#you will fall in love with the saint but once he is risen you will not touch him

[worshipfulmercy]

cuddy will always be that high-achieving party girl house once met 😂 oh god what horror!

[pastel-omegas-blog]

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING!!! THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN MATURE THEMES AND VIOLENCE PLEASE LEAVE IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I DO NOT NEED THIS BOOK TO BE REPORTED . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.( Mentions of suicide, bullying, blood/torture ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️( This book is going to have more matured themes  compared to my others, from smut scenes to non-con, lactation, drugging, hypnosis, abuse of power and over obsessiveness. Porn with plot? ( For the love of God you have been warned)

Chapter one

The loud ringing of  holy bells sent an uproar of excitement through the capital city.  

People of different species. Humans, Elves and beast folk all  gathered at the city square, their throats going sore from letting out cheers of  joy.

Young women and children throw flower petals into the air, men laughing merrily and breaking out into songs that told scared stories and sang praises to their most high, their scents all merging together to create a sweet smell of flowers and honey a scent of pure unfiltered happiness as the made their way to the Temple .

It was finally here.

After waiting for twenty five long years for the sun to clock perfectly into position the Siveria  Empire could finally celebrate the one who created their bountiful, vast and rich lands. The one who had been watching over them from for the very beginning, giving them plentiful harvest and good weather for majority of the year round. 

         ‡ †The Sun goddess Åpollonia† ‡ 

The beautiful dark skinned woman, who was born from a drop of pure sunlight falling into the rich earth and had risen with a heart as pure as gold, giving life and blessings to the domain under her rule. And now on the day of her birth as the Holy scriptures hard marked down, it was only fair that those under her protection would all gather to worship her and show their gratitude, singing her praises and sharing testimonies of her miracles.

 Who better to lead the whole week long festival than the child of light she appointed herself ? The saint who the goddess had graciously given them so they may continue to learn  how to be pure of heart and follow the ways of righteousness.

 The pride gemstone of their empire, a beacon of hope to the common people, who found it heart warming that a noble would leave the comfort of their wealth to come and educate and care for them. He was viewed as the epitome of perfection by the Siveria temple, being blessed to control sun and light månå.  Two very rare månå elements that could decide to show up  once in four generations, had been combined and was now being wielded by the man.

It wasn't much of a surprise since he was born into a prestigious Noble family, known for creating prodigies in mastery of swordplay, mystic and magic, but even with that he was already classified as a genius never before seen in his family or the Empires history, his skills going on to even rival that of the imperial family.

All these skills given to just one man. And an omega at that.  

That had been a let down at some point. The people had wanted a big strong alpha filled with charisma that could lead the people on the path of righteousness with a strong will, like all the previous saints. but after a while they grow to adore the soft spoken and kind male, who's  charms and caring personality were alluring to the eyes and sweet scent calmed even the rowdiest of folks to become soft mellow beings, despite his soft appearance, he had a strong voice that only fueled the people's belief and strengthened their resolve to do better for their beloved Empire and their glorious goddess. He was a person the people turned to for closure, for advice, for more teachings. He worked harder than all of his predecessor combined.

  He someone that had all  the people smitten by him, someone they could look upon without a doubt  and proudly say he was their  ' ØURÅ '

                       † SAVIOUR †

After everything he had done for them, they believed he deserved a  title befitting of his position.  Saint L/N was a blessing the people believed was too good for them.

The crowd gathered at the temple all holding their breaths in anticipation as they waited for the heavy wooden oak  doors decorated in ancient golden carvings to open, so the ceremony could officially start. 

Slowly but gradually the heavy doors pushed open, all falling silent as they entered the sacred marble building.  Quickly the crowd made their way to mass hall, bowing their heads to show respect to the giant golden statue that had been carved in the likeness of their goddess, then going to find seats so they could start the festival off with a  prayer and standing in the middle of the huge room, next to the alter to greet the people on this special day was none other than the Head priest himself.  A tall man standing at 6'0 and dressed in the ceremonial white and gold robes for the special occasion, his long silver hair braided neatly so they wouldn't get in his face, making his grey eyes visible, his thin peach lips pulled into a calm smile.

