#we read aloud a prayer (NOT SPELL. I AM AGAINST CALLING IT A SPELL) in my class two years ago

[casiavium]

Everyone on the program: omg cool mummies!!!

Me, literally holding back tears: they are so far from home. Are their souls scared? Has anyone even offered them bread in the afterlife?

[procutemeister]

these, our bodies possessed by light || vergil x reader, chapter 1

The city of Red Grave has been defeated; Urizen, the devil king, has risen. No warriors have been able to best him, and countless lives have been offered to him in sacrifice. They say the devil king’s bloodlust is boundless… And you, last of the witches of Red Grave, are his betrothed.

(Vergil x F!Reader, with some V x F!Reader. Arranged marriage AU, with elements of Beauty and the Beast and 1001 Nights. An attempt to give Urizen some personality. Romance, eventually.)

much thanks to @tonitart for supporting me as i write this. <3 if you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

read it under the cut or on ao3 here!

--

these, our bodies possessed by light

1. land a man in a landscape and he’ll try to conquer it

--

Today was to be your wedding day.

Soon to be married to the devil king, all you could feel was trepidation and fear. Your marriage was not one for love, far from it; it was a marriage of compromise. Of sacrifice.

An offering of your life, for peace between the humans and demons, a reprieve from the cruelties of hell on earth.

You have a responsibility, your aunt told you as you dressed in the nicest gown you owned. It’s an honor, to have so great a task bestowed upon you.

I am going to die, you wanted to say. Your finest dress would become your funeral gown.

As one of the last witches, you were offered to the devil. With your unique abilities, the people of Red Grave hoped that you might find a way to end the devil king’s reign of terror. While it was true that you possessed some magical power, you were experienced mostly with healing and incantations, rather than combat magic.

You had met the man—if he could be called that—who was to be your husband only once before. You were relieved that at least, you would not have to live in the Underworld for this union; you would live in a palace that remained on earth.

No man nor demon on this world or the one beneath could face him. The people were sure that his was the wrath of a god, unleashed upon a defenseless humanity, and that such a great and terrible god could only be sated by the ultimate sacrifice, the gift of life.

However, you remembered that day—meeting your betrothed, slouched on his throne as you were presented to him. He had not been any more amenable to the marriage than you were. Impossibly tall, his features masked by demonic armor, you had been unnerved at the sight of him. You recoiled when you imagined the marriage bed—you could not possibly be expected to perform the wifely duties for such a creature, could you? He looked utterly monstrous to your human eyes: a twisted appearance, his body the color of brimstone and blood and covered in roots and thorns.

His voice was inhumanly deep and rattled your very bones.

“Is this to be my bride? A human?”

Despite yourself, you froze like a rabbit faced by the wolf. Your heart thundered and you could not help but cower, because what defense did you have against this creature?

You let your eyes settle on him. You could not discern even a hint of humanity in him, only the cruel cold glow of blue light in the gnarls of his skin, the suggestion of a crown by the thorns on his brow. There was no soul in those eyes.

The man beside you quailed, though he had been the one who had arranged all this. He said, “This is an offering from the humans. One of our most precious—one of our own. A great sacrifice.”

You were hardly as great an offering as he made you out to be. You were no virginal young maiden, no legendary beauty, nor the prized first daughter of a proud and subjugated lord. Your life and your body were being thrown away to sate the bloodthirst of a devil that did not even desire you. What use were you, really, to him?

He seemed to consider this. “I could kill her,” he said, “the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.”

Your blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly—but this was a devil, not just any devil, but the king of them. You would not put it past him to kill you in cold blood. You knew that devils would not hesitate to execute any mortal that dared displease them.

And those who had come to his house before you, all killed by his hand, were the evidence: warriors that dared take arms against him, spies who attempted to undermine his power from the inside, and others like you, who had been offerings from their own hometowns. They, too, had been sacrificial lambs, offered to the demon king in a desperate bid for the legions of hell to stop ravaging the land, misguided appeals to the devil king’s nonexistent mercy. You knew not why those women had been deemed unsatisfactory, nor how many they numbered, only that they had all failed to suppress the devil king’s thirst for blood.

Rumors abound that he took wives not for procreation nor for pleasure, but for his own sadistic, murderous desires. Some lived for quite a while, others only a single day before being executed. But they all ended up the same way: dead.

Today, at your wedding, you had to find out how you could stay alive.

Before you left, you recited a spell of protection for yourself, so that you might not come to harm. You spoke the incantation from your memory as easily as you read it from a book, the familiar words and energy of the magic calming your mind. You pulled out a pendant you wore around your neck, a simple crystal you had infused with dormant power. This you poured your protective ward into, then hid the pendant beneath your wedding clothes. Then, a prayer, to the spirits above and below, that your magic might hold, and your treacherous intentions remain obscure.

Your betrothed had made almost no arrangements for the ceremony, not that you thought demonic weddings were even supposed to exist, anyway. There was simply a minister who had administered the rite upon the both of you, reading aloud the marriage vows and presenting the documentation of your union. One other demon was present as your witness, and that was all. You found you much preferred this, if the alternative were to get married with the people’s eyes upon you, watching and complacent at your sacrifice.

Your husband was called Urizen. He remained seated and he spoke no more than was absolutely necessary. There was no reception after the ceremony, only a dispersal of the scant amount of demons in attendance.

He did not stay with you afterwards, either. In fact, you would not see him until well after night had fallen.

In the meantime you were introduced to your chambers. Possibly the only good thing about this was that you would be living in comfort, however short the rest of your life might be. The palace was an old one, standing centuries before your great-grandparents were ever born, and comprised of so many rooms and structures that you could conceivably take years to explore it all. It was clean, surprisingly so, but cold and empty. It did not have the life of servants bustling around, or any other residents. Or maybe it did, and you had not seen neither hide nor hair of them. The palace was certainly large enough.

Of note were the books in what you assumed to be your husband’s room. There was an astonishingly large amount, and when you looked, they were mostly fiction and poetry, contrary to what you had thought. Some titles you even recognized, and many were well-worn, obviously read several times.

It was a strange detail, you mused, that a devil with such disdain for humans would so readily consume their literature. It was something that had kept the gears of your mind turning the rest of the day. You had a way with words, and writing had always been one of your strengths. This, along with the way your magic manifested, would be the key to your survival.

In the evening you took dinner alone. Despite being human, you were still considered with some respect, as you were served delicious food in a large and ornate dining hall. You were just completely alone; even the demons that served you were mere mannequins, unable to speak or perform actions beyond their purpose. You had the feeling that your new husband did not like to populate his home very much. You weren’t sure if that were better or worse; surely there would be no one to witness or call out to if he attempted to murder you, and you doubted that anyone would even notice in such a situation.

After dinner you washed up, spending so long in the bath you were sure you would shrivel up like a prune. You didn’t want to think about what was to come once you headed to bed; Urizen had not yet returned from wherever he had gone.

With apprehension you left the bath and dressed for bed. You wore a long nightgown, one that covered your body as much as possible. You missed your corset and your layers that shielded your body, much better than a simple nightgown could. You climbed into the bed, a large, ornate affair carved from dark wood and curtained with damask. The bed was sinfully soft, and against your better judgment you found yourself slipping into sleep as you lay there, wrapped in blankets and exhausted from the day’s events.

* * *

You didn’t want to do this.

Terror clasped at your very bones as the plan was explained to you: you, the last witch remaining in Red Grave, would be sent tomorrow into the devil king’s lair under pretense of an offering, as many other towns and cities had attempted to do.

“Hide your magic,” your aunt told you. “Find out what you can about his protections.”

“Yield to his demands,” your uncle instructed you. “Do what you must to survive.”

Numbly, you nodded, even as your veins ran cold.

“Your life is no longer your own,” they said. “The people of Red Grave count on you, now.”

The people of Red Grave had sent their men and women in futile attempts to fight the demon king. When that failed, they began to leave, or to bend the knee to cruel and demonic overlords. Some had fled to Fortuna, hoping that the supposed land of Sparda’s blessing would offer respite from the demonic invasion. Only a few years later was that hope disproven; demons installed themselves in that city’s highest of holy orders, and now Fortuna too bowed under the weight of hellish rule. Your parents had gone to war, too. They fought, and they died, and now you were expected to assume that burden.

You pressed a hand to the crystal that hung from your neck, a last gift from your mother, who taught you everything you know.

Then you silenced your fear. Outside, the summer flowers bloomed, mindless of the blood spilled on their grounds, and you promised upon your life to venture into the heart of the devil king.

* * *

You immediately woke at the opening of the door. You were still restless, after all. Moonlight still poured in through the window; you hadn’t been asleep long. The one who entered was a devil, one you recognized attending your wedding. From his chest he glowed orange, the light the color of molten rock, with an impressive set of wings extending from his back. He spoke:

“My lady. You are summoned to the throne room.”

You blanched at the address, though you expected it as befitting one who was the demon king’s wife. You supposed this made you a queen, but the title meant nothing when you felt like a prisoner. You were not allowed in the throne room, not unless you were explicitly summoned. Despite your position, you held no power in this place. All you had were your brains and the strength of your will.

“Y-Yes,” you wavered, and stood unsteadily, your hands wringing at the cloth of your nightgown. You followed the devil to the large room where Urizen stayed, dark save for the fireplace, kept lit with blue flames.

It was your husband, looking much the same as he had during your wedding. He still wore the same expression of cold indifference. At his side floated the ever-present red jewel, a mysterious object from which you could feel waves of strong demonic power. What manner of magic was it, you wondered?

“My lord husband,” you addressed him, taking a knee as you had been instructed to.

“Wife,” he grumbled, as if saying the word pained him. “Get up.”

You stood. Urizen was seated on his throne, one arm bending to support the chin, eyes skating over you to land on the flames in the fireplace as if you weren’t even there.

You had not moved. You bit your lip, wondering if what you had in mind would work, or if it were even sane. Once again, the image of the books next to the chair revived itself in your mind.

“My lord husband,” you said again, “may I interest you in a story?”

Your voice interrupted his brooding. He raised his head slowly from his hand, his face turning towards you in what looked like a silent fury. You hoped you hadn’t inadvertently angered him with your seemingly inane question.

“…A story?”

There it was, that deep, deep voice that sounded like the rumble of the earth itself. There was something strange in his tone: less animosity, something more akin to questioning. Maybe curiosity, if you were feeling generous.

“Yes,” you said, “I like to tell stories.”

You could barely keep the tremor from your own words. So far, he had done nothing, but Urizen still terrified you, as distant and dangerous as he was, the sound of his words before still echoing in your head.

I could kill her the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.

You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Maybe for now he would keep you alive, or maybe he would murder you later.

“You realize this is no harmonious marriage,” he said. “You mean nothing to me. I do not care about your stories.”

He sneered the last word. You could not help but shiver, but your mind’s eye once again found those well-worn books, stories and poetry that were clearly loved and perused. How long had it been, you wondered, since he had cracked open a book?

You settled yourself next to his throne. Carefully you started to speak, weaving the story you had formed in your mind. You had always been a lover of art, of literature, and you had dedicated many years of study to the humanities. You felt you could put together a story that would keep his attention and weave your spell so that your husband would not lay a hand on you and—maybe—change his heart.

To your astonishment he made no move to stop you. On the contrary, he seemed like he was listening, though he never said a word and never did he turn those cold eyes towards you.

You felt your resolve waver, but you didn’t let yourself falter, not when you had lulled him into this strangely receptive mood with your words. You still feared the devil—after all, he could so easily kill you, and even slouched in his throne you felt the aura of death from him. The red crystal revolved, silent and dangerous.

You continued your tale. You told it all the way until you had reached the last of what you’d written. The hero had fled the destruction of his hometown and met a young woman to whom he’d recounted his tale. He felt torn between his need for vengeance and the feelings that were quickly growing for her.

“Is that all?” Urizen asked.

You looked out the east window. The sky was swathed in violet and edged in gold by the encroaching sun.

“Morning approaches, my lord husband,” you said. “The story must be continued the next evening—I haven’t slept.”

He grumbled, but made no further complaint. Then, “Get out.”

“My—”

“Return to your chambers. Bother me no further.”

You quickly stood, nodded, and nearly ran out of the throne room. You weren’t sure how long you ran, or if you were even going in the right direction, but you made it back eventually.

You closed the door behind you, chest heaving, and not only from the running. You felt like you had just escaped with your life, and when you clutched a hand to your chest, your heart was pounding. You clenched your fists, fear and anxiety knotting between your lungs.

Knees weakening, you fell back into the large, soft bed, trying to calm your racing heart. After tossing and turning you fell finally into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning you woke alone. So, he didn’t have you killed in your sleep, at least.

When you looked out the window the sun was already high in the sky. You’d slept in a little; considering how late you’d stayed up the previous night, telling your husband your story, it was to be expected.

You hadn’t been given any actual responsibilities in your new home. You had the distinct feeling that Urizen considered you little more than a nuisance in his home; a thing without real purpose here. It suited you just fine: the more invisible you were in this den of demons, the more likely you were to get out of this alive. And the longer you stayed, the more you would become acquainted with the devil king, and his weaknesses, no matter how small those might be. All you needed was a single chink in his armor, and you’d be able to work your magic.

Your husband, to your knowledge, had never left the throne room. You could not go to check; the red devil that had escorted you there the night before was also nowhere to be seen. Was he just a servant, you wondered, or something more? His presence at the wedding implied the latter.

With you thus unoccupied, you decided to fill your day with exploration. The palace was undoubtedly beautiful, and you wondered why a devil would take such a place as residence. Maybe it was a site of great demonic power…? The home of a conquered human lord? You would not put it past the devils to take a man’s home as a war trophy. You were simply astonished at the state the house had been left in: it was pristine, as if servants cleaned it every day, as if demonic forces had never breached its walls. The glass of all the windows remained intact, the floors sparkling; elegant curling columns reaching towards beautifully painted, vaulted ceilings, and stained glass throwing multicolored light against the walls.

Wandering the halls, you trailed a hand absently along the walls. The sunlight shone brightly outside, and the thickness of the air signaled the height of summer approaching.

Somehow, you found yourself at the far corridor of the west wing. Judging by the sun’s position, it could not be later than noon, and so you thought a bit more exploring could not hurt until you were expected to take your midday meal.

This part of the palace was as pristine as the rest of it, just as clean and untouched, but the energy felt different here. Where you previously felt ignored by the few beings that crossed your path in the halls, here you simply felt… alone. It wasn’t a lonely feeling. On the contrary, you felt peace in the solitude.

At the end of this corridor was a large double door, vaulted, heavy and inlaid with colored tile. It was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was inside. After checking to see that you were indeed alone, you placed both hands on the beautiful doors and pushed, making your way inside.

The room that revealed itself to you was a vast library, with towering shelves that seemed never-ending. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, so bright and the air so still that you could see the motes of dust floating.

The way the doors creaked and the difficulty in pushing told you that no one had set foot in here for a very long time. You supposed demons did not really have much time or purpose for human literature, though once again you thought of the books in your chambers. Were they Urizen’s? You doubted it when you thought about it. He had not been to those chambers with you, and it seemed in character for him to arrange a whole separate suite of rooms for you, far away from himself.

You looked again to the library you were in. A shame no one seemed to come here, because this place had been built to take advantage of the sunlight. There were tables and chairs for writing, and cozy little alcoves for reading. You could easily picture yourself spending hours here. Your parents had nurtured a love for reading in you, and you felt a prick of loss at the thought of them.

As you lightly ran your fingers across the spines of the books, reading their titles, the dust stirred. Truly, no one had come in here in recent memory but you. You thought maybe this could be your hideaway, far enough that you could feel even a little like yourself again, and still close enough by that you could easily validate your presence here. All these books would help, too, as would the ones in your bedroom, for crafting more of the stories that had somehow ensnared your husband’s attention. And if, by chance, they held magical knowledge as well, you could do some surreptitious research.

Moreover, it was simply a beautiful place. Even if you were not in the clutches of a devil, you would gladly come here every day.

The sun outside heralded the afternoon, and you knew you would be fetched and served lunch. Quietly, you left the library, closing the doors behind you. You could return another time, you thought. For now, you would acquiesce to the expectations (however little there were) of you.

In the throne room a human was being brought to kneel before the demon king. This man had dared protest his power and struck one of his knights in retaliation. Such insolence demanded punishment, and the decree for him was death.

“Do what you must,” said Urizen. “My power will not be challenged.”

He waved an imperious hand, sprawled as he was on his throne. The guards took the prisoner away, heedless of his piteous cries.

“I did nothing wrong! It was him, he—”

They dragged him to the courtyard, the man’s struggling making a spectacle of the walk. It was just your luck: the window overlooking that courtyard was the one right in front of you.

One of the silent knights struck him across the face with his metal gauntlet. He fell to the ground, and another pulled him onto the chopping block.

His pleas were cut short by the descent of the axe upon his neck.

You stared, barely believing what had happened right in front of your eyes. A man had been killed. You watched the blood spurt, the ground turn red beneath him. Above the body, the branches of a large, leafless tree swayed in the windless air, its bark as white as bone. Red splattered over that bone-white tree, soaked into the earth beneath, and his head rolled on the ground with a heavy thunk.

What had that man done? You weren’t shocked that executions were carried out here at the palace itself, but seeing it was another matter entirely.

Were you going to be next?

You had no stomach for the rest of your meal. You stood, fighting the urge to retch, and took off back to your room. Feeling numb, you hoped that you would not be summoned to attend to your husband in the evening. You weren’t sure you could take another fright in the same day. To distract yourself, you made notes on the story you had started the previous evening, in the case that you would need to provide a continuation. Your mind wandered, far from the confines of the palace walls, as you wove your tale.

Of course, right before you were about to begin your evening toilette, the same devil from the night before came to your room to escort you to Urizen once again. Various other demons came in and out of the palace during the day, but this one was the only one you had encountered at night, not counting the mannequin demons that cleaned and served in the kitchen.

In case this devil was going to remain as your chaperone, you deigned to ask him his name.

“I can’t really say, my lady. But you can call me Tony.”

You noted there was a strange, clipped quality to his words, as if some spell or physicality prevented him from uttering his name. Or maybe you imagined it because demons had different voices than humans. More than that, though—

“Tony?” you echoed. “That’s…” An unusual name for a demon, you were going to say. Much too… human. His face, too, was far more humanlike than the other demons you had encountered.

To your surprise, he chuckled. “A weird name? Sounds better than Urizen, I’d say.”

His nonchalant manner took you off guard. You hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“I only meant that I didn’t expect a devil to have such a normal sounding name,” you explained.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t need to be complicated. Just Tony is fine.”

Before you knew it, you were back again in the great hall, standing before the doors to the throne room. Tony walked ahead of you to open the doors and once again, you saw your husband.

You walked through the large room, one you surmised was the largest one in the entire palace, approaching your spouse. Tony remained outside.

You tried not to let the images from earlier that day distract you too much. The man’s cries. The blood seeping into the ground. The tree that moved by itself.

You nearly crumpled the notes in your hand.

“Wife,” Urizen said, in that deep, dark tone. There was no discernable expression on his obscured face, and none in his voice. You bowed before him and awaited his instruction.

“The tale from yesterday. Continue it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. As long as this remained all he asked of you, you would be okay, probably. Shuffling through your notes, you began to recite the rest of the story.

Again he offered neither comment nor interjection, or really any reaction at all, which you supposed was the best you could hope for at the moment. The plot you’d woven was fairly basic: the hero of this story was torn between his mission and the growing love between him and the lady who had rescued him, and while he was making to leave, the lady asked to accompany him. She wanted to help him, she said. He did not want to get her involved in his problems.

“This is not just about you!” said she. “I lost loved ones in that attack too. And who’s to say they won’t attack this town too—”

“I have a mission. It’s dangerous.”

“With them out there, everywhere is dangerous,” she said. “I am going whether you want me to or not.”

Cursing his mission for vengeance, she left him to seek a new home for her family.

“What a strange tale,” Urizen said.

“Wh-what?” This was the first time he’d spoken about the story itself. You couldn’t tell whether he meant the comment as a compliment, or as a sign he disliked it, and a shiver of panic rose in you.

“If that is all, you may go.”

You weren’t done, but you also didn’t want to go against his word.

“Then I shall resume tomorrow evening, my lord husband.”

