me were spent in bed.”

He groans.

“Figuratively, of course,” she assures him. “The rumors put us as quite adventurous. You wouldn’t believe –”

He holds up a hand with a wince. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather not know, your ladyship.”

“Boo,” she says, lips twitching. “You’re no fun at all.”

“You should do something,” her ladyship says, as he makes for the door.

“Hm? Do what?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes aloft. “Do something about Shirayuki.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “My lady –”

“Obi,” she says, carefully setting aside her mug. “I will be most disappointed in you if our lessons stretch long past these rumors.”

“That doesn’t –”

“Of course it does.” She gives him a warning look. “Sometimes, Obi, humility itself is not a virtue either. Just stupidity.”

Raised voices seep through even the thick door to the walls. Obi hesitates, hand hovered over where he keeps his knives – if he’s about to walk into an altercation, it’s best to be prepared for the worst –

Only to find Jirou standing over two recruits, spitting thunder like an angry god.

“W-we didn’t mean to, sir,” one of them stammers. they both stand a head above their commanding officer, but they cower like he’s twice as tall, wincing as he claps his hands to startle them into looking at him.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do, now does it?”

The other recruit swallows hard, rubbing sweat from his brow. “We didn’t – we didn’t know Lady Shirayuki –”

Obi throws the door open, making sure it slams against stone. “What’s that about Miss Shirayuki?”

Both their eyes go wide. “C-captain!”

Jirou frowns at the both of them. “You’re both on late shift for a month. And I don’t want to catch you two at this again.”

Obi trusts his second, but he still has to stop himself from calling the boys back and demanding answers. “What’s that all about?”

“Mistress Shirayuki was waiting for you down at the door to get off shift,” Jirou tells him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Shirayuki?” She’d been doing her best to all but avoid him for weeks now.

“Yeah. And apparently those two idiots have heard the latest rumors –” Jirou sends him a meaningful look – “and were…indiscreet with their words.”

“Indiscreet?” One day he’ll be able to do more than act as his second’s echo, but it’s not today.

“There was some speculation about the nature of your service.” Jirou clears his throat, lips twitching. “And a little about the position and duration.”

Obi scrubs a hand over his face. Ai yai yai. “And Miss heard all that?”

“It was flattering, at least,” he assures him, like somehow that will make it better. “I found them at it, didn’t even know Miss Shirayuki was there until she made a run for it.”

He stares. “Miss? Make a run for it?” She was more likely to give recruits an earful about spreading gossip.

“It was…graphic,” Jirou allows, with the sort of expression that tells Obi he’s feigning thoughtfulness to disguise his needling. “Maybe it upset her delicate sensibilities.”

Obi snorts. Miss is fresh out of those.

“Well, as you wish,” he sighs. “Though I have to say, she looked pretty…overcome by the whole thing.”

“Overcome?” He remembers her, out in the snow, the face she made when he called Haki mistress –

His mouth curls in a grin. “You don’t say.”

This late, the labs are empty, all the lamps extinguished – save for the one on the fifth storey, where he can see a slender shadow cast against the glass.

Obi huffs out a laugh, swinging from grated window to the next, boots digging into the icy stones of the university for toeholds. If his miss doesn’t want to be found, she might consider making her habits less obvious. After all –

He hesitates. But what if – what if she want to be found?

What if she wanted to be found by him.

He nearly misses a handhold thinking about it.

A mixture of snow and wind make opening the window with any level of stealth impossible. Instead he rolls into it, letting the wrought-iron frame bang noisily against the wall, watching her jump, whirling to see him crouched in the window –

And nearly dropping her beaker.

“Ah, it’s a good thing I’m here, Miss,” he sighs, setting the sloshing glass safely on her bench. “You’ll lose hours of work if you’re not more careful.”

Her mouth works soundlessly as he circles back to the window, flipping the lock shut. “Obi – what –?”

He leans, so casual, against her bench. “I hear you were looking for me?”

“O-oh.” She ducks her head, and in the chiaroscuro the lamplight casts, he can’t tell whether her cheeks pink shyly or not. “I thought you were still o-occupied…” Her gaze flicks up as she adds, “with your mistress.”

He grins.

“My mistress?” he manages, so even, as he steps closer. “Oh yes. She’s certainly been putting me through my paces.”