Caleb Treavon.

The first Head priest ever from a commoner background and the youngest one at just the tender age of 29 ( very young since until him all the other priest got their position in their early forties ). And he had  was a beta. That was a recipe for disaster

There had been much debate during his debut, and at a point even assassination attempts were made on his life, but once they saw they couldn't forcefully get rid of him they mellowed down and started to spread rumors. Whispers going about the air. ' He's far to young ' they cried out ' A commoner?!! He's not well educated the Holy temple will lose its prestige and fall. What was the former head thinking? ' they wailed. ' Not to worry. It's only a matter of time before he steps down. He will soon realize that such a hard job wasn't meant for someone like him. He's just s boy with his mind lost in the clouds '. They sneered and then they mocked, all patiently waiting for the young man to drop and give up, only to watch in horror, distaste and very few in awe as he shattered their expectations. He established new laws in the temple and destroyed the old ones that treated commoners like dirt and favoured the nobles more. He said. 

 " Everyone is Equal in the eyes of the goddess and they shall be treated so in her holy ground "

His actions caused  the Nobles rage, but He had already won the support and heart of the common folk and his brave display during the harsh attempts on his life and finding a middle ground between the two social classes made the Emperor bestow him with a medal of bravery, that made him untouchable.  He had achieved so much at such a young age and the people grow to love and adore him, the only person more respected than him other than the imperial family was of course Saint L/N. No one would ever be able to compare to their lovely omegan saint.

Caleb's smile grow even more as the crowd of people cheered for him, but with a flick of his right hand they all immediately fell into perfect silence.

The way they obeyed immediately sent a surge of power and smugness through him​ 

He cleared his throat before his loud voice resonated through the huge building.

" Dear brothers and sisters. Children of Åpollonia. I graciously welcome you all to the opening of the 874 Sun ceremony. We all managed to live to see such a blessed day and for that we have only to the goddess to thank for "

thr congregation erupted into a soft appulse , before they all fell into a silent prayer, reciting ' the song of doves ' a prayer point from the holy book.

Once their attention was back on him Caleb continued.

" During this festival we usually have a member from the imperial family open  with us, but the imperial court has been facing some difficulties lately, so that will not be happening today "

A mummer  rushed through the crowd. They were used to the nobility not joining them because of the class difference,but the imperial family was a different matter. They were the monarchs of the empire and not even one of them being free to attend such an important event called for worry. Was the Empire going to war, was a famine happening? What could be going on?

" Not to worry though, the crown prince will arrive later to greet you during the sun drop event..... "

the crowd visibly relaxed a little

" But until then the rest of the ceremony will be blessed by the presence of our Lovely Saint L/N, who has managed to spare enough time from his busy schedule to be available through this week's long festival "

whatever worry the people had left disappeared as an excited chattering took over the once gloomy hall.

' oh my goodness?! Saint L/N is coming?? '

' Uwwah~ That's so cool!! I thought we would only be able to see him during the last day '

' Can you believe he made time in his busy schedule just to start the sun ceremony with us?  His heart really is made of gold '

' My heart is pounding so fast that I think if I see his beautiful face now I might die from a heart attack ' 

' Who needs the imperial family if we can see our lovely saint everyday of through out this week. They should miss more of the important festivals then if this is always going to be the outcome '

 Another hand in the air was enough to silence the people once more and the beta male's grow more.

" Yes. So without further ado.....

       WE WELCOME HIS HOLINESS , THE  FIFTEENTH SAINT GIVEN TO US BY THE GODDESS ÅPOLLONIA....  "

The huge white doors on  the farther side  of the room opened and everyone watched as a thick red carpet rolled down to the alter, followed by two lovely little rabbit hybrid girls,  dressed in matching pure white silk dresses and flower baskets in their hands. They giggled softly to each other as they dropped rose petals on the carpet leaving a lovely trail of flower petals behind them.