He said nothing, only waving his hand in dismissal. You gathered up your notes, bowed hastily, and left the room.

You wondered—why did he decide to comment on the story now? Was there something about the tale he disliked? He had given no clue as to his feelings, as always. His expression had remained inscrutable and distant. Your hands clenched around your books and papers, frustrated.

Tony was nowhere to be found outside. Alone, you walked back to your room, returning to fitful sleep.

“So? What about it, V?”

There was a crow perched on the top of an armchair in the library, where a young man sat deep in thought.

“Think she’s the one?” the crow asked the young man.

“She has power, I can feel it,” he responded. In his hands he held a book, idly flipping through the pages.

“But what about—"

He interrupted the crow. “She’ll come back. I’ll speak with her then.”

“If you’re sure,” the crow said. “Y’know, I could always fly out there, get her to come if you can’t—”

“No need,” he responded. “What she needs is here. She’ll come back.”

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 11

Read on FF.net

Read on AO3

Fireflies glided through the air like green-yellow orbs of light. Zelda was grateful for the comfortably humid evening air of Damel Forest, welcoming it against her skin. 

She, along with Link and Impa, approached the entrance to the Spring of Courage, which was marked by the wide-open maw of a stone dragon, carved by an ancient tribe in the distant past.  Zelda pushed ahead of Link and Impa, ascending the stone steps and moving towards the spring at the end of the walkway, eager to get this whole ordeal out of the way.

Fallen leaves floated in the ankle-deep, crystal clear waters of the spring. Zelda looked back momentarily at her companions. Link had stopped some distance away and had his back turned to them, guarding the two women should monsters encroach on Zelda’s duty at the spring.

Impa gestured for Zelda to get in, giving her a reassuring smile. “Everything is going to work out.”

Zelda hung her head slightly. She made her way over the last bit of the walkway where it started to space apart, carefully balancing herself as she navigated the stepping stones. She began her prayers aloud, watching the water ripple out from her as she waded through the water.

“I will do whatever I can, as I am right now. Even if all I have to give is my faith that things will work out. This is the thread I have been following all this time.” Zelda hated the worn-down quality of her voice.

She came to a stop, directing her attention to the towering Hylia statue in front of her, and she absentmindedly wondered which had been carved first: the monument to the dragon Farosh or Hylia.

She stared up at the goddess statue. It had a simple smile carved onto its face, and Zelda couldn’t help but feel a tinge of irritation. It was almost like it was mocking her, as silly as that sounded.

She was already quite exhausted just from the journey itself. And there was a terrible ache in her heart, weighing her down.

What's wrong with me? Am I not enough or am I just a joke to you?

And Zelda can almost hear the statue whisper back. “It’s because you’re not trying hard enough... You’ve got a poor attitude... It’s because you’re wrong. It’s because you’re impure, not holy like all the royal girls of the past. You’re a stain…”

Every real or imagined slight she’s ever endured came to mind and she broke. Zelda unclasped her hands, letting them fall to her sides. “I can’t… I can’t do this…”

“Princess Zelda?” Impa’s concerned voice called out from the edge of the spring. “Why don’t you take a moment of rest before you continue.”

“But we just got here…” Zelda replied, a little embarrassed that she had lost her composure so soon.

The silent knight turned to give Impa and Zelda a pitying look but said nothing.

Impa clasped her hands, a look of resolve dawning in her eyes. “Okay, I want you to try this. You say whatever’s on your mind and know that there is nothing you can say that will make us think less of you. You can get whatever it is off your chest, and then you can try again with a clear mind. Need to scream and rage? Want to gush about something you love? Anything. No judgment.”

Zelda gave Impa a strange look. This was the most unorthodox suggestion.

“It works for Purah when she gets stuck in her research.” Impa nodded for Zelda to at least give it a try.

“All of the research into the relics - if I cannot awaken to my power -will have been in vain. Impa, you are carrying out your duties with such grace, just as much as Link and the Champions. I am the only one who cannot live up to her own potential...”

“I didn’t ask you to self-flagellate, and there’s no need to butter me up. I’m asking you to air your rawest and darkest thoughts and emotions. Come on, give the goddess a confession that will make her proud.”

“I don’t have anything to confess.” Zelda choked out defensively. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought Purah had used a glamor spell to impersonate Impa. Zelda bit her lower lip, knowing there was no use trying to fool her closest friend and royal aide. “Well, I…” She took a steadying breath. “If you must know…. I can’t help but -”

The Princess’s expression went lifeless, being frozen in place as she was enveloped by a transparent dome characterized by a familiar feverish pink glow and constellations.

“Your Highness!” Impa yelled, noticing with alarm that Zelda’s eyes were glassy, the irises a faded green as if they were viewing something beyond their perception. Her lips were slightly parted as if in surprise.

Link quickly closed the distance between him and Impa, helping the Sheikah woman in her attempt to dispel the magical barrier holding the princess, but it was no use.

Impa pressed anxiously against the dome. “Is this the power? Please tell me it’s the power…” Impa’s voice went up an octave, although already knowing this was a ridiculous conclusion.

Link shook his head, pounding on the barrier with a look of desperation in his eyes.

Zelda’s eyes focus on the Prophet of Doom. They are both standing within an expansive luminous pink dome with its constellations creeping across its surface. Outside the dome, there is nothing but darkness. He’s not facing her, but he looks like he’s waiting for her. Zelda gives a sigh of longing, relieved that he is still alive. He is the one who consumes most of her thoughts. He was the first person she thought of when she woke up in the morning and the last she’d think about before she fell asleep. He had summoned her for some reason, and her heart skips a beat wondering what he could want. He’s not facing her, but he looks like he’s waiting for her.

“Good evening, your Highness...” There’s something about the tone of his voice that sets her at ease. It’s far less antagonistic.

Astor turns to her, and she’s not sure what to make of his expression, but it’s different from the way he looked at her before. She can feel his eyes on her, and she doesn’t move to cover herself, letting his gaze fall over her. His pale complexion does nothing to hide a massive bruise on his cheek, and Zelda’s hand goes to her chest.

Astor’s fidgeted with his hood, trying to hide his face from her. “Oh… You’re wondering how I came to be in such a sorry state? A certain Princess ordered her champions to attack the Yiga Hideout and Kohga’s right hand took exception to that…”

“I did no such thing! I was trying to protect you. I begged you to stay, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Hmph! It is not befitting for you to fear for my safety. I have seen the future and you have not. I am far more powerful than a mere Yiga footsoldier. Ganon would not allow me to fall, for I have his resurrection and victory to ensure. 

Zelda recognizes doubt in his voice, she has heard the same pained inflections in her own prayers.

“Ganon’s chosen or not, you are mortal. I can’t imagine Ganon to be a merciful master who would revive you if you were to fall. Did Ganon even punish those who did this to you?”

Astor didn’t answer, her point having landed.

“So… What are you going to do now?”

The question catches Astor off guard, but he responds with what comes naturally and makes him most comfortable, not ready to feel disloyal to Lord Ganon. “Continue my purpose without them, of course, and when the Calamity returns the Yiga Clan will face the full brunt of Lord Ganon’s wrath.”

“Just tell me… Does my seventeenth birthday mark the return of Calamity Ganon? Is it true?”

Astor nods, giving her a taunting smile, “It is fated by Lord Ganon himself, so you won’t awaken your power in time to stop the Calamity.” He doesn’t know why he persists in torturing this poor girl; not being able to help but fight against Hylia’s plan for him, set in his devotion to Ganon.

“Then… I’ll just have to go to the Spring of Wisdom early. I don’t care if I get in trouble or what happens to me as a result - if my father wants to punish me, that's fine. At least no one could say I didn’t try… not even him.” Zelda thought back to what Impa said, but she wasn’t confessing her most personal thoughts to Hylia, she was telling them to Astor.

“Naughty Naughty... Breaking Lanayru’s decree, are you? Nice try, Your Highness, but you don’t stand a chance of holding back the Calamity, even by going up to Mount Lanayru prematurely.” Astor couldn’t help but admire her devotion to her duty. Perhaps she wasn’t that different from him.

The princess sighs. “Maybe you are what’s wrong with me.” A sad, introspective expression crosses the princess's features. “You… being the reason I can’t find my power… Does that give you some satisfaction?”

Astor blinks. Was she even listening to him? It is like she is in her own little world as she looks at him… And Astor knows he has already lost to her. He is overcome at how vulnerable and beautiful she is at that moment, and he is stunned into silence by her admission. He had summoned her to shake her companions to the core and make a show of his power, or at least that is what he convinced himself of to not feel like a failure before Lord Ganon for wanting to see her so badly, but it is the princess who breaks down all his defenses with her words and her gaze. He can see the weariness and desire in her eyes. A Desire for him?

“What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?” She asks.

“I- I don’t know…” He says, sounding… afraid? Zelda’s heart melts. Was she actually getting through to him?  

“Astor… I hope you will allow me to give you what Calamity Ganon cannot…”

The seer panics, losing all control of the illusion, and the dome that held them shatters violently. Zelda screams, shielding her eyes as she reaches out for him.

Zelda blinked a few times and then looked to Impa and Link with surprise. “Oh…”

“Your Highness, you’re not hurt are you?”

It takes her a moment to fully come to. “Oh no, I’m fine,” she said, managing a melancholy smile. “I… I think I’m ready to continue.”

Link and Impa exchanged suspicious looks.

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you going to tell us what that was?” Impa demanded.

“Oh… That was… Astor.” Zelda said, trying to keep her voice serious in tone, although not being able to hold back a dreamy look in her eye.

“What? That was him? He didn’t hurt you, did he? What did he say?”

“Calm down, Impa. I’m fine, really,” Said Zelda, gently.

They stayed for about an hour more. The Princess eventually grew increasingly exhausted from her training and the group returned to Hyrule Castle.

After a day of rest, Zelda proceeded to the Spring of Power in Akkala, once again going through the motions of what was expected of her. 

Her seventeenth birthday was closing in. She was growing more and more disillusioned by the day, although not willing to give up.

Zelda recalled when she’d first began her training at the age of seven. Urbosa had accompanied her to this spring during the winter months. The idea was to push her mind and body to the limit by standing in freezing cold water, and she had done just that for hours growing weaker and weaker. Urbosa had rescued her when she noticed the young girl begin to sway. Zelda had become very ill from that incident.

Now she stood in that same spring nearly a decade later, although thankfully it was a much warmer time of year.

Would prayer really awaken her power? She was questioning it more and more these days.

She thought of her mother, trying to recall memories that were growing dull with age.

Mother promised that her own power would develop within me… But she was wrong…

It was becoming harder and harder to return to the castle unsuccessful, mostly because her father was looking at her like she had disappointed him.

When she returned from the Spring of Power, King Rhoam issued the decree to evacuate Hyrule Castle Town, instructing his citizens to take shelter in villages that were furthest away from Hyrule Castle.

Zelda went to her chambers and collapsed into her bed, quickly falling asleep. 

Zelda looks out over what she assumes to be the Spring of Wisdom, which is completely taken over by gelatinous red-purple matter... Malice. And she sees the eyes, like the one she saw in The Lost Woods; like the jewelry Astor wears to signify his role as Calamity Ganon’s chosen, that stare up at her as she calmly steps into the malice, wading through the waist-deep, undulating plasma.

She stands there a moment in silence, just accepting the state of things, and then she perceives a light growing above her. She looks up to see the goddess… Or at least the same woman from her dream before, the same one she had seen playing a harp and singing silently, as Zelda could not hear her voice.

The goddess was looking right at her, trying to speak to her, but again, no matter how urgently she spoke the goddess was silent. Zelda focused, trying to read her lip movements.

“Wake up” or “Don’t give up.” That was what she seemed to be saying. “Go now!”

[thewincestgospel]

Do you have any gender-bent fics, either wincest, J2, or gen??? Thanks!! (This blog is awesome, it's super helpful, so thank you so much for it!)

But of course! There are so many though that I might have to do a part 2

Female Dean    

Another Way to Get to Know You  by IndridGrey   New city, new apartment, new job, new gender presentation.Dee Smith leaves the menswear at home, starts her new job at Sandover Iron & Bridge in a skirt and kitten heels, and finally, fucking finally gets called the right things.  Things are going great for a few weeks and even with the fear of being outed she's the happiest she's ever been.And then someone decides to pop their own kernel in an office microwave.(This covers the three weeks that the Winchesters are brainwashed into Smith and Wesson up to the end of It's a Terrible Life)             

 Dress to Impress  by  KillerOfHope Deanna and Sam are undercover as a married couple in a gated community where several strange murders have taken place while undercover, the two have a little roleplay in the bedroom as 'husband and wife' with Sam as the dom Hubby and Deanna being the ever submissive wife, taking every order he gives, referring to Sam at some point as 'sir'.                

Judgment That Will Never Come  by  xHelenxOfxSlash   “Yeah, I mind. Dee, you want me. We need to-” Sam started in his “caring and sharing voice.”

“We don’t need to do anything. Besides, who says I want you, huh?” Before She knew what was happening Deanna was flipped over onto her back again, Sam’s hands slipping under the waistband of her shorts and cupping the wetness there. She let out an embarrassing mewl, face coloring with shame and arousal     

Let's Get this Party Started  by   firesign10   16-year-old Sam gets invited to his first party and is totally awkward and feels uncool. Girl!Dean shows up and pretends to be his cool, older girlfriend in college and lets him feel her up in front of his envious peers.          

 A Most Unusual Realisation  by BronteLover       He took in the sight of Dean’s new mouth-wateringly luscious body, only dressed in white, lace underwear. The smooth, soft curve of her breasts were accentuated by the line of the bra, and her flat stomach led down into lace panties that left little to the imagination. He imagined ripping them off and plunging his cock inside the tight, wet heat they hid.                  

Orlando by ellerkay   While working a case in a small town in Massachusetts, Dean ends up with a very different body than the one he’s used to. He thinks it’s the most fun thing ever. Sam, on the other hand, is barely holding it together. He can’t stop thinking about Dean’s new shape, and it’s making it much harder than usual to keep his desire for Dean at bay. 

Sweet Sister  by  Anonymous   Sam has pined after Deanna for years.  Finally, they can't resist each other anymore.            

there's an opera out on the turnpike by cherryvanilla She's tried to fill the hole Sam’s left behind with saving other people. Tried to fill it with rock salt and matches and grave digging and shotguns. Tried to fill it with whiskey and beer and fucking and sucking. (Or, five times Deanna Winchester hooks up with someone who reminds her of her brother plus one time she sleeps with the real thing.)

 Thicker Than Water by Edwardina  Dean's got cramps, and Sam knows just what to do for him.  

Until it All Falls Down  by  Callisto   Jess burned, Dad died, Mom never really was, and Samuel never mattered. She figures if surviving all that doesn’t entitle Sam and her to each other for ever and ever, then Castiel in his heaven can sit on her middle finger and rotate.She once said that aloud, expecting a little shock and derision from the brother who’d prayed every day once upon a time. But all he said was ‘amen’ before he crowded her against a wall and kissed her.(Pre-series to season 6)     

 You're The One That I Still Miss by tebtosca     A curse sends Dean running to Stanford to hide out, but an unexpected life with Sam keeps him there.            

Female Sam

All Right, Mr. De Mille  by britomart_is  Sam's thighs are controversial. They're a matter of public debate.    

Beggars Would Ride  by   victoria_p (musesfool) He tells himself that the line he's crossing can be redrawn, slightly over the edge into fucked up, and isn't that where they've been living anyway since Mom died?                       

Bewitched Again by DickBaggins  Someone didn't read the fine print on the curse, and a month after Bewitched, Sam transforms into a super hot lady yet again. This time, Dean thinks he's better prepared. Thinks. 

Blues Won't Haunt You  by darkdecay   When John gets Dean severely injured on a hunt, Sam decides she's had enough. She gets Dean in the impala while their dad is out, grabs what she can, and gets herself and Dean as far away from John—and the life he wanted them to lead—as she can.                            

Dean's Bad Girl by Annabeth_Crestfallen_LeMorte  Not a lot of plot...basically some gender-swapped Wincest-y goodness.  SHAMELESS SMUT!  You've been warned.              

Don't Be Such a Girl, Sammy by  LoveThemWinchesters   Okay, yeah. Dean makes mistakes sometimes…some are worse than others. But maybe the end result isn’t so bad this time. 

Exit Sign in the Mirror by  keysmash   Sam lets things go pretty far before she bothers to tell him.              

Heaven is High and the Earth is Wide  by  lexicale  As wide open as the untamed west is, the Winchesters are always trapped between a rock and a hard place. Sam can't escape the trappings of her gender, and Dean is irrevocably in love with his sister.A western!AU with always-a-girl!Sam.            

The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped  by Viridescence   Your typical monster-turns-Sam-into-a-girl fic. Or, how Dean DIDN'T get to play with Sam and his shiny new vibrator.      

I Am Sam By: Sorrel   It's hell being the girl. But Sam makes her own way, come hell or high water, and there's plenty of the former when she reunites with big brother Dean, and remembers all of the things she'd thought long forgotten.

The Old College Try by Anonymous   Sam's getting ready to graduate from high school and Dean's worried about Sam up and leaving him. So he starts plotting to get Sam pregnant.

Only Love Can Make A Home  by  KassandraScarlett   Soulless Sam seduces Dean and they begin sleeping together, and Dean does his best to hide the fact that he's in love with her. But then Sam gets her soul back and has no memories of what she did while soulless, until her wall breaks and her hallucinations remind her.                  

Samantha & Dean  by  Destiel_Cockles   AU where Sam is a girl and she wants nothing more than to be with Dean. She comes up with a plan to seduce him because she knows he wants her just as bad. 

A Supremely Black Tai Affair by setissma  The year she turns sixteen, Sam's Christmas list to her father has exactly three things on it: a house, a real Christmas tree, and the OED.

 The Thrift Store Tragedies by Blue_Jay  For hunters, being a woman is seen as a weakness. Samantha figures out quickly how to make it a weapon instead.                          

Underground Wires by eggnogged It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.

Both Dean and Sam are females

Bleeds for a Week and Doesn't Die by Nutkin   John Winchester has two daughters named Sam and Dean.

The Cursed Beaver by  Mayalaen   Sam and Dean find a cursed object that allows them to switch genders whenever they want.  

The Female Advantage by   DckBaggins   Dean's still feeling the full effects of a nasty little sex spell courtesy of a banging succubus, but she decides to lie about it to Sam; of course, her soulless sister sees right through her.  

For My Prayer Has Always Been Love by  The_Circadian  Back on the road after tragedy finds them again, Sam and Dean find themselves seemingly cursed by an unknown source. With little to go on, their previous plans to find their father are put on hold while they try to fix whatever has changed them into female versions of themselves.Despite the curse and his grief over the loss of Jess, the situation does nothing good for Sam's long running, hidden feelings for his brother. If anything it's harder and harder to deny how he feels.Takes place soon after the Season 1 Pilot.              

We Still Have Tonight   by ds9trekkie   Sam and Dean experience lovin' from a very different perspective. Witches, lesbian sex, and all the feels.          

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Seventeen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

i know all of us read for an escape, and that is especially true for fanfiction, so the only thing i will say here is this: i am sorry that elected officials have bastardized the phrase “thoughts and prayers” because i believe it is a sacred one. please know i am entirely sincere when i tell you i have been thinking of and praying for you all, especially my black american readers. i hope this grants you few minutes’ reprieve from the pain of the world. i wrote it for you, dear reader.

---

February 8 - Year of

Just as Nesta was finishing her preparations for dinner, Emerie knocked on the door. Nesta untied the apron she had donned before going to open it.

"Hello," she said in greeting, and not Happy birthday, even though that was why Emerie was coming over.

"Hi," Emerie answered.

"Dinner's ready. Come in."

Nesta was not naturally inclined towards cooking, and in their little cottage under the Wall there hadn't been much to cook with, but here she was learning. Sometimes she and Cassian even cooked together now.

"This looks nice," Emerie said, inspecting the duck carefully.

"I've learned, all right?" Nesta said, remembering the first and last time she had attempted to cook for Emerie. This time she had used Cassian's recipes.

"Where is he, anyway?" Emerie asked.

Nesta shrugged, although she knew. Whenever he left with a vague I have to go, it was to Velaris.

"That looks loved," she said, nodding towards a book on the countertop. She frowned. "Haven't you read that already?"