Her pained expression almost makes him give up the game; he doesn’t want to hurt her, not even if the cut is fictional, but –

She tosses her head, lifting her eyes to meet his, and all he can see in her is a challenge. “Good. I’m happy for you, Obi. That you’ve gotten what you want.”

He hums, taking yet another step closer. “You know, Miss, I’ve been chasing her for years,” he admits, conversational. If she could hear his heart, she’d know it was anything but.

She shuffles back, gaze faltering. “Years?”

“Oh, yes.” His mouth twitches. “I just always thought she was unattainable. Meant for far better than me, to be sure.”

Her mouth pulls flat, eyes taking that determined shine that had compromised his heart, so many years ago. It would have been easier not to love her, if what he loved wasn’t the core of who she was. “No one is better than you, Obi. You’ve always been – deserving.”

He falters on his next step, and there must be something about him that seems stricken, since she quickly changes tack.

“And she is…” Miss’s lips pinch. “Very beautiful.”

“Mm,” he says, closer. She hedges back. “That’s true. Though I’ll admit, it’s not what drew me to her.”

“And she’s very tall.”

“To some, I suppose.”

“And – and womanly.”

His gaze drags over her, for once letting himself linger at the slim curve of her hips and the gentle slope of her breast, showing the barest hint of his desire. “I’ve never had any complaints on that front, sure.”

His miss, of course, doesn’t notice.

“And –” her mouth twists – “and blonde.”

“Oh,” he murmurs as her back hits the table. “I don’t know about that one.”

She glances up at him, brow furrowed, but undeterred. “And it seems like you enjoy –” she licks her lips, awkward – “servicing her.”

Her cheeks flush as her words catch up to her. “I mean, being in her service.”

“Oh, Miss,” he purrs, resting his hands on either side of her, bending close. “I haven’t gotten to that yet, but I’m certain there’s no one else I’d rather…yield service too.”

She’s red from neck to brow when she hazards a glance at him, and for a moment all he sees is heat, and then she lowers her head again, and he –

He takes his chance.

Her lips are just as soft, just as sweet as he had thought they might be. She stiffens at first blush, fingers clenching in his coat, but in the next she melts, she blossoms, and she – she –

She opens her mouth against his, surging up to meet his kiss. He staggers back to hold her, hands flexing against her hips, drawing her in closer. Her arms lift, winding around his neck, every soft part of her resting against a hard part of him, and he can’t help crushing her close, his hands stroking her back, burying themselves in her hair.

Her breath stutters across his lips as he pulls away, eyes fluttering open to half-mast.

“Shirayuki,” he murmurs, hand palming down her flank. “I only have one mistress.”

“Then…” Her face is the perfect study of pleased confusion. “We haven’t been talking about Haki?”

He leans in, relishing how her head tips to meet his. “No.”

Zakura makes his excuses after a single bout.

“I have important work to be doing, Your Majesty,” he reminds him with a grin, mopping the sweat from his brow. “You’re to be married in a week, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“Ah, thank you,” Izana drawls, sheathing his blade. “Seeing as Mother hasn’t reminded me in the last quarter hour, I have drawn dangerously close to forgetting.”

His aide sweeps a dramatic bow. “All part of the many services I provide.”

“Just go.” Izana waves at him dismissively, in the way he knows Zakura hates. “You’re boring me with all this wedding talk.”

“I live to serve,” Zakura deadpans, sauntering out the doors.

The room is cavernous now that it is empty, and Izana presses a hand to the weapons rack, steadying himself. A king rarely has time for leisure, but with the wedding looming close, and having started the preliminaries for his brother’s own political courtship dance – he’s hardly had time to breathe.

A king does not have the luxury of falling apart. Not when he has so much yet to do.

The door barks on it hinges as it swings open, and in a single breath Izana is whole again, turning with a smirk. “Honestly, is there no one else you can annoy at this –”

The words quickly die in his throat. His visitor is not Zakura.

“Oh my.” Boot heels click enticingly across the marble floor. “We are not even yet married, and already you tire of me, Your Majesty?”

“I…” His wit is his sharpest weapon, but it abandons him now as his fiancée strolls across the floor, not in her usual fashionable gowns, but in – in buckskins and blouse, waistcoat expertly tailored to sit at the top of her hips, drawing his gaze between the curve of her breast and the curve of her –

“Of course not, my lady.” Heat gathers beneath his skin, and he – he is irritated at his own distraction. Lady Kiki wore mens’ clothes as well, and yet he never – “What is it that I can do for you?”