After the girls had made their way to the alter they both held hands and cutely courtesied to the crowd, drawing an appulse from the people, before they ran to one of the temple attendants, the giggling happily as their care taker picked them up to join the other temple children in the backroom.

The room fell into silence as the sweet and calming scent of  lilac and cherries wafted into the air. He was finally here.

A dainty figure walked in, the robe he wore following behind him and hiding his delicate form. For such an important figure the robe he wore was simple, but the gold embroidery designs on the material made him look elegent. In his right hand he held the Sun drop staff, the staff said to be created from the same drop of sunlight as Åpollonia herself and an ancient artifact that has be passed down to all saints/saintesses through the ages and he held it with pride and dignity

It looked as if he was floating on air as walked towards the alter. The people watched awestruck, their gazes never leaving his form and even with everyone watching him like a hawk, the smile on his lush pink lips never faltered. 

How could they not though?

Milky white skin.

Rosey pink hair

Diamond like blue violet eyes

He was an angel.

       

    His Holiness Saint Oriol L/N truly was an angel sent by the goddess herself.

 *†*†*†*†*†*†*†*†*†¢∆×∆×∆×¢†*†*†*†*†*†*†*

" M/N! M/N! Did you see us? " a small red haired rabbit girl squealed as she hugged her s/c caretakers side a big grin on her on her face.

"Yeah! Yeah! Did you see us? We led the pretty saint in with the pretty dresses the head priest bought for us " another rabbit girl added, her long blonde hair bouncing around her as she jumped up, her small hands gripping his robes tightly,

" Oh of course I did Penelope you were so cute, you too Annabelle. You both  are turning into lovely ladies "  the e/c male praised , making the two kits giggle around him, as they followed him to the common room. Their laughter making the baby in the baby in the h/c male's arms squeal in excitement despite not knowing what was going on, the action making M/N smile.

They walked further to a rather secluded place in the huge building, stopping in front of a large door, excited chattering could be heard on the other side. Shifting the pup gently in his arms to free up his other arm, opening the door he couldn't help how his heart melted at the sight before him.

Children running around in a rather small room with bunk beds, laughing and playing games with each other. It stung when he remembered they had been denied of being present for the opening of the ceremony.

 After all nobody wanted to associate with the children of criminals. The offspring of  traitors  who betrayed the Empire. Even though they were all to young to properly understand what was going on, yet they were still being judged for the sins of their parents.

The chatter died down as the children turned to look at who was at the door, their tense shoulders immediately they saw their sisters and baby brother, their loving caretaker standing calmly behind them with his usually sweet smile not one of those mean monks.

The silence lasted for a few moments, before they all cheered and rushed towards them, gushing over the girls and asking questions.

" oooh~ your dresses are so pretty! Did you really walk the saint to the alter ? " Phoebe a cute little elf girl asked, her purple eyes filled with awe as she gripped the book she had been formerly reading closer to her chest,  and penelope puffed up her chest in pride  nodding eagerly " uh huh. Me and Annabelle pulled out roses and spread them on the carpet for him " the red head said her green eyes glimmering with a smug look as she put her hands on her hips.