"It's children's stories. You're supposed to read them again."

"Or children are," Emerie said, stifling a grin as she poured herself some water.

Nesta scowled. "Cassian still likes them." They had even read some together. Nesta bit her lip tightly, trying not to think of the evenings spent in the living room, her reading aloud some of his childhood favorites.

"You have a great voice, you know that?" he said to her quite suddenly, interrupting what he had claimed was the best story in the book.

She had scowled at him then as she was scowling at Emerie now. For Nesta's voice had been described as many things: shrill, thin, even grating, once, by some horrible girl from her old village—but never great. "Shut up," she had snapped.

His eyes had widened and his arms went up in surrender. "What? I mean it!"

"You do not."

"I do! It's...clear. Soothing. And sometimes..." he moved his head from side to side, trying to think of the right descriptor. "Lyrical."

"Lyrical?" That was certainly a first.

"Yeah." His face had split into a grin. "Do you sing?"

"No," she said, forcing her head back into the book. "Don't interrupt me, or I won't read anymore of this Nicholas thief..."

"Nicholas, the Thief Who Stole the Night! And fine. Keep going."

But perhaps some of the memory bled onto her face, judging by Emerie's smirk.

"How do you normally celebrate?" Nesta said, quickly changing the subject.

Emerie's brown face fell flatly. "I don't, really."

"Well...how do people here normally celebrate?"

She shrugged. "Like this, more or less."

"Duck?"

"No, doing what they like. With...you know. People."

For the second time that evening, Nesta forced the flush out of her cheeks. A person knowing that they are one of your two friends isn't nearly so miserable when you are also one of their only friends.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

The children face leaving Velaris to go home to Sugar Valley with the same excitement they greet everything, but Elain is fighting back tears.

"We'll see each other again soon," Nesta reminds her, slightly exasperated.

"No, I know," she says. "I'll just miss you."

"You can come and visit whenever you want."

"Well, I will." She wipes her eyes. "I'll move in with you."

"Don't sound so miserable," Nesta says, laughingly.

"I just want to be with my whole family all of the time." Elain rubs at her face again, and, without much warning, throws herself at Nesta.

"Ugh—all right, Elain...yes, I'll miss you too..."

"Come on, Elain," Feyre says, walking towards them, Avery on her hip. "Give her some air."

"I'll miss you," she says again, muffled against Nesta's neck

"I won't," Nesta tells her, making both her sisters laugh. She hides a smile.

"You know," Elain says, finally taking a step back, "you don't look like you had a very relaxing vacation."

No, she'd wager she did not. Because after falling asleep in bed with Cassian on Solstice Eve, she had not managed to sleep at all for the two nights after that. Perhaps being back home in her own room would help grant her some peace of mind.

"There's not really a holiday from being a mother," she says instead.

Elain's eyes light up, looking over eagerly at Feyre. "We could give you one! We could take care of the kids for a few days and you could have some time with—for yourself! Or..." she says, backtracking at the look of alarm on Nesta's face.

"No, no, it's fine," Nesta says, bringing up her hands. "I just don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"We're here when you are," Feyre says, putting Avery down and throwing an arm around Elain.

"Mummy, I want to stay with my aunts," Avery says, tugging on her hand.

"They'll come visit soon. Where are your brothers?"

"Cass and Rhys have got them...oh, here they come."

"All set?" Rhysand asks when they reach them.

Nesta narrows her eyes at the extra bag he's holding.

"Is it all right if I join you?" Cassian mumbles in her ear, appearing at her side.

Well, she doesn't have much choice now, does she? "Sure."

"I just want to spend some more time with you all while the Illyrians are still celebrating."

This mollifies her slightly. "Of course."

After more tearful goodbyes from Elain—the children all seem upset to leave her, too, which softens Nesta's heart in a way she had not expected—Feyre and Rhysand take hold of them all and they are finally home.

"Elain and I will come soon," Feyre says, squeezing her tightly. "Thanks so much, Nesta. We loved having you in Velaris."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre!"

"Oh, goodbye, you three!"

"We hope to have you again, Nesta," Rhysand says, the picture of politeness.

But Nesta doesn't think she will ever be able to look at him without glaring. Still, she maintains the same civility he does. "Thank you."

And she doesn't even snarl at the cooed "Bye, Uncle Rhys!"

"It's been a long few days," Nesta says. "We're going to take a nap."

"I'll get them down," Cassian says, picking up all three of them in one swoop, making them shriek with laughter.

"Thanks," she calls after him as he wrangles them up the stairs.

She supposes he's given her some time to herself, but there's stuff to do. She's got so much new crap she needs to put away...and what on earth is she supposed to feed Ollie's new caterpillar?

Half an hour later, when Cassian sees her sitting at the kitchen table scrawling out a list, he laughs.

"I thought you'd take a shower or something."

"I have so much to do," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Those authors you found?"

"They've given me some samples...I need to decide what I'm giving to Adil." And she was incredibly busy trying to avoid him, of course.

"Well...when can we talk?"

Nesta looks up at him. She sighs. "Now." She pushes away the work in front of her.

Cassian perks up, obviously not having expected this.

She opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand.

"Actually, do you mind if I go first?"

Nesta blinks. "Sure."

He gives her a reassuring, relaxed grin and pulls out a chair. "I really wanted to thank you for agreeing to come for Solstice. It was the best of my life."

She can't stop her lips from tugging upwards. "The children enjoyed it as well."

"I hope you did, too."

Her slight smile falters, and she moves to pull back. He puts his hands over hers. "Nesta, I know that you're still hurting. But we've come a long way since a few months ago, and I want to keep that. And grow stronger. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what we have now...and what I want us to be."

This is far too confrontational—

"I don't want to scare you off," he says softly, "but I don't ever want to leave things up to interpretation with you." He pauses for a moment, perhaps not even noticing how he traces her fingers with his. "I want us to be a family."

That isn't fair. Of course she wants that. What's the alternative? That her children come from—from a broken home? "A family can be many things." The hoarseness of her voice is unfamiliar to her.

"I know that." A short laugh escapes him, probably as he thinks of his own makeshift family in Velaris. "But I also know what I want ours to look like."

Is he going to spell it out for her, in the name of loose interpretations? She hopes he doesn't. She's not ready for that, she can't hear him say it.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?"

"What was perfect?" she asks blankly.

"That night. The two of us in one room, the three of them in another."

She flinches. "That was..."

"A mistake, I know. But it still happened." He still hasn't moved his hand. She hasn't moved hers either. He squeezes it tightly. "I know you liked being under the same roof, too. Let's just...not lose our momentum. Let's keep going. This pace is fine for me."

What if it's too fast for her, though? Or her children? Or—and this might be worse—too slow for them?

Sometimes she feels like she never got out of the Cauldron. Like she's still drowning.

---

January 1 - 1 year after

The last of the Solstice decorations were being taken down when Nesta walked to the post officer, the letter she was twirling in her hands drawing far less attention than the ever-growing bump under her gown.

Everyone was staring at it. And—ugh—it was only going to get bigger, wasn't it? Amorette had told her that a triplet pregnancy could result in gaining anywhere north of forty-five pounds. And also to stop referring to her belly as it.

There's no easy way to write to someone I know I never intended to speak to you again, but I changed my mind because I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant, by the way, because I don't know how fae pregnancy works, apparently. Which I guess means I shouldn't be having sex, but well, at least I've stopped now. Write back!

After hours of writing and crumbling up parchment and throwing it against the wall, Nesta had settled on the more gentle:

Cassian,

Write back.

Nesta.

Nesta knew perfectly well how pathetic that was, but after the way she left, she couldn't say anything else. She didn't want him to come here. She didn't want to go there. They'd have to meet in some neutral territory.

Announcing her pregnancy, she believed, was not something she could do in a letter. She had to do it face to face. Not only because she thought, well, he deserved being told that way, but...

Because of her reasoning for almost everything: she was a coward. That was the truth of it.

She had left him, and now he had the opportunity to leave her right back. Pregnant and alone. Delaying his finding out was delaying the possibility of that happening.

So even though she hated herself for sending that letter, she knew it was the only option she could bring herself to go through with.

December 23 - 4 years after

After playing at the park and dinner, putting the children down for the night, Nesta asks Cassian if he'll be all right alone with them for a few hours.

"I'm just going out to meet Amorette," she says.

"Before you do," he says, standing up from the couch and slipping his hand into his pocket. "I forgot to give you this...in all the—er—excitement."

He pulls out a small black box, very much like the one she had turned down years ago. But he opens it and she knows it's not the same one, because of the gift.

A white gold heart on a fine chain, with three tiny stones in the left corner. One deep violet, one royal blue, and one slate grey, each engraved with a letter: A, N, and O.

She traces it lightly with her finger. "Thank you," she says. "It's beautiful. I have...I have yours, too. Wait a moment." She rifles through one of the bags in the kitchen. "It's not—I mean, I guess I should've...you..."

"Give it here, Nesta," he orders, making her laugh slightly. She hands him the book.

He unwraps it and his eyes widen.

"I didn't really make it for you," she explains. "I just started it when they were born and kept adding on. But...I thought you might like it."

She keeps things. Three tiny bracelets Amorette had snapped on three tiny wrists, locks of hair cut for the first time, the first cohesive "art project"...

He looks up at her after flipping through some of the pages, eyes shining. "Thank you. Can I..." He gestures to the necklace, which she's set on the counter.

"Oh. Yes."

He picks it up as he walks behind her. Is it the cold of the metal that makes her wince slightly, or his body heat so close to her.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at it, after he fastens it. "It's beautiful."

"Say hello to Amorette."

It's rather abrupt of him, she thinks. But perhaps he's worried about pushing her too far. At any rate, Nesta takes her leave, and it's only a few minutes before she is knocking on her friend's door and being ushered in.

"Nice necklace," Amorette remarks right away.

"Thanks."

"It's a heart."

"I noticed."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what warrants a heart necklace?"

Nesta rubs her temples. "Can't I have a drink first?"

Amorette laughs before obliging.

She frowns as she takes the glass from her, jerking her head towards a chair in the corner of the room. "What's all that?"

Amorette's clear blue eyes slide over. "Oh. Paperwork."

"You don't normally bring this much home with you."

"Some research, actually," she admits, "from another hospital. In Ciyaluck."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "You're working with a hospital in Ciyaluck?"

"Not exactly...they've put out some interesting stuff. They asked applicants to do their own...never mind," she says, waving her hands.

"No, wait. You're applying for something? That's great."

"It's up in the air, really. And I'll spare you the gore. Tell me what happened in Velaris."

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Cassian and I fell asleep in the same bed and Nicky walked in on us."

Even Amorette's healer-patience and understanding are not enough to stop her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping. "You slept—"

"No! We just fell asleep!"

"Oh." She pauses. "But...you were in bed together?"

"We didn't do anything," Nesta hurries to say. "Really. Just fell asleep. We didn't...nothing. It was just..." Nesta lets out a groan and drops her head into her hands. "Nicky saw."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes." Earlier today. She had stolen a moment alone with him.

"What was your favorite part of the trip?" she had asked, pulling him into her lap, and listened to his ramblings about everything he enjoyed for a few minutes before gently stopping him. "Do you remember when you walked into Mummy's room? And you saw me sleeping there with Appa?"

His brown cheeks darkened, going rosy at the top. Eyes cast down, he nodded.

"And how did that make you feel?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her.

"Sad? Or angry?"

"No..."

"Happy?"

"I don't know."

"You know we both love you very much, right?"

"I know."

"And you're allowed to come into Mummy's room when you wake up in the morning. Or if you wake up in the middle of the night. You know that?"

"I know."

"Would it..." Nesta paused, wondering how best to phrase it. "Would it be good or bad if Appa slept in Mummy's bed again?"

Nicky had looked up, his grey eyes shy as he started wringing his hands. "I don't know."

"All right," she had said, keeping her tone cheerful. She kissed his forehead. "Do you want to go play at the park?"

"Well, that's all right, then," Amorette says when she finishes recounting the events of the afternoon.

"How is that all right?"

"He's not upset," she replies. "He may not know exactly how it makes him feel, but it's not bad."

"What do you think he is feeling, then?" Nesta tries to decide based on his expression when he walked into the room that morning. He had averted his eyes...embarrassed?

Amorette echoes her sentiments. "In the moment, at least. But from what you said...I think he might be pleased."

Is that worse than him being upset? Nesta can't tell.

"Look, he's clearly not losing any sleep over it, and neither should you. You spoke to him, reassured him, made it clear he can come to you. What else is there?"

"I don't know...do you think he told Avery and Ollie?"

Amorette shrugs. "Well, they're not very good secret keepers."

That much is true. "Should I talk to all three of them?"

"If they ask. Parents have done worse things to their children than falling asleep, Nesta," she teases. "When you traumatize them enough for them to run away, it'll be for something worse than this."

Nesta sighs and stretches out her legs. "Suppose you're right...thanks for the book, by the way." An extremely rare edition of one of Nesta's favorites. "Although I don't know if I should thank you for supporting my competition."

"As if," Amorette says, grinning. "Adil tracked it down for me."

Nesta feels a warm flutter in her stomach. "Oh."

She has so much here, doesn't she? The thought doesn't leave her, throughout the whole evening with Amorette and the walk home. Not just for the children...but for her. Adil and Miri and Amorette...and neighbors...and Zeyn.

Who calls her name just as she walks up the steps to her porch.

---

February 16 - Year of

The cold of the Illyrian mountains did not melt alongside the snow, but all of the iciness inside the General Commander's house had gone. There were quiet moments of awkwardness here and there, when Nesta could hear him not mentioning the forbidden words: Velaris, Rhys, Feyre, etc., but the other moments outnumbered them and were pleasant. Which was why Nesta had agreed to join him on one of the mysterious meetings he always disappeared to.

He had asked her a few days ago, after coming home from one of these meetings. Slumped on the couch and complained about how the preferred method rebellion appeared to be directly disobeying him.

"Step down," Nesta suggested, and he had rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see why you try so much. There are more armies than just the Illyrian one. So let them choose a new commander if they hate you. Be the other armies' commander."

He stretched his arm out, his fingers trailing the spot next to where her knee was under the blanket, and smiled softly. "But I'm Illyrian, Nesta."

She knew that. "Well...I just don't think you should be giving so much to people who don't even want you there."

"There's no way," he said. "Think what the rebels will do if I step down."

"I don't understand. They're Night Court, aren't they? So aren't they loyal anyway? And aren't they pleased to have an Illyrian High Lord?"

"They don't see themselves as Night Court," he said. "They live amongst themselves. They are only Illyrian. So they don't like having an Illyrian High Lord. They like Night Court society about as much as you do," he added ruefully. His grin tugged downwards slightly as he mused, more to himself, she thought, "Actually, you do have quite a bit in common with them..."

"With the Illyrians warlords?" Nesta asked drily.

"Camp lords. We're not at war."

"Not at war yet, you said."

His fingers inched farther, and she leaned back as he began to rub one of the dimples in her knee from over the blanket. "Come with me."

He was still touching her. "Come with you where?"

"To a meeting."

She hadn't thought he would be able to convince her, but his pleading and a rare burst of curiosity on her part won out in the end. So after a morning of his teasing her that they were going to be late and her grumbling that it was so early, Nesta found herself at the entrance of a building in an Illyrian camp that looked very much like the one she and Cassian lived in.

"Lysander's the new camp lord," Cassian told her. "Relatively young. The old one...well. Not a fan of Rhys' or mine."

"Did you kill him?" she asked, half teasing, half genuine.

"What? No! I didn't kill him...and keep your voice down, if you're going to accuse me of political assassination."

"How'd he die?"

"We're not sure," Cassian admitted. "It might have been an accident. But probably not."

"Are you going to find out?"

"We are." He grinned at her.

Nesta scowled. "That's what I'm here to do? I thought you wanted me to sit next to you."

"You will. And add another healthy dose of fear while I interrogate."

"This is stupid," Nesta said, crossing her arms. "Don't you have a mind-reader on hand?"

"This is a new camp lord," he reminded her. "I want him to see me as his commander, not Rhys' lapdog who calls him in anytime things get rough."

She could appreciate that, at least. "And I'm your lapdog?"

She expected him to give her a wicked grin and say something stupid like, You're a wolf, but he only laughed and said, "No. Who would believe that? You're just here on an excursion."

"That's a big word."

"Oh, shut up. I need your help. All right?"

"Fine," she agreed, forcefully making her tone sound begrudging. "You don't think the new camp lord killed the old one?"

"I don't. But I could be wrong. Let's go see."

The building was not much nicer than the tents the Illyrian military had pitched during the war...and the people's attitude towards Nesta have not changed. Muttering greeted her when she entered the room at Cassian's side, and some of those religious hand gestures were thrown in her direction.

She stifled a scowl. She'd been living in Illyria for six months now. If she were going to unleash hellfire down upon them, wouldn't she have done it already?

Cassian didn't waste much time on introductions. On their part, that is. "This is your new commander's table?" He motioned for Nesta to sit down next to him.

Lysander cleared his throat. "I decided on a chain of command, yes."

He was nervous. That was...good? Because he was nervous about doing something without Cassian's permission first? But if Nesta were living here, she wouldn't like knowing that her camp lord was nervous when presenting his decisions.

Oh, she didn't know what she thought. She didn't really understand the politics before her and she honestly didn't care to.

The whole meeting seemed spectacularly boring to Nesta. Even things that should have been interesting—Cassian asking why no females had been chosen for the new commander's table, discussions of Illyrian separatists starting a fire in the middle of the camp—were not. She just...didn't care.

She didn't think much of it was interrogating, either. Until Cassian said, "It seems odd that an established camp lord, who was well-versed in aerial combat, fell to his death. Don't you think, Lady Nesta?"

It had been quite some time since she'd heard that made-up title. But she gave no indication. "I do," she said.

They all flinched at the sound of her voice.

Cassian ignored them, pretending like they were the only ones in the room, as he leaned back and said, "What's your theory?"

Nesta looked around. "Was he popular?"

"He was not."

"Hm." Nesta thought for a moment.

If Cassian had wanted a politician, he would have brought Rhysand.

So she didn't think up any veiled threats. Instead, she turned to Lysander, and asked, just as she had asked Cassian, "Did you kill him?"

Asking Cassian, though, had not been nearly so funny. There was no chorus of sharp breaths, no sputtering.

But the answer was the same—more or less.

"No, Lady!"

Ooh, he would've had to be quite young to look at her with that kind of fear. But it was still hard to tell with faeries, for her.

"I don't think he did it," Nesta said.

"Anybody else?" Cassian was looking only at her.

She studied them all carefully. There—two from Lysander's right. He was calling on his gods far too much for an honest male.

"Did you kill him?"

His brown face bleached. "I did not, Lady." There was, perhaps, less terror in his voice than in Lysander's, but that wasn't very impressive. Perhaps he did not kill the old camp lord, but he definitely knew who did.

"This doesn't strike me as a good commander's table," Nesta muttered to Cassian, who chuckled slightly.

"Lysander...and you...stay. The rest of you, take your leave."

It wasn't something that she hoped to do again, she thought to herself. She didn't particularly enjoy intimidating people; she didn't like to be around people in the first place. But it was for a good cause, she supposed. Tangentially working for the Night Court, but weeding out corruption, right?

And she couldn't deny it—she did enjoy the secretive grins Cassian kept shooting her way.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

Cassian doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Really. He just thinks, when he hears Nesta coming up to the door, that she'll appreciate his help with her coat. Walk her into the living room where they can go over the book she had given him.

But then he hears her say, "Zeyn."

He freezes. Is he—here to spend the night? Should he leave?

Footsteps away from the door, and a kiss.

"I missed you," he says.

"I missed you too. Thank you for your gifts. We loved them."

When had he given her a gift.

"Suppose they're asleep."

"You can see them tomorrow." She pauses. "How was Solstice here?"

"Same as always. Madam Sabina had the kids put on a dance show."

Nesta laughs. "I wonder what the routine was like."

"Oh, it's such a shame you missed it. I can only hope this routine is repeated an infinite amount of times at every single town fair, so you have a chance to see it."

"Fingers crossed."

She's not sending him away, but she doesn't seem to be inviting him in. He notices, too.

"He's here, isn't he?"

Zeyn's voice has changed. He's not cold, but he's certainly not warm.