“I thought…” She’s far too close to him, the scent of ginger and spice enveloping him as she runs her hand along the rack, fingers lingering on the pommel of one of the swords. “That we might spar.”

He blinks, expression flattening into a polite mask. “Spar? You and me, my lady?”

“Yes.” Her smile tilts up at the corner. “Do you happen to play for forfeit?”

He is unprepared for her being capable.

From the first moment, she surprises him, pulling sword from the wrack like she was born to it.

“Your brother never mentioned you studied the blade,” he observes as they circle each other. She’s cautious, perhaps too much so. But there is an eagerness in her too, one that makes him wonder if he can wait, make her try to land the first blow.

Her mouth shifts into a smirk; he wishes the sight did not make his heart clench so. It’s…inconvenient. “It is a recently acquired hobby of mine.”

She steps to him, and it is him who makes the novice move, who goes to block only to find it is a feint, a way to throw him off guard as she dances in close. Her blade darts in, inches from his side, but he is fast as well, parrying well before she slips away, circling him so she is always at his back.

“Your style is…unique.” There’s no other word for it. She’s not experienced, to be sure, but she fights clever and careful.

Her teeth flash in a grin. “I had a unique teacher.”

She’s toying with him, trying to wear him out or dizzy him with these antics. An intelligent tactic, to cover up her inexperience, but he did not best the finest swords in his kingdom to be undone by a pair of buckskins.

He stops turning, and when she lunges for him, he is ready. A single parry gives him time to break distance, to bring her into a space he can control, heaving heavy blow after heavy blow to keep her on guard, to make her falter, and –

He goes to land another, expecting her blade beneath it, but she sidesteps, and while he over extends she cuts in close, not with blade but with –

The pommel strikes his hand, leaving it nerveless. It’s no feat at all for her knee to come up, tapping the blade from his hand up into hers.

“I want my forfeit,” she says, so even.

“We didn’t discuss terms, did we?” He swallows. Foolish.“What is it my lady desires?”

“I…” For the first time since she has entered the room, she wavers, cheeks flushing pink. “Tell me…” She licks her lips. “Tell me you want to marry me.”

“I do.” It wouldn’t have been a lie before; he needed the North, and she was a pleasant concession to make for it. He’d always liked her, that sly wit she let slip through when her polite mask began to crack. He’d thought she would be interesting at least, a comfort if not entirely an ally, but now…

Now he is…intrigued. How could he not be, when she’s come in here dressed like a man and beat him so handily.

“Tell me…that you cannot wait.”

“I cannot,” he agrees. He’s surprised to find he means it. “I’m eager to be told that I can take you as a wife.” He lifts a brow. “Especially if you plan to keep those trousers.”

Now that is a pretty blush.

He leans in, lifting his blade from her boneless hand. “Another,” he breathes, far less controlled than he wished.

Her eyelashes flutter in confusion. “I – excuse me?”

“Another match.” He pulls away, smirk slanting his lips. “After all, anyone can win once.”

Her eyes narrow. “If that is what Your Majesty wishes.”

“Oh yes.” He looms close once again, relishing how her breast rises faster when he nears. “And let me name my forfeit now.”

“Of course.”

His gaze drops pointedly to her lips. “If I win, you’ll allow me to kiss you.”

Her chest stutters for a moment, and then she is closer still, mouth perilously close to his own.

“Husband,” she murmurs, breath caressing his lips. “If you want a good match, you have to make your forfeit something I don’t want to do.”

His hand seizes her waist, dragging her body flush to his. Distantly, he hears steel clatter to marble, and then her fingers grip at his cravat, tilting his chin the barest hint down.

“Oh my,” she sighs, palm curling up over his shoulder. “It seems you have me disarmed already.”

He grins, letting it grow sharp, grow wolfish. “I’ll have you more than that, if you aren’t care –”

Her fingers wind into his hair and tug.

His groan echoes off every surface of the room. He’d be humiliated, if he wasn’t beyond caring.

“If you keep doing that,” he warns, mouth so close to hers that he is no longer sure which breath is hers and which is his. “We will have to call the Justice now, or you will not make it to the –”

Her palm presses tight along his skull, buries beneath the thong that ties back his hair, and she pulls.

“Oh hells,” he murmurs, and then there is no room for thought.

Neither of them call for the Justice.