" Yeah. Yeah. See? My hands still smell like roses " Annabelle said bringing her hands forward and Phoebe smelled them, nodding her head in agreement. " Yeah they really do. Wow it must have been nce to do that " the elf girl said, her usually preppy voice lowering down a bit, and M/N couldn't stop his smile from falling a bit at her disheartened look.  " Don't worry FiFi I'm sure we'll be able to go out for the festival ceremony this event, so cheer up "  the girl perked up as a hand touched her shoulder, her smile coming back as she saw the source of the nice words. " Mmhm. Yeah your right Robin. Then we'll be able to see the fireworks too " phoebe gushed excitedly, penelope and Annabelle joining her, making the older boy laugh. " See that's the spirit " he added as the three girls started dancing around him in a ring, joining in when they dragged him along. The petite s/c male watched laughing when they fell down in a pile, their playfulness causing the baby in his arms to giggle at the sight as he stretched his chubby arms towards their direction. " Their a rowdy bunch aren't they " a soft voice said, causing M/N too grin as he recognized the voice. " Are you sure Sophia ? You know, I can still remember having to climb up the oak tree in  temple garden to get you off because you got stuck in and couldn't get down. None of them have gotten to that level of mischievousness yet " the h/c man teased the tween black haired girl by his side, making her huff. Her cheeks turning red.

" I... I saw a Cryter bird a..and I got curious. T.. that's d.. different " the girl huffed out crossing her arms around her chest, making her guardian chuckle. " Hah! As if. You wanted to beat me in a tree climbing contest and obviously I won. You just got to scared to climb down on your own like the big baby you are. " Sophia's face burst into deep cherry red colour as she turned over to glare at the person mocking her, her stare hardening at the smug look like on his face.

" Shut it Tobi! I wasn't scared. L..like I said I got distracted and stop calling me a baby! " Her words only made the dark skin boy laugh, her blush growing worse at his actions and she stopped over to him,and the began their usual petty and bicker.

M/N shook his head softly at the sight, but his smile never left as he watched the children with found eyes. " Your big brothers and sisters look like their having fun, right Louis? " He whispered gently to the baby in his arms, causing the pup to smile at him, showing his pink gums.

Despite everything they had gone through they all still managed to be playful kids, no trauma from their past being strong enough to hold them down and M/N wished he could do more for them because of that. Wished he could give them all the childhood they were entitled to enjoy. And he was getting closer to it too.

He was happy the Head priest had listened to his suggestion, using the girls to introduce the saint. It was cute and it would tempt people to try and adopt the children staying in the temple. They needed better homes, as much as it would break his heart to see them leave he knew it was for the best.

A loud cough behind him snapped him out of his thoughts and made him flinch, the noise startling the children in the room and the pup in the omega's arms, making the h/c male start to rock him before he started crying.

The faint scent of mint and lime filled his nose and M/N felt his stomach tie itself it knots as he realized who it was. He turned around and bowed at superior, not raising it up until he was given permission and e/c eyes looked up to meet condescending blue ones

Ezekiel Mist

A recessive alpha that tended to be mistaken as an omega due to his feminine face and ' soft ' scent, but coming from the influential Mist household, ( a house known to birth only alphas ) quickly made people abandon the thought. He was seen as someone who had good morals, because  he gave up his lavish life style to help with running the Temple. A well recognize member of the temple who was known for being a perfectionist and followed the rules.

His dedication earned him the spot of being Saint L/N's personal assistant, despite having joined the temple only a year ago. He was well respected among the other members of the temple and the treated them well enough. Well all of them except M/N, but then again no one in the whole temple usually gave the s/c male the time of day.

Ezekiel stared at the smaller male and the pup a bit longer before his eyes trailed to look inside the room, the emotion in  his eyes turning to disgust for a brief moment, then going back to normal as he looked back to the s/c nun, clicking his tongue at his disheveled state.

His one size to big uniform was a mess of wrinkles and baby powder and he reeked of milk. His hair was going every where and the dark bag under his eyes was an indication that he hadn't been getting any proper sleep. Ezekiel's lips formed a sneer at the sight.

" M/N. I thought I told you to get ready by one? Your the one in charge of looking after the sitting arrangements for the nobles, then going through the files sent by the imperial court, after that the elder monks need you to go to harbor side and retrieve their order of Rose thorn essence for the cleansing ceremony tommorow morning. With how long you've been learning under the temple anyone would think you would have learned to prioritize your time by now "

The h/c male stood their not saying a word as he waited for the man to finish talking, occasionally letting out apologies. He needed to stay calm. The children were watching, he didn't need them getting in trouble because of his silly mistake.