Nesta's own voice is unapologetic. "He's my children's father, Zeyn."

"But what is he to you?"

Cassian holds his breath. He doesn't want to listen in anymore, but he's too in-tune to her voice. He'll hear her from anywhere in the house now.

"He's my children's father," she says again. "That's a lot, Zeyn."

"Come on, Nesta, you know what I mean."

He wishes he could see her face—well, no, he doesn't. He saw it earlier tonight. She's not ready. He knows that.

Finally, ever so soft, she says, "I don't know, all right?"

Zeyn waits another few seconds before saying, just as softly, "All right."

"I can't have...anything...right now," she says. "It's too much. I'm focusing on the children."

"You always focus on the children."

"Well, really, Zeyn, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

"No, it's not wrong. I'm just saying...do you really think if you take some time to figure out what you want you won't be focusing on them?"

Privately, Cassian agrees with him.

"I don't know."

Now she sounds tired. Cassian doubts she'll want to look at the album with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Zeyn...all right?"

Another kiss. "All right. Good night."

Cassian is sitting on the couch in the living room by the time Nesta makes it to the door.

"Hey," she says, untying her boots as she sits down.

"Hey," he says, casual. "How was Amorette's?"

"Great," she says flatly. "How's the album?"

He can't stop the smile on his face. "Great."

She chuckles slightly and reaches for it. "Did you see the little handprints? When they wake up, we can ask them to hold their hands against it...I still make them do it sometimes...they've just gotten," Nesta pauses to sigh and smile slightly, "so big."

"Ollie was always the smallest?" he asks, looking at the prints.

"Yes. I guess he'll be bigger than Avery one day." She laughs. "Oh, wow...do you ever think about what they'll be like? What they'll look like? Nicky looks more like you every single day."

Cassian perks up. "Really? Do you think?"

She nods. "He's started losing his little cheeks already. They're really not toddlers anymore. Three and a half."

"Three and a half," he echoes.

Nesta flips some of the pages. "And the hair. Look, Avery's hair was so light when she was born. I thought she was going to be blond."

They sit for another hour or so, talking about their children. This time, when Nesta starts to doze off, she claps her hands together and announces she is going to bed.

Cassian doesn't mind in the least.

---

some of y’all might not be aware, but since last week was so tough for me, i turned to you. i asked for prompts to write things that might distract me, and i am so pleased that it distracted a lot of you. some of these are lpg-verse, some are not. all are short, and hopefully fun for you.

you can continue to come to me when things are hard for you. my writing will always be here to provide an escape, and i am always here to lend a listening ear.

don’t let the bad days win.

Chapter Eighteen

[lamalefix]

Pulvis et umbra natura renovantur integra - ch. 3

read this work on ao3

[ch1; ch2]

  The silence that follows his statement doesn’t surprise him that much. Perhaps saying it aloud was a bad idea, because now Magnus could swear to hear the sound of his own heart rumbling in the corridor, resonating between the walls.

He knows, what it means to be hunted by the Clave. All the Downworlders know it, many can say that they have undergone terrible treatments, if not tortures, in certain dark centuries in which the Nephilim used the heads of warlocks and werewolves, mainly, as terrible decorative choices for their walls. Stuffed with straw like animals that you could find in a taxidermy. There are those who might say they didn’t risk their skin, not having fight openly against the Shadowhunters, to see their rights recognized, in a peace of paper that wasn’t really a peace. And Accords after Accordss, somehow, they have arrived at a sort of stasis. And then there was Alec who changed everything.

Here, however, what is happening in that cell is a transformation that the Clave can’t accept. A transformation that probably also crosses that thin line between the possible and the impossible that legends are. Legends like them.

If the Clave discovered what’s happening to Alec, especially in this moment of change, in this moment in which progress is being made and peace is not just a side note, something that is present only on paper and is enshrined in the Accords, now that Nephilim and their minds are changing, now that their ideas are changing, if the Clave discovers that Alec is becoming something different, something that isn’t included in their usual categorization, he would be taken and thrown into the darkest of prisons; and that change that his life, his personality is bringing would end up in oblivion.

The Clave would hunt him down, lock him up and study him in every part. And Magnus doesn’t want to think about the specific name of this practice, that the thought alone sends a chill down his spine. And then he clenches his fists and holds his breath and tries not to look at the young, so very young Nephilim in front of him. It’s indeed a good thing that the Angel allows the ascension of very few of them, and that in that Institute there is only the Lightwood family and their immediate kinsmen: the hunt is not open yet and with a little luck, and many spells, maybe Magnus can still find a solution.

A dull and piercing cry from the cell calls him back from his thoughts. He must hurry. He moves again to gain that thick runed door. The steps that become heavy like his thoughts.

Isabelle’s voice stops him, though. “What's going on, Magnus?”.

And he doesn’t know whether to turn around, if he is stretching a half smile. He just shrugs.

“Isn't this your magic?” Simon asks, and maybe it’s not a question it’s a statement. “I thought he had activated the Alliance rune, really... I thought... I don't know, it seemed like your magic.” he then murmurs and takes a long, loud gulp from his cup of coffee.

And it’s at that point that Magnus turns around and wants to ask him more information about it but Simon continues.

“I didn’t even realize you were on the ground, it seemed like you were fighting with him... I wrote this in the report. He was all zap, bang, slam, chop” he keeps saying waving his hand. “He seemed to be fighting with you by his side”.

“I also thought the same, that he had activated the rune, in the end it seemed to make sense, doesn't it?” Jace nods . “When he reached you, then, it’s like he gave you back the magic... I don’t know if it sounds right…”.

Magnus remains speechless for a moment. It isn’t strange that they don’t know it, that legend. It’s older than Elphas the Unsteady in person, so it’s easy to assume it got lost in popular folklore stories and disappeared almost completely from Clave’s records. Ragnor had a theory: some of the warlocks who fought the demons and who disappeared into oblivion, were through and through mundane and not some demon spawn. But before he can begin to tell the legend there is something else that gets his attention: Alec used magic, he used a magic that was certainly not Magnus’ own, and he used it there on the battlefield. “Impossible.” he finally says, the heavy tone that perhaps doesn't even make the idea of how serious this thing is. It could have been an eventuality if that fog wasn’t there, if those lightning bolts didn’t cross the darkness in that cell, if Magnus hadn’t been on the ground, more dead than alive.

“Impossible?” Jace repeats .

Magnus turns his eyes, sighing. It’s too late. He can only look for a way to slow down the process, he can no longer avoid it. Maybe, maybe he can find a way to make it less painful, to make it less terrible for Alec. If he has already used magic, it’s too late. The runes will disappear. Or maybe his body won’t hold the transformation. Too much eventuality, too little time.

“Magnus?” Isabelle calls him making him come to his senses.

“My magic was─I was dying. That wasn’t my magic. And he... he─” Magnus shakes his head and freezes. He must have the certainty, weighted and perfect, he can’t say it aloud because it’s even scary to think of it. “Stay out of it, okay? It’s useless for you to enter,” he adds and gives them a sufficiently eloquent look. “Right now it's dangerous”.

“But you should rest,” Simon replies, a bit worried. “I mean Catarina said it. And we all know she’ll kick our asses, in the least figurative way, if you don't”.

Magnus gives him a smile. And he doesn’t even know how convincing it can be. “I’m the only one who can help him, though. I try not to die in the process, okay? It would be a pity to throw away all the precious energy that Isabelle gave me”.

“Explain, please.” says Isabelle. And it looks like a prayer. “Tell us, tell us what’s going on”.

Magnus sucks a breath between his clenched teeth, the pain radiating from his chest isn’t only physical, it is more emotional. It’s as if his heart was gripped in a vice, bloody and violent.

How could he explain what’s going on inside that cell, or more precisely inside Alexander?

With all his enormous property of language, with all the languages he knows, he wouldn’t be able to explain it even with all his good will. He would translate it into a handful of words: it’s a big fucking mess.

He swallows, crushes the tongue on the palate. And his mouth tastes ferrous and kneaded by blood and tiredness, he rubs the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

“Magnus? Can you explain?” Isabelle asks.

He moistens his lips nervously, clenches a fist and sighs again, trying to ignore the other twinge of pain that climbs up his rib cage. “Alec is... changing, okay?” he says looking at the sister of his love, and trying to make this step as painless as possible. “Please think carefully about what happened, don’t call anyone, don’t report ... not until I can stabilize this situation and I can give you some more reliable information. Because this thing, if that’s what I think, has never happened before, or at least not that there is someone besides one of the ancient warlocks, and some long-lived fae that really has memory of it”.

“Magnus…” she keeps saying, her big dark eyes fixed on his, and then she shakes her head. She doesn’t need to say anything else. It says be careful, that look, it says save him, it says help him. Please. Please. Please. And many other things.

Magnus just tilts his head a little and then looks at Jace.

“I'll go in too,” he says, handing Clary his coffee . “I am coming in with you, he’s my responsibility. He’s my parabatai”.

Magnus moves his hand to open the cell door. “If it gets bad, get out. Immediately. I have to look after him, I can’t worry for you too”.

A swirl of black fog invades the corridor. Magnus remains motionless for a moment, the wave of negative emotions slapping his face. The darkness is dense and thick and tarnishes his eyes. It weighs on him like the heat in August. It sticks his clothes, like mud.

Magnus then moves one step and then another. Jace moving behind him closes the cell door.

It’s hard to breathe in there, and if Magnus hadn’t inherited his eyes from his father, those eyes that he so despises on certain days, he wouldn’t know how to orient himself in that black fog.

Jace is behind him, his senses enchanted and enhanced by the runes are certainly more useful than expected at this moment. “We didn't close him in here,” he says suddenly, the voice that sounds hesitant like a whisper. “He came here of his own free will...”.

Magnus nods his head. It was to be expected from Alec. He was probably sufficiently lucid to understand that something wasn’t going well inside him. Locking himself up there was the most sensible choice he could make: to minimize the danger for those around him.

Something moves in the darkness, a black shadow, which has appendages, legs and arms, a head and a thick puff of something blacker than the mist, it’s clearly the indomitable hair in which Magnus loves to slide his fingers, it moves. Lightning bolting from one side of the cell to the other. The grunts, the growls grow louder and deeper, vibrate between the stone walls of the cell.

There is a smell of blood, in there, of sulphur and ichor.

Alexander is clearly hurt, and even from how his breathing breaks, it is clear that he is badly injured. But he continues to move in the darkness, jumping from side to side, perhaps he is trying to protect himself.

Clary said that Alec doesn’t want Jace there, judging by how angry he was when his parabatai asked for Magnus’ help for that mission, maybe he can understand why he doesn’t want him in there.

Magnus clears his throat. “Alexander,” he calls him. His voice is soft, slow and sweet. And the black shadow seems to stop a few steps away from him. He can see his eyes shining in the black mist, only the irises, which are of that deep blue, intense and lively. He seems to observe Magnus.

“Alec...” Jace begins to say. “We are here to help you”.

And Magnus doesn’t have time to react, to make him stop.

It is at that moment that the shadow is attracted by that other voice, the eyes move and then he seems to move back into the darkness. Something, a source of light, conveys itself in what Magnus has identified as Alec’s hand and a flash goes through the fog. Magnus moves quickly, to summon his own magic in such a way as to curb that destructive flash and limit the damage.

   The shock wave, carried in that fog, is so strong that it pushes Magnus back. The recoil was so hard that his whole body was pushed back from the wall, and his vision blurred again, the pain radiating from his back to his chest. He almost feels the ghost of that wound that crossed his torso from side to side, it’s burning in an impossible way, it breaks his breath. 

It’s all dark again for a moment.

But as soon as he hears that wailing groan again, Magnus gets a hold on himself. The same must have happened to Alec, and also to Jace, but at the moment he is the least of his problems in all honesty. And Magnus does everything to recover and get back on his feet, now he can’t see anything even with his eyes open, in that thick and dark fog. There is that annoying ringing in his ears and everything hurts again. He could swear he had the terrible, ferrous taste of blood in his mouth.

Heck.

He has no time for this.

It’s already late.

He tightens his eyelids a couple of times, heaving a painful sigh between his clenched teeth. “Alexander” he calls him again, and his voice comes out choked in his throat. The pain mounts in his trachea, and Magnus tries to swallow it, with the slight ferrous taste of the blood that sticks on his palate and between his teeth. He spits at the end and decides that he has no time even for himself, he can’t let the pain cloud his sight.

He refocuses everything, finally, as he tries to stand up. The black shadow, Alexander, is on the ground and it seems all sprawled, the legs intertwined and an arm covering its head. Magnus shifts his gaze and spots Jace’s hair, which in that darkness is greyish. So, he moves his hand to open the door and push the blond Shadowhunter out of the cell, then closes it again.

When he finally stands up, he takes a step, echoing back into the room, and then another. And everything hurts, and this bothers him a little. He must think clearly, he must help Alexander, yet that fog of pain has entered his head.

He closes his eyelids again, and when he opens them again, there is the shadow that observes him with those intense blue irises, he feels his warm breath colliding on his face.

“It's me, Alexander,” Magnus tells him again. “Nothing happened,” he adds, reducing the distance between them. “I know, I know it's scary, and it hurts but... I’m here now, and now it's all over”.

Perhaps, perhaps the best choice would be to use magic to put him to sleep, to calm him down, but in the first place he doesn’t know how he will behave when he will wake up, if he wakes up, he swallows this thought. Also, he doesn’t know how he will react to his magic again. And now they are so close that they would risk killing each other. And it’s certainly the last thing he wants.

Magnus then extends a hand, to pick up his face and when he touches it, Alec seems frightened by that very light touch, by that caress, but then he gives in, and moves his head leaning a bit closer. Finally, he seems to focus on the warlock, and the darkness begins to recede and thicken only around him, behind his shoulders, in his hands, around his ankles.

The air is no longer unbearable, it’s no longer heavy. There is still the smell of sulphur, blood and ichor, but finally it’s no longer so dark. On the walls start to emerge the signs of a battle, claws and anger that intertwine on the bare stone.

Alec seems to be coming back to himself. Although he’s still impossible to focus precisely, surrounded as he is by that black fog, but Magnus can look into his eyes. The sclera in his eyes is black, as well as the vitreous humour, but in the centre the intense blue colour of his irises still flashes.

The iris is crushed, then, and becomes nothing more than a thin blue frame as the pupil expands, and welcomes Magnus’ image.

Between Alec's fingers, a strange concentration of energy thickens again, which seems to glow in that black and unkempt mass of hair. And Magnus would like to comment, he would like to tell him that he is so cool, now that he has magic at his service, that his magic arrives to radiate in his hair. But if his hair permeates magic, though, they are definitely in deep shit. And Magnus isn’t strong enough to stop him. Not now.

So, he decides to caress his face, the gentle fingers rubbing his cheeks and finally, finally, Alec reacts in the way he expected, and finally seems to focus on him. He seems disoriented, scared and confused, but also a little relieved, reassured. He blinks and his eyes are still black like that dark fog, as if all those demons he killed had become part of his own nature, but he seems to see Magnus anyway. Somehow, he seems to be coming back to himself. The darkness is leaving his skin, that dark fog vanishes leaving that lunar pallor on his skin, the scars of the runes on him, are perfectly in place. Even his face seems to get back to normal, a mask of blood and ichor, but at least that veil of black mist has disappeared.

Again, a flash goes through the darkness that still comes from him, his eyes seem to dart like that puff of energy that rises between his hair and between his fingers.

“It's all right,” Magnus tells him, reducing the space between them even more, resting his lips on his forehead, just above the bridge of his nose, to kiss away that twisted expression he has. “It's all right, it's over. It's over” he repeats.

“Mags” hears him say, and the voice is hoarse and distorted and sounds like a sob.

“Yes,” hhe replies and looks back into his eyes. “It’s me, my love, let me help you”.

And Alec seems so relieved, almost happy. “Have you come pick me up?” he asks him with this voice that trembles, that breaks. That darkness still flashes in his eyes.

“To pick you up?” Magnus repeats. “To go where?”.

And Alec makes this little sad grimace, and it almost seems like a half bitter smile. “Away. With you”.

“And where would you like to go? You mean… like eloping?” he asks him and tries to make him smile, but he can’t. And meanwhile he does everything not to look down, to keep his eyes on him, to mirror himself in Alec’s irises and give him time to come to his senses.

“Can’t I go away with you?” he asks very quietly and looks so sad.

And Magnus reaches out to cup his cheek, barely smiles at him. “I'm here, I'm not going anywhere,” he says.

And Alec frowns and is about to say more, but a small sob escapes his throat, which then becomes a groan. And his lips tremble and his eyes seem to be full of tears, and the sclera is black and perhaps Magnus can swear he feels the fog again begin to envelop them.

“Alexander...” he calls him again, very softly. “Everything is alright, hm? I’m here, I’m a little bruised, but I’m fine, I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere. Now let me help you, eh?”.

And Alec's lips are still twitching and then he sighs and moves slightly more towards Magnus. Reducing the already non-existent distance.

“It’s all right,” Magnus repeats. “It’s okay.” he nods and then decides it’s time to look down. 

Shredded clothes and that huge gash that starts at his right shoulder and reaches his left side. The smell of blood comes from him, from that and other wounds he has all over his body, on his forehead, on his hands and on his arms, perhaps even his legs and back are badly injured, and Magnus is not sure if he is only from that battle or that fighting that is infuriating inside himself. But he decides that it is not important, that if he has to save Alec he will use all the strength he has. All the energy left in his body. Because he must save hi,. “It's all right” he repeats and continues to hold his face in his hands, smiling a bit.

And Alec’s forehead, his eyebrows, his lips, everything on Alec’s face seems to contract in a grimace of pain before falling back forward. All the weight of his body on Magnus, who even if he is more than a bit battered, manages to support him. He does have to step back and bend a little to avoid tumbling over, but he is able to support him. And Magnus is still for a moment, only one, Alec’s full weight on him, which makes his legs wobble. But he feels him breathing, against him, he hears him moan very softly. He feels the heat that emanates from his body, the feverish warmth that comes from his neck, the sweat and blood that run down his face and fall onto Magnus’ shoulder. He tightens his grip more and moves a hand to open the cell with the blue fire of his magic. “A little help?” he asks quickly, as he squeezes Alec closer to him and tries to bring him into what was perhaps originally a bed, but now it’s only a frayed and battered mattress on which Alec has clearly rashed all his anger.

Jace is the first to return, and it shows that he struggles not to look at the ground or the walls. The marks of nailed, blood and ichor formed in little or large pools, the signs that left their shoes, around the floor, and the stains left by that black fog. Or maybe he does everything not to even look at Alec who physically collapsed in Magnus’ arms. And even when he reaches out to retrieve his brother, his parabatai, to carry him on that loose cot, his eyes seem to be clouded by an impossible pain.

But as soon as Jace puts him down, Alec has his eyes open again, for a moment he seems disoriented and another flash of magic vibrates between his fingers.

“Hey,” Magnus says picking up his hand, to get rid of the spark of magic, which burns his palm, like a sweltering ember. “Now, let me heal you, let me do it,” he adds, kissing the back of his hand.

And he keeps his eyes fixed on Alec’s for another moment, before looking down, on that enormous slash, which pumps blood and ichor and poison with his every breath.

And if he was even a little more lucid, Magnus would wonder how on earth he managed to stay alive until now. But certainly, he can’t fail to say he is happy to still have time. And he tries to ignore that little voice in his auricle, which then curls up in the brain and slips like a chill down his spine.

“It’s all right,” Magnus tells him, but perhaps these words are more for himself than for Alec.

Alec swallows, makes a tiny nod with his head, but continues to keep his eyes fixed on Magnus. “You're here,” he says and stretches his lips in a soft smile, a dull strangled groan escapes his teeth.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere,” he replies. “Let me help you now, okay?”.

Alec seems confused again, when he opens his eyes and seems to finally realize that he doesn’t feel well. “It hurts” he murmurs.

“I know. I know, Alexander. Believe me,” he says again, kissing his fingers now, which are tightly clenched on Magnus’ hand. “But now I'm here, and everything will be fine. I promise”.

Alec looks at him for a moment and then seems satisfied with what Magnus told him. He smiles slightly, this very weak but happy smile. “You're alive, you're alive”.

“Yes, you are too,” Magnus says, very softly, smiling. “Don’t worry now, okay? Me and Jace are here to help you”.

Alec frowns. And a bolt of energy goes up on top of his head.

“I know you’re a bit upset with Jace, but if the runes can help us heal you faster, we have to try, okay?” He adds, running his fingers through his hair, staring at that flash of magical energy that seems to flicker back there. “Everything is alright”.

“You? Are you okay?” he asks very softly, his eyes seem clouded by pain, fatigue.

“Yes, of course I’m fine, can’t you see me? I’m fine, just let me help you...” he adds, stopping his hand at the edge of his forehead, between two wounds that will probably leave their mark. It’s hot.

“You were dead.” he murmurs, with this heavy broken voice. “I saw you die... I couldn’t do anything for─I… I thought you─” he bites his lips, full and velvety, and tries to hold back a sob.

Magnus decides to hold that hand on his forehead to lighten his pain, and the other will be enough to heal him. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, my darling” he replies, smiling very soft. “Let me heal you at least a little bit, you have a high fever and... you’re just not in your best shape, eh? We will talk, and make out as soon as we both feel better”.

Alec half-closes his eyes. “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave, will you?”.

“Never, I’ll never go away,” Magnus tells him and casts an eloquent glance at Jace, who takes his stele and moves to draw a single rune, iratze, a couple of inches above that big gash.

Iratze will relieve Alec’s pain, while Magnus draws the blue fire of his magic between his fingers. Healing magic isn’t easy, and it isn’t his specialty but, for now, Magnus’ abilities must be enough, at least to remove all the ichor and the demon poison that has certainly now mixed with his blood.

Alec moans, again, but he doesn’t say anything, he keeps his eyes half-open fixed on Magnus. That black mist that only a few minutes ago darkened his eyes now a distant memory.

There is friction, that thing, that internecine war, that is inside Alec is rejecting Magnus’ magic, even if he lets it flow gently, so very cautiously on him. “Allow me to help you, Alexander, please” he sighs, bending down again to kiss his forehead. “Allow me, Alexander, I’ll make you feel better. I promise”.

It’s only when Alec sighs louder, his chest wiggling, that Magnus can finally act and suck away the ichor, the poison from that enormous wound and all the others. 

It’s certainly not a conscious process, the one with which Alec was rejecting him and his blue healing fire, probably he didn’t even realize that something was pushing away Magnus’ magic, but if he managed to control this innate response, there are good hopes.

Perhaps, perhaps he knows Magnus’ magic well enough to be able to dose even what now burns in his veins. Maybe Magnus can afford to hope a little more.

Alec tightens his jaw and moves his head, wrinkles his nose and uncovers his teeth in a pained grimace.

Magnus then moves a hand to try to ease that pain, passing his fingers through Alec’s hair again, while with the other continues to wipe away the poison from his body.

From time to time he feels a bit of friction with that thing that Alec has in his body, and it is perhaps that kind of magic, of new essence that leaks into every cell, rather than the poison of a demon that makes it more painful. But iratze seems to help the healing process, it seems to alleviate his pain at the second activation and so Magnus orders Jace to activate the other one, sangliers , to replace the lost blood alongside the one now rotted by the poison. 

This won’t be enough, because now Alec’s body is affected by that internecine war not only by the wounds and the poison and the blood loss, and Magnus will only be able to ease his pain, with as much energy he has stored.

The rest of the healing process, soon enough, will be up to Alec alone.

Please, Magnus asks the Angel or whatever energy lies above their heads, or under their feets, please let him live. Don't take him.

And then moves his eyes and looks at Alec’s pained grimace, his forehead furrowed, sweat and blood covered. And decides he has to ask Alec, and not some Gods, Angels or Saints, nor Demons. No one in heaven or hell cares for this, for his life. Don’t leave me, he asks silently. Don’t.

[ch4]

[ain-t-bovvered]

Serendipity 12

RE-POST  EDITED: @waywardbaby

A/N 1: so I’m slowly getting back in the writing thing, I first need to finish to re-post this act so I don’t get overwhelmed by the others too. Bear with me while I finish this I NEED to get this done, then I’ll get back at the others.

Pairing : Dean X Reader

Characters : Dean , Sam , Castiel and Jack

Warnings : slow burn guys…slow burn . Also some fluff, humor,feels and angst.

a/n : this was my first ever spn writing. It started as a one shot and I couldn’t put it down to rest and kept writing and writing. Don’t know what else to write honestly….this is my first born and I love it, I hope you do too.

summary: You were minding your own business at work, in your little town.Your world was small and uneventful, work,studying,gym,netflix, a devastating heartbreak, the need to travel, the craving of freedom, adventure…just something different. You just knew you needed more .

Suddenly an American green eyed stranger walks in and, like someone heard your prayer ,your life won’t be the same.

Masterlist : Serendipity

catch up! :Part 1   Part 2   Part 3    Part 4    Part 5   Part 6   Part7  Part8   Part 9 Part10 Part11

“How drunk is he?” you questioned, looking at the chair where Sam’s sluggish, giant form was slumped on, face flushed, eyes unfocused and head lolling. At his feet, a bottle of tequila, probably empty. Castiel sitting across from him, three empty bottles on the little table at his side, looking like the epitome of sobriety.

“How can you still be ok?” you asked

“I drank a liquor store once” .

You grabbed the fourth bottle from his grasp and took a sip, grimacing as the sweet liquid hit your tongue.

“Uh... gross!”

You pushed the bottle back in his hands. “What the hell are you drinking?” rinsing your mouth with the beer Dean had ready for you.

“Uh...” Cass’ squinty eyes read “...strawberry flavoured vodka”

“Eww”, you pointed at him, “and wrong”

“Tastes like molecules”

“Still disgusting”

“I like it,” Sam said, standing up and not being good at it.

“Nope,” Dean nodded, hiding a smirk.

“Gimme that, Cass” Sam’s slurred voice grabbed your attention again as he stretched his hand trying to take the bottle.

“No Sam, finish this,” you put what was left of the tequila in his hand’s path.

“But-“

“Now.”

He looked down at you and you up at him. Dean grinned entertained, watching the war of stares in front of him.

“If you don’t sit down right now, I’m going to have a stiff neck tomorrow,” you said putting your free hand on your hip, pushing the one with the bottle against the giant’s broad, and very, very firm chest. Sam snatched the bottle from your grasp and sagged down on the chair.

“You’re bossy…”,he looked up and down at you, “…and short” he snorted.

Dean spat his beer and turned around covering his mouth, laughing, “Yeah, I think we’re good” .

As if on cue, Sam seemed to space out for a moment, his head lolling down. Dean approached him and shook his shoulder. Almost immediately Sam’s head shot up and he looked around, fairly sober, finding and focusing on his brother almost immediately..

“Dean what the hell? Where am I? “He looked down at his hand and gave Dean one of the best tilt-bitch faces you had ever seen, “Dean…” he closed his eyes in exasperation, his brows furrowing,“...why am I drinking tequila?”.

Dean helped his brother on his feet, “...long story man.” He patted his back, then he let out a happy sigh, and a genuine, warm smile gave his eyes new colors. You didn’t think that those eyes could have looked more beautiful.

“H-hold on...you’re saying that I missed, what...2 weeks?” Sam said pacing down the room, looking annoyed and frantic, his hand messing up his hair for the tenth time.

“Yeah, how are you feeling ?”

Sam seemed to make a quick check-up, looking down at his hands, patting his own chest. “I don’t know man. Fine, I guess”

From the corner of the room, where you and Thalia had silently shuffled to give them space, you watched as Castiel joined the brothers, hugging Sam who reciprocated with a cute smile and a big pat on the angel’s shoulder. You could tell they were a team, and as they were finally reunited they looked complete. Your lips curled up into a smile.

As Sam pushed the angel at arm’s length, smiling, his gaze fell behind him, locking eyes with you. Suddenly you wanted to get swallowed by the floor as he threw a little tight smile. You saw him saying something to Dean and then they both looked your way. You quickly lowered your gaze, pretending to look at your nails.

“Hey...” Sam’s wary voice was suddenly close, his big frame looming over you.

Wringing your hands you looked up into clear and gentle hazel eyes. What’s up with the Winchesters and their eyes

“H-hey”

“Y/N right?” he said softly, slowly raising a hand.

“Yes, umm…” you answered as you shyly extended your own. “Hello, Sam. Nice to meet you”.

“Dean told me you helped”. He pressed the free hand against his chest in such a gentle and sweet gesture that made you blush even deeper.

“Oh…mm it wasn’t…I mean...I didn’t- it was my pleasure. I’m glad you weren’t in danger”. He nodded slightly and his eyes caught a movement behind you, where Thalia was hiding. His eyes, you noticed, hardened a bit. “Thalia”, he said, his voice cautious, acknowledging her.  You slowly slid to the side, urging her to face him. He was intimidating but no way was he going to hurt her.

“Sam, I…” her voice small and nervous, “I’m sorry, I panicked. I was never going to hurt you”. She spoke quickly and tried to retreat behind you again.

“I know “ he smiled tiredly. “ I guess I knew that”. He slowly raised a hand, “We... are both at fault, ok?” They both quickly shook hands in peace.

Staring at Sam while he was talking calmly with the witch, you couldn’t avoid thinking how understanding he was being. Dean was surely the hot-headed one, you giggled to yourself.

“The spell is gone, but you’ll still have a hangover tomorrow. So yeah…drink plenty of water err,” she added.

“Thanks, I will” Sam turned to Dean and Cass. “Are we leaving yet? I feel like I need a shower, forty coffees and a lot of Advil so I'll be ready for tomorrow”

The walk back at the ripple was silent. Sam and Dean in the front talking in hushed tones, probably catching up on things. Castiel seemed to just enjoy the stroll, his head turning at the slightest insect noise, his eyes following the occasional fireflies that were drawn to him, a gentle little smile plastered on his face. The witch, Thalia, was at your side and she occasionally slowed down to enchant something or check some of her babies, how she called her plants.

“I couldn’t even get succulents to stay alive” you commented watching in amazement as she helped a flower bud to flourish, revealing vibrant yellow petals.

She turned to look at you, assessing you from head to toes before squinting her eyes as she looked into yours.

“I could teach you something” she looked warily to the two hunters upfront, “if...you want”

“You think I could actually do magic?”

“Well….all humans can do minor enchantments, some more than others, some less, but yeah, something this minor? Of course, you can”

“I...would actually love that, thanks”.

Thalia smiled back as she plucked a bunch of jasmine flowers handing them to you.

“Peace offering,” she said with a small voice.

Smiling warmly you accepted them, “peace offering accepted”.

“I took down the warding so it’ll be easier to make it to land,” Thalia said probably anxious to get rid of the two hunters.

“Thank you, Thalia. This place is amazing by the way, I love it.” She took your hands in hers and you saw Dean almost moving to you, but Castiel stopped him with a little wave of his hand, while Sam looked at his brother and at you confused.

“You can visit me anytime you want. It’s always spring here and I could use the company sometimes. Just call me when you are on the shore. I’ll come and get you” she said handing you her number.

“I will” you hugged her and walked to the boys.

One by one, they disappeared into the ripple and when it was your turn you saw Dean’s arm sticking out, fingers wiggling for you to grab. Again, you held your breath and let out a choked yelp when you felt the solid ground leave from under your feet and the freezing water hit you. This time it was your turn to curse and Dean chuckled at the extent of your profanities. He didn’t understand what you had said, but your tone was revealing.

“Everyone hold on tight,” Castiel said and you clutched on his arm for dear life, desiring only a scorching shower and a warm bed.

In a blink, you four were in the hotel again, wet, cold, tipsy and tired.

“Ugh, we smell like lake...and lake “Sam said sniffing himself,

“It’s like summer ‘99 all over again” Dean patted his brother’s shoulder wistfully. Sam snorted and called dibs on the shower.

“I better go and check on Jack. Dean, you know what to do when you are ready. Y/N.” the angel nodded in your direction and then vanished, a gentle gust of wind reminded you how cold you actually were, and that you and Dean were alone now.

“Everything went well in the end,” you said walking toward the bed, almost dropping on it before remembering you were soaked.

“You did great Y/N “

“ I...really didn’t do anything. If anything, I was rude to your brother, drank like a sailor and befriended the ‘enemy’ ”. This thing of looking at the ground embarrassed in front of the Winchesters was becoming a habit.

“Give yourself some credit; even Sam thinks so... While we wait our turn, want to do some more pages?” he said walking to the discarded journal still on the bed. He turned quickly, ���I meant my turn, or yours, not...not ours”.

“Yes” you giggled, “I got that, and yes. I don’t have much time before you guys fly back to the States”. Saying that now aloud, you felt a dull ache. You really did not want Dean to go, you instantly liked Sam and you had to say goodbye so soon.

“Let’s get to work then, beer?”

“...hell friggin’ nope!!”

When Sam came out, he already looked so much better. Despite being tired and waiting for an epic hangover, he looked like new, as he dried his hair with a towel. Dean had offered the shower to you but you were still finishing the last page.

“Dean told me about your little project and if you want I can help, as thanks. I think his exact words were ‘You nerds should team up and do your nerdy ....stuff’ ”

Snorting you handed him your journal, while he sat on the bed near you.

Winchesters had a very good pool of genes. They were different but at the same time similar. Both with striking eyes, and nice features, full points on the body, and they were both smart and strong…and damn you got distracted.

“This is what I have so far” you said clearing your voice. “I’m just copying everything I can, don’t know how much I can do before tomorrow but I’m at a good point.” Sam browsed through the pages while you nervously chewed on your lips. This person went to Stanford, to law school and now there he was in sweats,hair damp, his long fingers scanning the pages, evaluating your work.

“It’s not bad, and..nice drawing,” he said lifting the page with the poorly drawn ghost.

“Oh come on! Why is that still there?” you reached to snatch the page and he lifted the journal above his head, so there was no way you could have reached it. You lifted yourself on your knees, Sam drew back the lifted arm, you leaned over him a hand on his shoulder for leverage. He lost balance and grabbed your shirt as he fell back on the floor. Dean came out of the bathroom right that moment, finding Sam’s head by his feet and you sprawled over him reaching for the journal. Both looked up to him and you blushed, hard, scrambling to your feet, mortified.

“Sammy if you wanted another room you should’ve asked,” he said joking.

Sam must have heard something else because he looked at you and at Dean and smiled knowingly.

“Well, my turn, thanks “you passed over Sam who was still half on the floor and shut the door behind you.

“Dude” Sam’s mocking tone reached Dean’s ears.

“What?”

“Oh, you know what “

“I don’t know whatcha talking about, shut up “

“Yeah ok,” Sam said shaking his head smiling “Dean I was thinking…”

“Whenever aren't you ?”

“I was thinking “ he repeated smiling, “maybe we could stay tomorrow too? Help Y/N finish the journal and call Cass the day after”

“Ok” was the quick answer.

“That…. was incredibly easy “ Sam scoffed at Dean.

Dean shrugged walking to the little table and grabbed the room service menu, waving it at his brother, “Dude, you have no idea how good the food is here”

“Suuure” he watched as Dean browsed the pamphlet avoiding his gaze. “Right, I guess it’s the food that you like so much “

“See this? “Dean pointed at the discarded pizza cartons and wine from the night before, completely disregarding his brother’s comment, “this made me cry”

You could finally feel your feet again and the smell of lake was gone. Thank God your hair had been nowhere near the water but they were still a bit humid from the shower steam. As you patted them with a towel , you passed a hand over the fogged up mirror, revealing your face. Thanks to the hot steam, the tip of your nose was as red as your cheeks were.

“Ugh I hope I didn’t catch anything with all that cold” the thought of falling ill now of all times, was annoying. “ At least I did the most of the journal”. You had thought of asking to borrow it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Dean. He treasured it too much to ask him something like that. “Oh well, he told me I can find this shit on-line too, I just have to look for the hunter symbol” .You came out of the bathroom and froze as you saw the brothers sitting, waiting for you like two concerned parents.

“..did something happen?”

“Y/N we decided to leave the day after tomorrow”

“Really?” you squealed, “I mean…why? What changed?” You failed at sounding not so thrilled.

“Well first…” Sam said standing up, “I could use some sleep, and we’ll help you finish your journal as a thank you and …”

“Before you do anything stupid by yourself, we are gonna look for some local hunters”. Dean finished throwing the menu at you. “Now order some room service. You need to make Sam try some magic….again”. He chuckled, pleased with himself. You watched Sam glaring at him with what you now were sure was his default reaction face to any of Dean’s bullshit

That’s it. That’s their entire dynamic, and it was hilarious. “Sure,” you said, bending to pick up the menu that you’d failed to catch.  “What’s your taste, Sam?”

“Rabbit food”

Sam’s Dean bullshit face on.

“He’s picking on you because he missed you so much, “ you said winking at Dean and Sam hid his chuckle behind the pamphlet.

“Shut up”

“So Y/N, my brother didn’t say much, but I’m curious. You are still in school?”

“She does all that lab crap, in lab coats and gloves and shit” Dean said, mouth full.

“Biotechnology “

“Wow, that’s pretty tough”

“Yes, yes it is and I’m sooo ready to get the fuck out of there, seriously “

“And after that…?”

“Oh my god!! Sam those are thanksgiving family dinner questions no one wants to answer “

“It’s ok, really…um, I haven’t figured out yet, actually. I mean I could work in any laboratory I want, but I don’t know. “

“You could work in the life, the hunter’s life,” Sam said tentatively and you heard Dean choke on his food “I mean not full time, but if we do find other hunters here you could be an asset, a scientific one perhaps if you figure out how…”

“Sam, what the fu-”

“You think I could?” your eyes shifted to Dean. You saw his conflicted expression,

“You could be a valuable help to the cause... I guess” he said reluctantly.

“I want to “

“Yeah?” Sam said, sounding excited.

“Yeah”

“Great!” Sam clapped his hands “Now… Dean told me there’s a dusty old library in this town”

Dean rolled his eyes.

A ridiculous amount of food later

“It’s getting late. I feel like this day lasted a week,” you said standing up and grimacing as your knees made a funny sound. Yep, definitely caught too much cold. “Dean, you remember the road to the library right?” he nodded standing up too besides his brother. You turned to them after having gathered your things, “Thanks for today and the shower and the help…I’ll see you both tomorrow then.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Dean said quickly following you.

“it’s o-“ but he had already closed the door behind him, “..k”.

You were walking side by side down the corridor, an awkward silence filling the space between you.

“Why do we always walk in such awkward silence?” you giggled nervously trying to break this nerve-wracking quietness. He looked at you as if you just stepped on his feet, “Wh-what?”

“Pointing out the obvious, are we?” he said looking down at you, eyebrow raised. Sneaking a peek at him you quickly turned to look ahead, your steps slowing down.

“I grew tired of people who don’t say what it needs to be said when it needs to be said. Saves a lot of trouble and time. People tend to complicate things for nothing.” You said, mostly to yourself, your eyes widening when the glass door of the hotel almost hit your face. Dean’s hand on your shoulder was what prevented your nose from getting squashed. His arm reached over your head, opening the door and you both stepped into the chilling night.

“Oh God! I miss Thalia’s spring” you shivered, rubbing your hands as you walked to your car, Dean still following you. You could hear him walking quietly behind.

Sensing that something wasn’t right, you turned around frowning, “What is it? Something’s wrong?”

Dean seemed to fidget slightly, his cocky smile wavering, “uh, yes...no, I mean...” he sighed, scratching the back of his head, “Well…” “You really don’t seem the type to stutter, you feeling alright?”. You stepped closer with the intention of checking for a fever, but he blocked you.

He carefully peered into your eyes, ‘No no no, oh god, what are you doing?’ you chanted, part of you knowing what was coming. You felt a cold grip on your heart, expanding slowly to your chest and it burned.

Panic!

You were panicking.

“Y/N…?” he called hesitantly.

Then you felt his fingers tightened around your wrist. You hastily moved your hand away like it burned and looked at him, with wide eyes. He looked away dejected lowering his hand.

“T-that …I’m sorry …”

“No, no I am. I clearly read something wrong there”. He smiled forcibly and your heart sank.

“I-I was surprised…” you blabbed. He had put his hands in his pockets, rolling on his heels “Hey, it’s cool really”.

You felt bad and angry at your own body betraying you once again. “No, I-I like you too, Dean. I don’t know why I did that” You nibbled at your lips looking at him from underneath your lashes. He wasn’t looking at you.