Ezekiel let out a frustrated sigh and brought his hand to rub his temples, muttering under his breath " No wonder lord L/N decided to disown you, completely useless in every way possible. " The comment made M/N go stiff, his past flashing through his eyes for a split second and he felt his throat go dry.

The children could only watch the scene unfold to scared to speak up. The youngest on the group hid behind the three older ones, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tried to block out the man's harsh words.

Once the blue haired recessive finished the omega nodded his head in obedience, handing louis over to Sophia, his chest growing tight as he noticed the frightened look on their faces, but his hands were to tied to try and comfort them, he could only send a calming smile their way  as he walked out. 

" Oh and make sure none of them leave this room, the sight of them during the festival could stir up unwanted trouble " M/N's e/c hues widened in panic.

This hadn't been part of the deal he had with the Head priest a month ago. He promised after doing all those a necessary task, and arrangements ( instead of using the money the imperial family had sent for the occasion )  that he would allow the children to leave for the festival this night. That had been their damn agreement. He opened his mouth to protest, but the icy look sent his way made him close it just as fast and he weakly nodded his head in agreement, watching helplessly as the taller male walked away.

The words made Penelope, Annabelle and Phoebe cried louder, their vioces making Louis start to whimper and join in. Sophia,Robin and Tobi tried to calm them down, but M/N didn't miss the crestfallen look on their faces and his heart squeezed tightly at the sight.

He begrudgingly closed the door and started walking away.  He had work to do. But first..............

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Standing in front of the huge doors M/N took in a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart.  His hands shaking making the silver tray in his grasp shake a bit,the contents in it almost spilling. All he had to do was drop the tray and get out. Balancing the tray in one hand he used the other to knock on the door, almost immediately a soft voice told him to come in. Wanting to get this over with he entered.

On the other side of the door was a study. The walls painted a soft white and gold colour with ornate paintings covering the ceiling.  White marble tiles plastered on the ground. Tall shelf's filled with books could be seen at every corner of the room, a lounge chair with cream coloured leather was placed next to a huge open window, the soft sun rays spilling into the room and in the center of it all was a pure white mahogany desk, with stacks of paper work resting on it's surface and seated behind the desk was none other than the holy Saint himself.a warms smile on his lips as his jewel eyes watched the smaller male enter.

" May the sun keep you guarded and blessed your holiness " the smaller omega greeted, bowing his head, his actions making a huff leave the pink haired male's lips.

" Come M/N. I've told you to stop calling me by my title when it's just the two of us. You should call me by my name " Oriol said softly, his voice almost having a scolding tone to it as he watched the h/c male set the tray in his hands in front of him, his sharp eyes not missing how he flinched at his request.

" I'm sorry , but I can't do that my holiness. That's disrespectful and I might get in trouble for it. The walls have ears " the h/c man replied, not missing how the larger omega's lips fell into a scowl for a moment, quickly reverting back to his calm smile. Bowing to the seated male, standing up and trying to get to the door so he could leave, only to hear papers crashing the ground and a small gasp following it followed by a flurry of apologies.

" I'm so sorry M/N I wanted to eat and work at the same time, I didn't mean to honest. Could you please help me ? "

     Not like you can refuse.

It was something the two of them knew, and forcing a smile on his face M/N shook his head as he walked over to the scattered pile on the floor. " It's not a problem your holiness,  you must be stressed because you've been so busy. There's no need to beat yourself over it " the s/c nun said as he bent down to gather the pile, trying to ignore the eyes fixed on his from.