“No, I get it,” he said stepping closer once again and you flinched. Silence rest heavy between you two.“You are afraid of me” More a statement than a question.

“What?” you took a step forward. “Of course not!!” and stopped, hands gripping the bag’s strap across your chest, “Not… the way you think”. His eyes were on you again, you could feel his gaze penetrating. Still incapable of looking him in the eyes you looked everywhere but him.

“I...I think the world of you,” you whispered.

“But…”

“I ….I have luggage that I still struggle to drag behind” you fiddled with your crystal “…I… I can’t” you breathed out and quickly turned around to walk to your car, and without looking back, you started the car and drove away.

“ I grew tired of people who don’t say what needs to be said when it needs to be said. Saves a lot of trouble and time. People tend to complicate things.”

That snapped something in him, and next, he knew he was holding your hand.

He kicked himself right after. Since when had he regressed to high school freshman year? Seeing her freeze made his heart jump. Without even thinking, it was like his legs had a brain of their own. He approached her, slowly, carefully...His stomach dropped when she looked at him like a prey looks at its predator, once it’s caught. He had to look away. ‘Dean, you fucked up big time’

“ …I-I was surprised…” he heard her says, voice trembling, “I-I like you too Dean. I don’t know why I did that”

“No I get it.” he stepped closer and saw she flinching.

Liar.

“You are afraid of me”

“Of course not, not… how you think”

She couldn’t even look at him. “I think the world of you” he barely heard her.

There was a ‘but’, somewhere floating between you two.

He watched as she basically ran from him, her car disappeared down the road.

@curly-haired-disaster @time-travel-bouqet    @dean-winchesters-bacon     @babyimp1967     @wingedcatninja     @imma-winchester-addict      @ravenangel33    @maimalfoi     @purpleskiesandcherrypies       @marilynnlew      @mariekoukie6661   @wayward-and-worn      @thewinchestertales   @raelady1184      @mah1c      @spnskinnyballs     @starfirerules      @missjenniferb      @hunterswearingplaid      @sculptorofbeginnings     @younoeatcheeseyounobefat      @theangelwinchester      @missihart23      @weathergirl83      @ravenhg     @soloarcana      @itsstillnotwhatyouthink      @sexykitten253      @ackleholicwinchester      @clarinette07     @biawol      @snffbeebee      @daskleinevolk      @demonic-impala       @icequeen6666     @hobby27        @sandlee44      @formulafun   @linki-locks11     @tw1721boobear     @thatsnotwhoifuckingam     @thisismysecrethappyplace     @katiecurls75      @bcfangirlthatswhy   @flipperjanga11   @srsllydunnodoncare  @katriel-tumbles  @henrietteoaks  

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for monday, february 8 of 2021 with Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8, accompanied by Psalm 50 for the 50th day of Winter and Psalm 39 for day 39 of the year

[Psalm 8]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the harp.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth;

Your magnificent glory shines far above the skies.

From the mouths and souls of infants and toddlers, the most innocent,

You have decreed power to stop Your adversaries

and quash those who seek revenge.

When I gaze to the skies and meditate on Your creation—

on the moon, stars, and all You have made,

I can’t help but wonder why You care about mortals—

sons and daughters of men—

specks of dust floating about the cosmos.

But You placed the son of man just beneath God

and honored him like royalty, crowning him with glory and honor.

You ordained him to govern the works of Your hands,

to nurture the offspring of Your divine imagination;

You placed everything on earth beneath his feet:

All kinds of domesticated animals,

even the wild animals in the fields and forests,

The birds of the sky and the fish of the sea,

all the multitudes of living things that travel the currents of the oceans.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by these lines of the same Psalm:

Look at the splendor of your skies,

your creative genius glowing in the heavens.

When I gaze at your moon and your stars,

mounted like jewels in their settings,

I know you are the fascinating artist who fashioned it all!

But when I look up and see

such wonder and workmanship above,

I have to ask you this question:

Compared to all this cosmic glory,

why would you bother with puny, mortal man

or be infatuated with Adam’s sons?

Yet what honor you have given to men,

created only a little lower than Elohim,

crowned like kings and queens with glory and magnificence.

You have delegated to them

mastery over all you have made,

making everything subservient to their authority,

placing earth itself under the feet of your image-bearers.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8:3-6 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 50]

God Has Spoken

A poetic song of Asaph, the gatherer

The God of gods, the mighty Lord himself, has spoken!

He shouts out over all the people of the earth

in every brilliant sunrise and every beautiful sunset,

saying, “Listen to me!”

God’s glory-light shines out of the Zion-realm

with the radiance of perfect beauty.

With the rumble of thunder he approaches;

he will not be silent, for he comes with an earsplitting sound!

All around him are furious flames of fire,

and preceding him is the dazzling blaze of his glory.

Here he comes to judge his people!

He summons his court with heaven and earth as his jury, saying,

“Gather all my lovers,

my godly ones whose hearts are one with me—

those who have entered into my holy covenant

by sacrifices upon the altar.”

And the heavens declare his justice:

“God himself will be their judge,

and he will judge them with righteousness!”

Pause in his presence

“Listen to me, O my people! Listen well, for I am your God!

I am bringing you to trial and here are my charges.

I do not rebuke you for your sacrifices,

which you continually bring to my altar.

Do I need your young bull or goats from your fields

as if I were hungry?

Every animal of field and forest belongs to me, the Creator.

I know every movement of the birds in the sky,

and every animal of the field is in my thoughts.

The entire world and everything it contains is mine.

If I were hungry, do you think I would tell you?

For all that I have created, the fullness of the earth, is mine.

Am I fed by your sacrifices? Of course not!

Why don’t you bring me the sacrifices I desire?

Bring me your true and sincere thanks,

and show your gratitude by keeping your promises to me,

the Most High.

Honor me by trusting in me in your day of trouble.

Cry aloud to me, and I will be there to rescue you.

And now I speak to the wicked. Listen to what I have to say to you!

What right do you have to presume to speak for me

and claim my covenant promises as yours?

For you have hated my instruction and disregarded my words,

throwing them away as worthless!

You forget to condemn the thief or adulterer.

You are their friend, running alongside them into darkness.

The sins of your mouth multiply evil.

You have a lifestyle of lies,

devoted to deceit as you speak against others,

even slandering those of your own household!

All this you have done and I kept silent,

so you thought that I was just like you, sanctioning evil.

But now I will bring you to my courtroom

and spell out clearly my charges before you.

This is your last chance, my final warning. Your time is up!

Turn away from all this evil, or the next time you hear from me

will be when I am coming to pass sentence upon you.

I will snatch you away and no one will be there

to help you escape my judgment.

The life that pleases me is a life lived in the gratitude of grace,

always choosing to walk with me in what is right.

This is the sacrifice I desire from you.

If you do this, more of my salvation will unfold for you.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 50 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 39]

I’m determined to watch steps and tongue

so they won’t land me in trouble.

I decided to hold my tongue

as long as Wicked is in the room.

“Mum’s the word,” I said, and kept quiet.

But the longer I kept silence

The worse it got—

my insides got hotter and hotter.

My thoughts boiled over;

I spilled my guts.

“Tell me, what’s going on, God?

How long do I have to live?

Give me the bad news!

You’ve kept me on pretty short rations;

my life is a string too short to be saved.

Oh! we’re all puffs of air.

Oh! we’re all shadows in a campfire.

Oh! we’re just spit in the wind.

We make our pile, and then we leave it.

“What am I doing in the meantime, Lord?

Hoping, that’s what I’m doing—hoping

You’ll save me from a rebel life,

save me from the contempt of idiots.

I’ll say no more, I’ll shut my mouth,

since you, Lord, are behind all this.

But I can’t take it much longer.

When you put us through the fire

to purge us from our sin,

our dearest idols go up in smoke.

Are we also nothing but smoke?

“Ah, God, listen to my prayer, my

cry—open your ears.

Don’t be callous;

just look at these tears of mine.

I’m a stranger here. I don’t know my way—

a migrant like my whole family.

Give me a break, cut me some slack

before it’s too late and I’m out of here.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 39 (The Message)

[Proverbs 8]

Isn’t Lady Wisdom calling?

Listen; don’t you hear the voice of understanding crying out?

She’s taken her stand at the highest place in the city,

at the crossroads where everyone can see her.

There, and at the gates, at the entrance to the city,

right in front of the city doors she cries out:

Lady Wisdom: O people! I am calling to you;

I have a message for all humanity.

You gullible people, acquire insight.

You naive ones, cultivate a heart that truly understands.

Listen, for I am about to tell you of unparalleled excellence and beauty;

what I am about to say will set things right.

I will only speak the truth;

I despise evil, so it will not pass through my lips.

Everything I say promotes justice;

not one word is crooked, and nothing is distorted.

Each and every word is straight talk to perceptive people,

upright and honest to knowledge-seekers.

Accept my correction as being more valuable than your prized possession,

authentic knowledge more valuable than pure gold.

You see, no gem is more precious than Lady Wisdom—

your most extravagant desire doesn’t come close to her.

Lady Wisdom: I make my home with prudence;

I obtain knowledge and sound judgment.

If you respect the Eternal, you will grow to despise evil.

I despise wretched, vile talk

and ways of pride and arrogance.

Good counsel is mine, and also true wisdom.

I am understanding, and strength belongs to me.

It’s because of me that kings wield power

and authorities decree what is right.

It’s because of me that leaders and their agents govern

and all judge according to what is right.

I love those who love me;

those who search hard for me will find me.

Riches and honor are the benefit of following me;

so are lasting wealth and justice.

My reward is better than gold, even the purest gold;

and my profit is greater than the highest quality silver.

I follow the way of right living.

Follow me along the path to find justice;

I’m ready to meet those who love me, bestow true riches upon them,

and fill up their lives until their treasuries overflow.

The Eternal created me; it happened when His work was beginning,

one of His first acts long ago.

Before time He established me,

before the earth saw its first sunrise.

I was born before the deep existed,

before any springs poured out their water,

Before the mountains were placed on their foundations,

before the hills rolled across the land—

yes, before all this, I was brought forth.

When the earth was yet unformed and the fields were not yet nestled beneath the wind—

even before the first dust of the earth—

When He created the heavens, I was there.

When He drew a circle in the deep, dividing the oceans and the sky, I was there.

I was there when He established the sky.

I was there when the springs in the deep were fortified;

I witnessed Him lay down the shore as a boundary

and put limits on the water

And determine the foundations of the earth.

All this time I was close beside Him, a master craftsman.

Every day I was His delightful companion,

celebrating every minute in His presence,

Elated by the world He was making and all its fine creatures;

I was especially pleased with humanity.

So now listen to me, my children:

those who live by my ways will find true happiness.

Pay attention to my guidance, dare to be wise,

and don’t disregard my teachings.

The one who listens to me,

who carefully seeks me in everyday things

and delays action until my way is apparent, that one will find true happiness.

For when he recognizes and follows me, he finds a peaceful and satisfying life

and receives favor from the Eternal.

But heed my warning: the one who goes against me will only hurt himself,

for all who despise me are playing with fire and courting death.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 8 (The Voice)

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings January 12, 2020 at 11:00PM

Psalm 1-4

BOOK I

(Psalms 1–41)

Psalm 1

The Two Ways

1 Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; 2 but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night. 3 They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.

4 The wicked are not so, but are like chaff that the wind drives away. 5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous; 6 for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.

Psalm 2

God’s Promise to His Anointed

1 Why do the nations conspire, and the peoples plot in vain? 2 The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and his anointed, saying, 3 “Let us burst their bonds asunder, and cast their cords from us.”

4 He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord has them in derision. 5 Then he will speak to them in his wrath, and terrify them in his fury, saying, 6 “I have set my king on Zion, my holy hill.”

7 I will tell of the decree of the Lord: He said to me, “You are my son; today I have begotten you. 8 Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession. 9 You shall break them with a rod of iron, and dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”

10 Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth. 11 Serve the Lord with fear, with trembling 12 kiss his feet,[a] or he will be angry, and you will perish in the way; for his wrath is quickly kindled.

Happy are all who take refuge in him.

Psalm 3

Trust in God under Adversity

A Psalm of David, when he fled from his son Absalom.

1 O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; 2 many are saying to me, “There is no help for you[b] in God.”Selah

3 But you, O Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, and the one who lifts up my head. 4 I cry aloud to the Lord, and he answers me from his holy hill.Selah

5 I lie down and sleep; I wake again, for the Lord sustains me. 6 I am not afraid of ten thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around.

7 Rise up, O Lord! Deliver me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked.

8 Deliverance belongs to the Lord; may your blessing be on your people!Selah

Psalm 4

Confident Plea for Deliverance from Enemies

To the leader: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David.

1 Answer me when I call, O God of my right! You gave me room when I was in distress. Be gracious to me, and hear my prayer.

2 How long, you people, shall my honor suffer shame? How long will you love vain words, and seek after lies?Selah 3 But know that the Lord has set apart the faithful for himself; the Lord hears when I call to him.

4 When you are disturbed,[c] do not sin; ponder it on your beds, and be silent.Selah 5 Offer right sacrifices, and put your trust in the Lord.

6 There are many who say, “O that we might see some good! Let the light of your face shine on us, O Lord!” 7 You have put gladness in my heart more than when their grain and wine abound.

8 I will both lie down and sleep in peace; for you alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety.

Footnotes:

Psalm 2:12 Cn: Meaning of Heb of verses 11b and 12a is uncertain

Psalm 3:2 Syr: Heb him

Psalm 4:4 Or are angry

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 7

Psalm 7

Plea for Help against Persecutors

A Shiggaion of David, which he sang to the Lord concerning Cush, a Benjaminite.

1 O Lord my God, in you I take refuge; save me from all my pursuers, and deliver me, 2 or like a lion they will tear me apart; they will drag me away, with no one to rescue.

3 O Lord my God, if I have done this, if there is wrong in my hands, 4 if I have repaid my ally with harm or plundered my foe without cause, 5 then let the enemy pursue and overtake me, trample my life to the ground, and lay my soul in the dust.Selah

6 Rise up, O Lord, in your anger; lift yourself up against the fury of my enemies; awake, O my God;[a] you have appointed a judgment. 7 Let the assembly of the peoples be gathered around you, and over it take your seat[b] on high. 8 The Lord judges the peoples; judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness and according to the integrity that is in me.

9 O let the evil of the wicked come to an end, but establish the righteous, you who test the minds and hearts, O righteous God. 10 God is my shield, who saves the upright in heart. 11 God is a righteous judge, and a God who has indignation every day.

12 If one does not repent, God[c] will whet his sword; he has bent and strung his bow; 13 he has prepared his deadly weapons, making his arrows fiery shafts. 14 See how they conceive evil, and are pregnant with mischief, and bring forth lies. 15 They make a pit, digging it out, and fall into the hole that they have made. 16 Their mischief returns upon their own heads, and on their own heads their violence descends.

17 I will give to the Lord the thanks due to his righteousness, and sing praise to the name of the Lord, the Most High.

Footnotes:

Psalm 7:6 Or awake for me

Psalm 7:7 Cn: Heb return

Psalm 7:12 Heb he

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Genesis 2:4-25

4 These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Another Account of the Creation

In the day that the Lord[a] God made the earth and the heavens, 5 when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; 6 but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— 7 then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground,[b] and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. 8 And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. 9 Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

10 A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. 11 The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 12 and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. 13 The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. 14 The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

15 The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. 16 And the Lord God commanded the man, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; 17 but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.”

18 Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” 19 So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. 20 The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man[c] there was not found a helper as his partner. 21 So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. 22 And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. 23 Then the man said,

“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; this one shall be called Woman,[d] for out of Man[e] this one was taken.”

24 Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh. 25 And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.

Footnotes:

Genesis 2:4 Heb YHWH, as in other places where “Lord” is spelled with capital letters (see also Ex 3.14–15 with notes).

Genesis 2:7 Or formed a man (Heb adam) of dust from the ground (Heb adamah)

Genesis 2:20 Or for Adam

Genesis 2:23 Heb ishshah

Genesis 2:23 Heb ish

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Hebrews 1

God Has Spoken by His Son

1 Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, 2 but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son,[a] whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. 3 He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains[b] all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, 4 having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.

The Son Is Superior to Angels

5 For to which of the angels did God ever say,

“You are my Son; today I have begotten you”?

Or again,

“I will be his Father, and he will be my Son”?

6 And again, when he brings the firstborn into the world, he says,

“Let all God’s angels worship him.”

7 Of the angels he says,

“He makes his angels winds, and his servants flames of fire.”

8 But of the Son he says,

“Your throne, O God, is[c] forever and ever, and the righteous scepter is the scepter of your[d] kingdom. 9 You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness; therefore God, your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness beyond your companions.”

10 And,

“In the beginning, Lord, you founded the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands; 11 they will perish, but you remain; they will all wear out like clothing; 12 like a cloak you will roll them up, and like clothing[e] they will be changed. But you are the same, and your years will never end.”

13 But to which of the angels has he ever said,

“Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet”?

14 Are not all angels[f] spirits in the divine service, sent to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?

Footnotes:

Hebrews 1:2 Or the Son

Hebrews 1:3 Or bears along

Hebrews 1:8 Or God is your throne

Hebrews 1:8 Other ancient authorities read his

Hebrews 1:12 Other ancient authorities lack like clothing

Hebrews 1:14 Gk all of them

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

John 1:1-18

The Word Became Flesh

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life,[a] and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.[b]

10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own,[c] and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son,[d] full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”) 16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son,[e] who is close to the Father’s heart,[f] who has made him known.

Footnotes:

John 1:4 Or 3 through him. And without him not one thing came into being that has come into being. 4 In him was life

John 1:9 Or He was the true light that enlightens everyone coming into the world

John 1:11 Or to his own home

John 1:14 Or the Father’s only Son

John 1:18 Other ancient authorities read It is an only Son, God, or It is the only Son

John 1:18 Gk bosom

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[lifesa-witch-blog]

Witchy Questions

Here is the list of the 105 witchcraft questions I just finished answering. I answered one each day but feel free to answer them all at once or however you want to do it. Tag your it!

(Questions from @prettyalice13)

1. Are you solitary or in a coven? Solitary.

2. Do you consider yourself Wiccan, Pagan, witch, or other? Other, I’m just a spiritual little witch. 😊

3. What is your zodiac sign? Pisces sun, Sagittarius moon, Sagittarius rising.

4. Do you have a Patron God/dess? Nyx, but I also feel a little pull from Brighid. 💛

5. Do you work with a Pantheon? Nope.

6. Do you use tarot, palmistry, or 
any other kind of divination? Tarot & oracle cards.

7. What are some of your favorite herbs to use in your practice? (if any) Sage, Rosemary, I tend to stick to regular household herbs.

8. How would you define your craft? Very fluid.

9. Do you curse? If not, do you accept others who do? No, and sure.

10. How long have you been practicing? Lightly for 2 years, just starting to get a lot deeper.

11. Do you currently or have you ever had any familiars? Yes, my beautiful cat Mollie. And a kitten named Rocky will soon be added to our crew.

12. Do you believe in Karma or
Reincarnation? Yes and yes.

13. Do you have a magical name? Yes.

14. Are you “out of the broom closet”? Yes? I’m an adult, so I haven’t made any big proclamation or anything.

15. What was the last spell you performed? A Lammas goodness spell jar.

16. Would you consider yourself knowledgeable? I’m getting there.

17. Do you write your own spells? Sometimes.

18. Do you have a book of shadows?
If so, how is it written and/or set up? I use Goodnotes on my iPad and have different notebooks on there for everything - spells, Sabbats, journaling, gratitude logs, crystals, astrology, etc.

19. Do you worship nature? Yes.

20. What is your favorite gemstone? Amethyst.

21. Do you use feathers, claws, fur, pelt, skeletons/bones, or any other animal body part for magical work? Not unless it’s a feather or tooth found organically while I’m in nature. I’m on a journey to veganism, so I’m not really into that.

22. Do you have an altar? Yes.

23. What is your preferred element? I would say water.

24. Do you consider yourself an Alchemist? No.

25. Are you any other type of magical practitioner besides a witch? No.

26. What got you interested in witchcraft? I’ve always had an interest in it since I was young.

27. Have you ever performed a spell or ritual with the company of anyone who was not a witch? My husband is usually hanging around, does that count? lol

28. Have you ever used ouija? Once. But I am not a fan of it. It gives me a bad feeling.

29. Do you consider yourself a psychic? I definitely had psychic tendencies, but it’s a craft I need to hone.

30. Do you have a spirit guide? If so, what is it? He’s a Native American man I was related to in another life.

31. What is something you wish someone had told you when you first started? Stop feeling like a failure because you don’t have “everything a witch should have” or know everything right away. It’s okay to learn slowly and do things your own way.

32. Do you celebrate the Sabbats? If so which one is your favorite? I was a very lazy witch until a month or so ago, so I haven’t celebrated the Sabbats with more then greetings to my fellow witches and a small prayer, but that’s about to change. I’m very excited to start celebrating all the Sabbats and making offerings/feasts. 😊 My favourite sabbat has always been Ostara.

33. Would you ever teach witchcraft to your children? Sure. I am already teaching my son to love and respect nature.

34. Do you meditate? Yes.

35. What is your favorite season? Spring/summer.

36. What is your favorite type of magick to preform? Full/new moon rituals are my favourite.

37. How do you incorporate your spirituality into your daily life? I am constantly talking to Nyx, asking for guidance or giving my thanks.

38. What is your favorite witchy movie? The Craft.

39. What is your favorite witchy book, both fiction and non-fiction. Why? Practical Magic by Nikki Van De Car was the first witchy book I bought to gain more insight & get advice and it really ignited my journey, so it has a special place in my heart. I’m not sure what my favourite non-fiction book is my favourite. The one I’ve read most recently is The Witch of Willow Hall by Hestor Fox and I really enjoyed it.

40. What is the first spell you ever preformed? Successful or not. The first spell I performed was a releasing spell and it definitely helped with releasing my guilt and some of my grief surrounding my son’s stillbirth.

41. What’s the craziest witchcraft-related thing that’s happened to you? I haven’t had anything super crazy happen. Maybe a quick prayer for abundance and then suddenly getting extra money.. or all the synchronicities I experience when I stand in my own power and walk my path without apology.

42. What is your favourite type of candle to use? I don’t do a lot of candle magic, so I generally use white candles.

43. What is your favorite witchy tool? I’m a big fan of my tarot/oracle cards. I pull cards for myself every day. I also love crystals.

44. Do you or have you ever made your own witchy tools? Not yet, but I want to make myself a wand.

45. Have you ever worked with any magical creatures such as the fae or spirits? No.

46. Do you practice color magic? I’ve just gotten into this. I’ve been feeling a strong call help realign my throat chakra & learn to unapologetically speak my truth, which has brought on a strong need to be around the colour blue.

47. Do you or have you ever had a witchy teacher or mentor of any kind? I get some pointers from a friend of a friend. But nothing I would consider a mentor.

48. What is your preferred way of shopping for witchcraft supplies? Amazon or a local witch shop. 😊

49. Do you believe in predestination or fate? Yes, although I also believe in the power of free will and that we have the ability to change our fate.

50. What do you do to reconnect when you are feeling out of touch with your practice? Meditation, reading, learning something new.

51. Have you ever had any supernatural experiences? Yes. Many.

52. What is your biggest witchy pet peeve? Gate keeping. Everyone’s practice is different. “Your” way isn’t the only right way to do things. 🤷🏻‍♀️

53. Do you like incense? If so what’s your favorite scent? Coconut. lol

54. Do you keep a dream journal of any kind? Yes.

55. What has been your biggest witchcraft disaster? Nothing major. I think just making a mess while mixing herbs and spilling moon water.

56. What has been your biggest witchcraft success? Honestly, my biggest success is the confidence and empowerment I’ve gained.

57. What in your practice do you do that you may feel silly or embarrassed about? I used to be embarrassed about not having enough stuff, or saying the wrong thing.. I basically had zero confidence in myself and in my abilities.

58. Do you believe that you can be an atheist, Christian, Muslim or some other faith and still be a witch too? Yes.

59. Do you ever feel insecure, unsure or even scared of spell work? I used to, not so much anymore.

60. Do you ever hold yourself to a standard in your witchcraft that you feel you may never obtain? Not anymore.

61. What is something witch related that you want right now? A wand, and a crystal ball. 😊

62. What is your rune of choice? I haven’t really gotten into runes.

63. What is your tarot card of choice? The death card - I’m in a season of releasing the old and welcoming the new.

64. Do you use essential oils? If so what is your favorite? My favourite is a blend of peppermint, eucalyptus & lime. 🤤🤤🤤 It makes me feel so calm and relaxed.

65. Have you ever taken any kind of witchcraft or pagan courses? No.

66. Do you wear pagan jewelry in public? Yes.

67. Have you ever been discriminated against because of your faith or being a witch? No.

68. Do you read or subscribe to any pagan magazines? No.

69. Do you think it’s important to know the history of paganism and witchcraft? Yes.

70. What are your favorite things about being a witch? The things I’ve learned - releasing what no longer serves me, self love, confidence, standing in my own power, speaking my truth, welcoming new things, loving and respecting nature.

71. What are your least favorite things about being a witch? Nothing?

72. Do you listen to any pagan music? If so who is your favorite singer/band? I really love My Mother’s Savage Daughter by k.l.kahan as Wyndreth.

73. Do you celebrate the Esbbats? If so, how? I am not in a coven and there are none near me, so no.

74. Do you ever work skyclad? I have, yes.

75. Do you think witchcraft has improved your life? If so, how? See my favourite things about being a witch.

76. Where do you draw inspiration from for your practice? Love, nature, Nyx.

77. Do you believe in ‘fantasy’ creatures? (Unicorns, fairies, elves, gnomes, ghosts, etc) Sure.

78. What’s your favorite sigil/symbol? I have one for self love, that I really like.

79. Do you use blood magick in your practice? Why or why not? I honestly haven’t tried it yet. Although I heard menstrual period is incredibly powerful in spell work. I haven’t been brave enough to try it yet.

80. Could you ever be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t support your practice? No.

81. In what area or subject would you most like your craft to grow? Astrology.

82. What’s your favorite candle scent? Do you use it in your practice? Vanilla, coconut, anything warm and inviting. And yes, I do.

83. Do you have a pre-ritual ritual? (I.e. Something you do before rituals to prepare yourself for them). If so what is it? Meditate, rest, take a bath, “spiritual hygiene”.

84. What real life witch most inspires your practice? I think my practice is really a culmination of all the witches I’ve ever encountered/learned from. I couldn’t point out one specifically.

85. What is your favorite method of communicating with deity? I just like to talk to Nyx, either aloud or in my mind.

86. How do you like to organize all your witchy items and ingredients? Usually mason jars? lol

87. Do you have any witches in your family that you know of? No.

88. How have you created your path? What is unique about it? I think my path is mainly about being the best me I can be and giving/receiving unlimited amounts of love. I’ve dealt with depression my whole life and witchcraft has helped me see that even in the hardest of times, there is still goodness & strength within me to hold on to.

89. Do you feel you have any natural gifts or affinities (premonitions, hearing spirits, etc.) that led you toward the craft? If so what are they? I’ve always been very sensitive to spirits and see/hear things that aren’t there.

90. Do you believe you can initiate yourself or do you have to be initiated by another witch or coven? Either one works. Whatever you feel drawn to.

91. When you first started out in your path what was the first thing or things you bought? Tarot cards.

92. What is the most spiritual or magickal place you’ve been? The grotto at the church in my home town. It buzzes with energy, you can feel it vibrating in the air.

93. What’s one piece of advice you’d give someone who is searching for their matron and patron deities? Ask for a sign.

94. What techniques do you use to ‘get in the zone’ for meditation? Slow breathing, ocean sounds, quietly acknowledging then dismissing any intrusive thoughts.

95. Did visualization come easily to you or did you have to practice at it? It depends on where I am emotionally.

96. Do you prefer day or night? Why? Both? I love the energy and warmth from the sun. It makes me feel safe and loved. But I also love the strength and vitality I feel from the moon. I always feel “more” when I’m under the moon - more beautiful, more confident, stronger, wiser, braver.

97. What do you think is the best time and place to do spell work? I do more spell work at night because of how the moon makes me feel.

98. How did you feel when you cast your first circle? Did you stumble or did it go smoothly? I have cleansed my work space, but I have never cast a true circle. 😳

99. Do you believe witchcraft gets easier with time and practice? Yes.

100. Do you believe in many gods or one God with many faces? I believe there is a universal spirit that presents to each of us in the way we need to see them.

101. Do you eat meat, eggs and dairy? I’m on a journey to veganism. Currently, I only eat small amounts of fish, chicken, eggs and milk. I eat no pork or beef.

102. What is your favorite color and why? Purple and yellow. They’re bright and beautiful.

103. What is the one question you get asked most by non-practitioners or non-pagans? How do you usually respond? I can’t think of anything specific.. just about what I do or what I believe in. I answer honestly.

104. Which of your five senses would you say is your strongest? Probably sight? I’m not sure.

105. What is a pagan or witchcraft rule that you preach but don’t practice? I can’t think of any, honestly.

[blisserial]

Six

I met Ross in the Cat'n Hammer on a hot summer's evening not long after Rorik had gone to the worms in the paupers' graveyard. Such rare hot weather brought every soul with a penny to his name in from the fields for a drink and a game of chance on the boards and, if one was feeling especially rich or lonely, another roll of the dice on an upstairs mattress or in the alley behind.

Ross was one of those who appeared to be feeling both lonely and flush. He sat on a keg at the front of the tavern, near an open window, swigging tankard after tankard of Garve's best brew and ogling the maids with obvious intent.

I think I expected him to take Shel. Blonde and big arsed and more and sweet, Shel always appealed to the ones who had waited too long. And it was obvious Ross had been without for a spell. The way he sat his keg, it was a wonder his trousers didn't spring forth on their own.

We laughed about him, Shel and I. She had already lined up an assignation with an elderly gentleman who hadn't spent all of his pennies on drink. The gentleman had sprung for a mattress and also a meal before the hearth. Shel and I figured she could do the eager fellow in the alley and be back long before her wealthier customer had finished his bread.

I passed full tankards from hand to hand, whirling to keep up with shouted demands, and yet managed to keep a bemused eye on the man on the keg. Shel approached him once and then once again, subtle and then pointed in her interest. He shook his head, twice. I wondered if the man could not afford her or if perhaps he was looking for a male companionship instead. If so, he was out of luck. Garve had not yet gotten around to finding a replacement for Rorik.

"He wants you, Bliss," Shel said, returning several rounds later with a platter of empty tankards, lips pursed. "He says he prefers 'em swarthy. Like hisself."

I glanced over my shoulder. The man on the keg lifted his drink in a silent toast. He didn't smile. He was a bit weathered for my tastes but tastes are malleable in the face of need.

"He still got coin?"

Shel shrugged and rushed off. Her elderly gentleman was calling for more ale. I finished unloading the tankards, made up my mind, and marched purposefully across the tavern.

"You still got coin?"

Instead of answering he dug under his belt, freeing a money pouch, and tossed it onto the floor. The pouch landed on packed dirt with a fine clank.

I quirked a brow. Any fool could load leather with pebbles and a few pennies. It was an old trick, one Rorick had warned me of early on.

"Take a look," he invited. His voice sounded rusty. Old, badly healed scars seamed his face cheek and brow.

He wanted a show. I decided to give him one and bent over in a way guaranteed to make even the wizened spring up and take notice. He grunted deep and wordless approval. I opened the pouch as I straightened.

He still had coin, plenty of it. Gold and silver and copper and large, fiery jewels the size of my thumb.

"Opals," he said, noting my interest. "Southern. Worth more than a lord's fine horse, each one."

"I only take coin." Though the jewels were pretty things. They reminded me of the stars through frosted greenhouse glass.

"What's your name?" he asked, finishing his drink and standing up.

"Bliss." Arrogant, I took my choice of coin from his pouch and then tossed the purse back.

He only smiled, amused. The smile made his creased face ugly.

"Bliss," he said. "They call me Ross. And I never waste good coin on a mattress.”

He wasn’t gentle, but at least he was quick. After, as I fastened my trousers, he squatted in the mud and muttered a few phrases in garbled, musical tones.

"What's that?" I asked, wondering if my right eye, inconveniently elbowed while he groped me, would swell.

He finished his strange song, touched his brow, and stood up.

"A prayer," he replied absently, dismissive now that his needs had been met. "A prayer for both our souls."

                                                           *****

Bliss would not step foot inside kirk or temple. She never had, so far as Shaara knew. Not that it mattered. He was not a terribly religious person himself, except for when it mattered: when food had been scarce for so long he had forgotten the taste of meat, or on the rare occasion he had met trouble he could not handle on his own.

Then, mayhap, he would say a prayer. To any god or goddess he thought might listen. Trout, or Fox, or wise Mouse. Even to ghastly Horrid, if the sun had set and the night was dark.

Bliss put no weight in the gods, not at all. She had told Shaara so when he was five, after she had snatched him from the poor house because she had approved of the way he sang the marching canticle.

"Sweet and clear as Bell," she had said, as they rode ripe for dash straight away from pursuit. "Your voice will change, sure, but by then I'll have taught you more profitable skills ."

Later that day, as she fed him  bread and bean curd by the warmth of a fire, Shaara had dared ask Bliss if she thought Bell had sent her to him.

In response, Bliss exchanged a quick glance with Ross, who laughed aloud. 

"Gods don't work that way, lad,” Ross said. “They have better things to do than meddle with the likes of you and me."

"The king's Cardinal says if you speak loud enough and leave your kirk tithe every fifth-day, then you've always got Fox's ear,” Sharra had protested. “And if you always toss the clean bones of his brothers back into the rivers, Trout'll see you fed. And Mouse -"

"The Cardinal hasn't spoken a true word since the day his mam left him on the king's doorstep," Bliss interrupted. "You'll learn, as you grow. I do my best to stay away from the kirks, boy, and you'll do better to follow suit."

Shaara had not thought about it much after that. He'd been too busy trying to learn the ways of Ross's Troop and find his place around sometime jealous entertainers. And Bliss had been right. As he grew, he had come to realize there was not much room for religion in a jongleur's life. The gods' names became no more than cuss words and he he'd nearly forgotten the sound of his mother's voice singing the fifth day prayers.

There were gods in the south, too. Different gods. Different names. Different needs, different wisdom, different worship. Shaara had found them interesting, at first, and the temples with their low ceilings and perfumed fog and bright colors alluring.

Again, Bliss had warned him away. And he'd soon learned, again, that she was right. The gods that had no interest in a jongleurs life had no mercy on the battlefield.

                                                        *****

"Go and visit the village temple," Bliss ordered Shaara after they finished Maurice's rabbit stew. "It's Weaving Day. The village was teaming and the temple will be full. Go inside. Earn a few coins. And listen."

Shaara shrugged, amiable. Southerners treated traveling players a far sight better than their northern cousins ever did. A man of the south would keep a good performer on in his hall as a mark of status. A man of the north would sooner feed a sow at his breakfast table.

"What am I listening for?" He'd not dared ask straight out, earlier. He'd been happy Bliss had finally braved the border and he didn't want to brew more trouble.

Maurice studiously fed the fire pine needles. Bliss scowled into the flames.

"Anything interesting. We don't know what the Seat his been up to in the last few years. As far as we know, his shadow has shrunk."

"Unlikely," Maurice muttered, still bent over the fire.

Bliss ignored him. "Lady Alyce believes they're building up the Low Temple. Find out why."

"Temple whispers, then." Shaara nodded.

"Yes," Bliss said. "Temple whispers."

Shaara kept his face straight and squelched a laugh. He'd not dared to ask questions but he was never one to hide from answers. He also knew his mistress. He’d dug into Bliss's pack, three nights earlier, as she'd slept. He’d wanted to look at the miniatures, again. And there he’d found the Temple shawl.

He couldn't read southern runes. He had never bothered to learn. But he recognized the seven-edged leaf and he had many guesses as to what it might mean.

 The village temple was not large, not as village temples were wont to be. Nor was the building new. Cracks ran through the twelve stone steps from earth to threshold, and moss grew in swirls about the entrance columns. Shaara supposed that any structure set so close to the River Ann would suffer the effects of a near Northern winter. He also knew the Southern priests tended to let the temple façades go as their gods intended.

In the south worth was measured from inside out.

Shaara stopped between the columns and took a breath. A priest in mud colored robes stood on the threshold between daylight and inner shade, welcoming all who passed with a pleasant smile. He wore his hair in the braids and beads Shaara remembered; too many knots to be a novice, too few to be a fellow of any consequence.

The priest returned Shaara's careful bow. Hiis eyes lit up when Shaara displayed his juggler's pouch.

"Oh, yes," the man said in the precise, clipped tones that Shaara still occasionally dreamed of. "We've not been blessed with the pleasure yet, today. Go in, please. Take your place before the altar. The weavers will be more than pleased by this treat."

Shaara bowed again and stepped out of the afternoon.

He’d forgotten the weight of the perfume in the air. Even here in a small temple, in an outlying village of no real consequence, the reek of the scented oil hit a man like lung fever.

Shaara coughed and tried to breathe through his mouth. He could taste the oil even on his tongue; spicy and floral. His head spun and for three breaths he had to lean against the cool temple wall.

By the time his lungs agreed to work again and his nose had stopped its alarming complaint, Shaara's eyes found the faint light filtering through heavy shutters. Shadows resolved into color and form.

Bliss was right. Weaving Day appeared well begun. Shaara, standing to one side in the perfectly square room, could not count high enough to determine the number of men and women and children squatting on the inlaid floor.

They looked like industrious beetles. Swathed in ochre and red, bent nearly double, hunched mounds anchoring the rugs they tended. They made no sound but for the gentle rush of air as they inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled.

Shaara shook his head, trying to focus. He walked carefully up one side of the square, taking care to watch the breadth of his feet. Bliss would kill him if on their very first day back he trod upon temple-blessed silk and ruined their welcome.

The weavers glanced up as Shaara approached the altar. First one interested face and then another, and another, and then smiling groups. Their pleasure was obvious. If the villagers marked him for a Northerner, they did not care.

Shaara flung himself on the floor at the idol's four-toed feet. He lay prostrate, counting through the required six heartbeats. He imagined he could feel the gaze of the bird-faced statue on his shoulder blades, and he wondered if this was why Bliss would never step foot on religious ground. Bliss bothered bow down to no creature, living or otherwise.

When Shaara rose, the idol released his imagination and was again only a badly sculpted man with an egret's head and lion's feet. Garlands of flowers hung around the statue's stubby neck: red and yellow and white and one made of black raven's feathers. Stone hands balanced wide, shallow bowls of perfume. Some especially attentive villager had smeared wax across the tip of the grey beak. An adulteress, Shaara supposed, or a man with the rot in his gut; wax was an expensive offering.

But he had come to listen, not to gawk, and if he returned with nothing of interest, Bliss would have his head. Shaara sneezed one last time and then looked at his audience.

The weavers were all waiting, colorful skeins briefly abandoned, every single face lifted in eager expectation.

Shaara smiled back, bowed low, and then began.

 He juggled and sang and told Bliss's tales until the small light in the temple windows turned to stars and the weavers lit forests of candles to save their eyes. Then they fed him the sweet banana pudding reserved for honored guests. Shaara dipped into the bowl with his fingers, eating crosslegged on the floor, as the weavers murmured back and forth over their creations and the braided priest came to squat at his side.

"How is it," the man asked, "across the river?"

"Cold," Shaara answered lightly. "Cold enough to freeze piss."

The priest only smiled wide, showing a gap where his front teeth had once lived. "Even your king's piss?"

"The king pisses in silver buckets," Shaara returned. "And not in the slippery streets like the rest of us."

The man rocked on his heels and considered the idol over Shaara's shoulder. "Your people do not mind the cold, I suppose."

"We're used to it."

"They say your winter is three times longer than your summer and that you have no spring at all."

"We have spring ," Shaara said, and setting aside his empty bowl. "Sometimes." He paused to watch the weavers shuffle and bend. "Where are the rugs going?"

"When they are finished they will be taken by cart and mule and boat to Emman."

"What's in Emman?" Shaara asked, although he knew well enough. "A fine lord with many rooms to furnish?"

"Our Low Temple." The priest explained. Pride sparked in his eyes."The Seat is building up, closer to the heavens and the kingdom within. The rugs will be this village's gift, unrolled beneath the feet of young initiates the very day the Temple's blessing is renewed."

Shaara remembered the initiates. Southern temples were always hungry. Priests wore out quickly, sacrificing their life for their beliefs. And there were always young lads and lasses, ready to step forward, ready to grow or cease as the Seat commanded.

"Are you sending anyone?"

"From here?" The priest shook his head. The beads in his hair rattled. "We have no one to offer. This time around, the Seat is calling for those of clean blood."

Nobles, that meant. Milords and miladies or maybe an especially wealthy trader's daughter. No village hopefuls or stable lads with dreams of perfume and temple rite.

Shaara shivered despite the stuffiness of the crowded room. The priest's grin creased.

"Perhaps you recall," he said. "The last time the Seat demanded purity?"

Shaara blinked. The priest snorted.

"We remember the stories," he chided. "Did she think we would forget? They are written rune and rune on linen, rolled in the library of the Highest Temple. We know them word for word, though no one dares speak them.

"Tell your Captain to come," the man continued, "and we shall cook meat in her honor."

 Bliss would have none of it.

"We ride on," she said, after Shaara had delivered his report. "I've no time to play the oddity just so the man can scratch his curiosity and I will not break bread with a priest ."

"You make your living playing the oddity," Maurice pointed out, calmly. The old man had decided to shave his beard. Shaara watched him, enthralled. In the dark of night, without even a bit of mirror to ease the way, Maurice scraped flesh smooth.

"I entertain where I see fit," Bliss returned. "And I have no intention of telling war stories to a bloodthirsty eunuch."

"You send me instead," Shaara said easily, and stretched out on the grass at Maurice's side.

Bliss scowled. "No wonder they knew you. I'm sure I taught you discretion, boy."

Shaara grinned and closed his eyes. The rasp of Maurice's razor slowed.

"They were the only Southern tales I knew," Shaara explained. "And they have no use for Northern songs. I remember Ross's lessons, even if you pretend not to."

"Hush, lad." Maurice said mildly. And then, "They're none of them eunuchs."

Shaara could hear Bliss huffing about beneath the night sky. He was tempted to sleep, but he suspected Bliss would have them up and on horseback just as soon as he began to snore. She was restless. He supposed it was a delayed reaction to Southern air. Or could be she was beginning to realize just what might lie ahead.

He'd thought about it, himself. He liked a happy ending to a story, well enough. Who did not? But he was not so sure Bliss would get hers.

"Do you think she sent it? The shawl, I mean,” he ventured after a moment.

Maurice's razor quieted completely. Bliss took a long breath and then let it out in a grunt.

"You're not supposed to be going through my pack, Shaara. I should whip you."

"You can't. I'm too old, now, Bliss. Old enough you should be treating me same as you treat Maurice."

"Maurice doesn't dig through my things." She stalked across the grass. He could feel the heat of her anger as she loomed. He did not dare open his eyes for fear of a kick in the ribs.

"He doesn't need to." Stubborn as she was, she had taught him the way of it too. "You tell him what he needs to know. You treat him like an equal. As you should be treating me. I not a child sciffing off your take any more, Bliss. I sing for my supper and I earn it."

"The lad's right, Bliss." Maurice had resumed work. The strop of his razor against leather meant his face was clean.

Shaara sat up. "Even you, Maurice. I ain't a lad. I'm a man, or haven't you noticed?"

Bliss knelt in the grass, a dark against the gray hummock. "You aren't grown until you've had a woman and killed a man."

"I've killed plenty," Shaara said, soft. He swallowed the lump that sprung up in his throat. "You know it. You were there, blood to your own elbows. And if you think it takes a woman, well. I'll go down the road tomorrow morn and buy an hour or two."

Maurice laughed. Shaara stiffened. Bliss spat a handful of filthy curses into the campfire but relented.

"She didn't send it," she said, harsh in her surrender. "She wouldn't. She'd not want me to know."

"Could be it’s a mistake," Maurice said, rolling razor and leather strop back into his pack. "Could be it’s a game."

"The king doesn't play games," Bliss argued, but Shaara could hear reluctant suspicion in her tone. "He decides and he takes. He never tests."

"The Seat, I meant. Could be the shadow's playing a game with us."

"With us?" Bliss laughed, harsh. "I misdoubt the Seat even remembers Green Hill, Maurice. The war carries on and battles are forgotten, yes?"

"Our victories are archived in the High Temple," Maurice returned, wry, and Bliss stopped laughing.

Shaara could smell dawn in the air. Man or lad, he knew his duty. Staggering upright, he found his scattered bedding and whistled for his horse.

He had another question but he was not quite brave enough to speak it.

Maurice only hesitated until the ashes of the fire were covered over.

"What will you do, Captain? If it is no mistake?"

"Knock her over the head." Bliss didn't hesitate. "And bring her home.”

[thefabulousfulcrum]

Witches are about to handle this shit.

Tonight.: A Spell to Bind Donald Trump and All Those Who Abet Him: February 24th Mass Ritual

via ExtraNewsfeed

michaelmhughes

This document has been making the rounds in a number of magical groups both secretive and public. It was allegedly created by a member of a private magical order who wishes to remain anonymous. I make no claims about its efficacy, and several people have noted it can be viewed as more of a mass art/consciousness-raising project (similar to the 1967 exorcism and levitation of the Pentagon), than an actual magical working. But many are clearly taking it very seriously.

I have been receiving a number of suggestions and variants for this ritual, and have posted some of them at the end.

UPDATE February 24: Media inquiries: please email bindtrump@gmailcom.

UPDATE: There is now a Facebook page where participants can share their suggestions, photos, videos, etc. I am a bit overwhelmed with media inquiries at this point, so won’t be able to comment much there and have a team of moderators keeping things under control.

UPDATE February 22: A number of news organizations are looking to interview people taking part in the ritual and to film or photograph any group workings, especially in NYC, Portland, and SF. I suggest posting to the Facebook page, indicating you are interested in being filmed or interviewed, your location, and the best way to reach you.

A Spell to Bind Donald Trump and All Those Who Abet Him (version 2.0)

To be performed at midnight on every waning crescent moon until he is removed from office. The first ritual takes place Friday evening, February 24th, at the stroke of midnight. This binding spell is open source, and may be modified to fit your preferred spiritual practice or magical system — the critical elements are the simultaneity of the working (midnight, EST—DC, Mar-a-Lago, and Trump Tower NYC time) and the mass energy of participants.

See below for the upcoming dates. Some lodges/covens are doing a variation of this as a group working, while a number of solitary practitioners are planning to connect and livestream via Facebook, Twitter, and other social media.

Components:

Unflattering photo of Trump (small); see below for one you can print

Tower tarot card (from any deck)

Tiny stub of an orange candle (cheap via Amazon)

Pin or small nail (to inscribe candle)

White candle (any size), representing the element of Fire

Small bowl of water, representing elemental Water

Small bowl of salt, representing elemental Earth

Feather (any), representing the element of Air

Matches or lighter

Ashtray or dish of sand

Optional:

Piece of pyrite (fool’s gold)

Sulfur

Black thread (for traditional binding variant)

Baby carrot (as substitute for orange candle stub)

Preparation:

Write “Donald J. Trump” on the orange candle stub with a pin or nail

Arrange other items in a pleasing circle in front of you

Lean the Tower card against something so that it’s standing up (vertically)

Say a prayer for protection and invoke blessing from your preferred spirit or deity. Reading the 23rd Psalm aloud is common in Hoodoo/Conjure/Rootwork traditions. Experienced magicians may perform an appropriate banishing ritual.

RITUAL

(v. 2.2)

(Light white candle)

Hear me, oh spirits Of Water, Earth, Fire, and Air Heavenly hosts Demons of the infernal realms And spirits of the ancestors

(Light inscribed orange candle stub)

I call upon you To bind Donald J. Trump So that his malignant works may fail utterly That he may do no harm To any human soul Nor any tree Animal Rock Stream or Sea

Bind him so that he shall not break our polity Usurp our liberty Or fill our minds with hate, confusion, fear, or despair And bind, too, All those who enable his wickedness And those whose mouths speak his poisonous lies

I beseech thee, spirits, bind all of them As with chains of iron Bind their malicious tongues Strike down their towers of vanity

(Invert Tower tarot card)

I beseech thee in my name (Say your full name) In the name of all who walk Crawl, swim, or fly Of all the trees, the forests, Streams, deserts, Rivers and seas In the name of Justice And Liberty And Love And Equality And Peace

Bind them in chains Bind their tongues Bind their works Bind their wickedness

(Light the small photo of Trump from the flame of the orange candle stub and hold carefully above the ashtray)

(Speak the following loudly and with increasing passion as the photo burns to ashes)

So mote it be! So mote it be! So mote it be!

(Blow out orange candle, visualizing Trump blowing apart into dust or ash*)

(Pinch or snuff out the white candle, ending the ritual)

Grounding and Disposal

Afterward, ground yourself by having a good, hearty laugh, jumping up and down, clapping your hands, stomping your feet, and having a bite to eat. Grounding is very important—don’t neglect it. And remember—he hates people laughing at him.

Finally, bury the orange candle stub or discard it at a crossroads or in running water.

VARIANTS

Alternate Closing: After you’ve visualized Trump’s energy dissipating, gaze at the white candle flame for a few moments, close your eyes, and imagine a bright light emerging from the darkness and gradually being revealed as the flaming torch of the Statue of Liberty. The light from the torch then brightens intensely, expanding into infinity and burning away all darkness. After a few moments, open your eyes, ground yourself, and pinch or snuff out the white candle, closing the ritual. You can also leave it burning until it is fully extinguished.

Traditional Binding Variant: This variant was contributed by a rootworker, and incorporates a more traditional form of binding magic. In place of burning the photo, the magician ties the photo to the orange candle with black thread. As you are wrapping the thread around the photo and candle, say “I bind you” three times. You may also tie knots in the thread. Then the whole package is buried or, as the contributor suggested, “Leave it outside a Trump hotel.”

The Use-His-Pet-Phrase-Against-Him Variant: In place of “So mote it be,” instead say, “You’re fired!” with increasing vehemence. This should be particularly beautiful as the flames consume his image.

Baby Carrot Substitution: For those who can’t acquire an orange candle stub, Frater SHUF suggests using a baby carrot (and lighting the photo from the white candle).

Alternate Closing for Group Rituals: Many group rituals are done in a call-and-response style. The leader may end with:

“Our ritual has ended, brothers and sisters. May we go in peace, harming none, and continue our magical resistance under each waning crescent moon until Donald J. Trump is driven from office.”

To witch the participants reply (with emotion): “So mote it be!”

Waning Crescent Moon Ritual Dates:

February 24th (Midnight, Friday evening into Saturday morning); March 26th; April 24th; May 23rd; June 21st (especially important as it is the summer solstice); July 21st; August 19th; etc.

Trump photo for ritual (print and cut)

 Addendum and FAQs

Notes on Binding Spells vs. Curses: Is This Dangerous/Harmful?

Binding spells, or defixiones, are some of the oldest in the historical record, and are nearly universal in the world’s magical systems. In this document, binding, which seeks to restrain someone from doing harm, is differentiated from cursing or hexing, which is meant to inflict harm on the target(s). It is understood, in this context, that binding does not generate the potential negative blowback from cursing/hexing/crossing, nor does it harm the caster’s karma.

In other words, this is not the equivalent of magically punching a Nazi; rather, it is ripping the bullhorn from his hands, smashing his phone so he can’t tweet, tying him up, and throwing him in a dark basement where he can’t hurt anyone.

The spell in this document was carefully crafted, in structure and language, to avoid unintended psychic consequences, but adding a prayer and invoking the blessing of your preferred deity(s) should not be neglected.

Another added benefit: this working has an embedded self-exorcism. Just peforming it will result in a lightening of the spirit, an easing of tension, and a banishing of the gnawing Trumpian egregore. And who doesn’t need that?

Finally: The threat from Trump and his cabal is enormous, not just to individuals, but to the collective body and spirit. Be bold! Say the words with ferocious intensity and feel them!

On the Ritual Phrase “So Mote it Be”

A number of respondents have suggested “so mote it be” is too Wiccan-ish for their tastes. It should be noted that the phrase originated in Freemasonry long before it was adopted by witches and neopagans. If it grates, any similar phrasing would work—amen, let it be so, so say we all, etc.

What Kind of Magic is This Anyway?

The kind of magic that works, based on the template that underlies every functional magic system, from ancient Egyptian to contemporary chaos practices. Some Christian folk traditions, in fact, both Catholic and Protestant, employ similar methods. Adherents of any formal system should be able to tweak the above ritual to suit their practice.

You really think this might work? Has anyone ever done anything like this?

Ever heard of the Magical Battle of Britain? There’s a book about it. And in 1941, author and occultist William Seabrook and a group of young people in Maryland performed a ritual to “kill Adolf Hitler by voodoo incantation.” I was also just made aware of the Center for Tactical Magic. Also, the burning of effigies, common to political protests, is considered a very simple but potent form of magic.

You’re Kidding, Right?

Why don’t you try it and find out for yourself?

But suppose it works? Then we have Pence!

One step at a time, please :-)

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings January 08, 2018 at 11:00PM

Psalm 1-4

BOOK I

(Psalms 1–41)

Psalm 1

The Two Ways

1 Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked, or take the path that sinners tread, or sit in the seat of scoffers; 2 but their delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law they meditate day and night. 3 They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.

4 The wicked are not so, but are like chaff that the wind drives away. 5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous; 6 for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.

Psalm 2

God’s Promise to His Anointed

1 Why do the nations conspire, and the peoples plot in vain? 2 The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and his anointed, saying, 3 “Let us burst their bonds asunder, and cast their cords from us.”

4 He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord has them in derision. 5 Then he will speak to them in his wrath, and terrify them in his fury, saying, 6 “I have set my king on Zion, my holy hill.”

7 I will tell of the decree of the Lord: He said to me, “You are my son; today I have begotten you. 8 Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession. 9 You shall break them with a rod of iron, and dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”

10 Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth. 11 Serve the Lord with fear, with trembling 12 kiss his feet,[a] or he will be angry, and you will perish in the way; for his wrath is quickly kindled.

Happy are all who take refuge in him.

Psalm 3

Trust in God under Adversity

A Psalm of David, when he fled from his son Absalom.

1 O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; 2 many are saying to me, “There is no help for you[b] in God.”Selah

3 But you, O Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, and the one who lifts up my head. 4 I cry aloud to the Lord, and he answers me from his holy hill.Selah

5 I lie down and sleep; I wake again, for the Lord sustains me. 6 I am not afraid of ten thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around.

7 Rise up, O Lord! Deliver me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked.

8 Deliverance belongs to the Lord; may your blessing be on your people!Selah

Psalm 4

Confident Plea for Deliverance from Enemies

To the leader: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David.

1 Answer me when I call, O God of my right! You gave me room when I was in distress. Be gracious to me, and hear my prayer.

2 How long, you people, shall my honor suffer shame? How long will you love vain words, and seek after lies?Selah 3 But know that the Lord has set apart the faithful for himself; the Lord hears when I call to him.

4 When you are disturbed,[c] do not sin; ponder it on your beds, and be silent.Selah 5 Offer right sacrifices, and put your trust in the Lord.

6 There are many who say, “O that we might see some good! Let the light of your face shine on us, O Lord!” 7 You have put gladness in my heart more than when their grain and wine abound.

8 I will both lie down and sleep in peace; for you alone, O Lord, make me lie down in safety.

Footnotes:

Psalm 2:12 Cn: Meaning of Heb of verses 11b and 12a is uncertain

Psalm 3:2 Syr: Heb him

Psalm 4:4 Or are angry

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 7

Psalm 7

Plea for Help against Persecutors

A Shiggaion of David, which he sang to the Lord concerning Cush, a Benjaminite.

1 O Lord my God, in you I take refuge; save me from all my pursuers, and deliver me, 2 or like a lion they will tear me apart; they will drag me away, with no one to rescue.

3 O Lord my God, if I have done this, if there is wrong in my hands, 4 if I have repaid my ally with harm or plundered my foe without cause, 5 then let the enemy pursue and overtake me, trample my life to the ground, and lay my soul in the dust.Selah

6 Rise up, O Lord, in your anger; lift yourself up against the fury of my enemies; awake, O my God;[a] you have appointed a judgment. 7 Let the assembly of the peoples be gathered around you, and over it take your seat[b] on high. 8 The Lord judges the peoples; judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness and according to the integrity that is in me.

9 O let the evil of the wicked come to an end, but establish the righteous, you who test the minds and hearts, O righteous God. 10 God is my shield, who saves the upright in heart. 11 God is a righteous judge, and a God who has indignation every day.

12 If one does not repent, God[c] will whet his sword; he has bent and strung his bow; 13 he has prepared his deadly weapons, making his arrows fiery shafts. 14 See how they conceive evil, and are pregnant with mischief, and bring forth lies. 15 They make a pit, digging it out, and fall into the hole that they have made. 16 Their mischief returns upon their own heads, and on their own heads their violence descends.

17 I will give to the Lord the thanks due to his righteousness, and sing praise to the name of the Lord, the Most High.

Footnotes:

Psalm 7:6 Or awake for me

Psalm 7:7 Cn: Heb return

Psalm 7:12 Heb he

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Genesis 2:4-25

4 These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Another Account of the Creation

In the day that the Lord[a] God made the earth and the heavens, 5 when no plant of the field was yet in the earth and no herb of the field had yet sprung up—for the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was no one to till the ground; 6 but a stream would rise from the earth, and water the whole face of the ground— 7 then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground,[b] and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. 8 And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed. 9 Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

10 A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. 11 The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; 12 and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. 13 The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. 14 The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

15 The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. 16 And the Lord God commanded the man, “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; 17 but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.”

18 Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” 19 So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. 20 The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man[c] there was not found a helper as his partner. 21 So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and he slept; then he took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. 22 And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. 23 Then the man said,

“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; this one shall be called Woman,[d] for out of Man[e] this one was taken.”

24 Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh. 25 And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.

Footnotes:

Genesis 2:4 Heb YHWH, as in other places where “Lord” is spelled with capital letters (see also Ex 3.14–15 with notes).

Genesis 2:7 Or formed a man (Heb adam) of dust from the ground (Heb adamah)

Genesis 2:20 Or for Adam

Genesis 2:23 Heb ishshah

Genesis 2:23 Heb ish

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Hebrews 1

God Has Spoken by His Son

1 Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, 2 but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son,[a] whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. 3 He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains[b] all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, 4 having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.

The Son Is Superior to Angels

5 For to which of the angels did God ever say,

“You are my Son; today I have begotten you”?

Or again,

“I will be his Father, and he will be my Son”?

6 And again, when he brings the firstborn into the world, he says,

“Let all God’s angels worship him.”

7 Of the angels he says,

“He makes his angels winds, and his servants flames of fire.”

8 But of the Son he says,

“Your throne, O God, is[c] forever and ever, and the righteous scepter is the scepter of your[d] kingdom. 9 You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness; therefore God, your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness beyond your companions.”

10 And,

“In the beginning, Lord, you founded the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands; 11 they will perish, but you remain; they will all wear out like clothing; 12 like a cloak you will roll them up, and like clothing[e] they will be changed. But you are the same, and your years will never end.”

13 But to which of the angels has he ever said,

“Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet”?

14 Are not all angels[f] spirits in the divine service, sent to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?

Footnotes:

Hebrews 1:2 Or the Son

Hebrews 1:3 Or bears along

Hebrews 1:8 Or God is your throne

Hebrews 1:8 Other ancient authorities read his

Hebrews 1:12 Other ancient authorities lack like clothing

Hebrews 1:14 Gk all of them

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

John 1:1-18

The Word Became Flesh

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life,[a] and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.[b]

10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own,[c] and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son,[d] full of grace and truth. 15 (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”) 16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son,[e] who is close to the Father’s heart,[f] who has made him known.

Footnotes:

John 1:4 Or 3 through him. And without him not one thing came into being that has come into being. 4 In him was life

John 1:9 Or He was the true light that enlightens everyone coming into the world

John 1:11 Or to his own home

John 1:14 Or the Father’s only Son

John 1:18 Other ancient authorities read It is an only Son, God, or It is the only Son

John 1:18 Gk bosom

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.