Gathering the last visible paper M/N tried to stand up only for Oriol's voice to stop him. " Ah. Sorry but some papers fell under the bookshelf, could you please get them for me? " The pink haired male asked innocently smiling at him as he brought the teacup to his lips to take a sip and for a split second the h/c male regretted not dropping the poison he had into the drink. Nodding his head M/N lowered his upper body to the ground as he glanced under the shelf, his back arching upwards, making his hips go up in the air, his usually oversized uniform hugging his form and showing off his curves for a few moments, before the smaller male sat up, a frown on his plump lips. " There's nothing  here sir " he said waiting for a reply, receiving a shocked look first then a sheepish smile.

" Really? Ah then I'm sorry, I've wasted your time haven't I ? " M/N tried to speak up to get cut off. " No no. I know your busy yet I still kept you here. Look how bout I make it up to you later ? " Again the s/c male tried to protest but was cut off.

" I insist M/N. I expect you to be in my chambers around ten. I have something to give you, also we need to have a talk about the children under you care. It would be in your best interest of you came. Besides I have a letter from Father~ "

What followed after those words was a tense silence, then a defeated sigh. " I will see to it your holiness " M/N replied dropping the neatly stacked papers on the desk before quickly walking out, closing the door softly behind him.

Once he was outside in the hallway, the petite male resisted the urge to scream. His brother could never take no for an answer, he always found a way to get what he wanted.

M/N could bet he was just going to gloat and mock him behind closed doors, tell him how much of a failure he was. Tell him how he was a stain to the family name.  

He could bare it. This wouldn't be the first time someone had done. He could handle it. He just needed to be strong. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he quickly hurried away. 

He had work to do.

 Firstly to the harbor for the herbs

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It was almost 10:56 when  M/N stumbled finished his duties and managed to put the children to sleep, soothing them was a hard task when they could hear the fireworks and celebration happening from the room. Louis was the hardest to calm down, the pup was angry and it took longer than it usually would to calm him down.

The petite omega was sore all over, once he was done with this damn meeting he was going to take a cold bath and take off the stupid scent collar he had around his neck them have a well deserved sleep until three the next morning when this brutal cycle will begin all over again.

The side of temple that belonged to Oriol was heavily  guarded knights at every corner. Monks could be spotted roaming around the place awake to keep vigil on this holy night, the smell of rosemary herbs burning in the air to ward off evil.  Only the best protection for the Empire's most prized possession.

Gulping down his anxiety , he walked down the hallway, his gaze on the ground, trying his best not to flinch at the harsh gazes directed towards him.

Taking in a deep breath he ran over the plan in his head. He just needed to apologize for being late and get this whole ordeal over with.  He stopped when he reached his destination, his form  shrinking at the sight of the two heavily armoured knights standing guard at in front of the door. Gulping down his fear the omega spoke up. 

" U..uum I'm here to see his Holiness. H..he requested for me earlier today " he managed to stutter out, wincing at how shaky his own voice sounded. The guards stared at him, seeing his description matches to the one they were given they moved aside and let him pass, said male quickly entered the room wanting to be away from their judging eyes.

The door closed behind him with a loud thud and M/N let out a sigh of relief, the relief quickly dying as the strong smell of phermones along scent of lust and silck filled his nose violently snapping him out of his thoughts as he coughed trying to clear up the smell and desperately trying to take in a breath of fresh air and failing miserablely as all he could inhale were more phermones.

What was going on? 

He has been so focused on trying to breathe that he hadn't noticed anything else in the room. A very loud wanton moan echoing in the huge space did that for him.

The sound made his s/c cheeks turn red in embarrassment and he tried to process things at a more faster rate, all thoughts dying as he watched the scene in front of him unfold.

There was the blessed Saint of the Freverian Empire, the one said to be as pure as lamb, completely undressed. His normally neat and tidy hair sticking to his sweaty face, his clear milky pale skin covered in purple and red bruises from his neck to his chest, rosy pink buds hard and seeking any form of attention. His dick standing erect between his thighs and M/N couldn't help but notice he was larger than the average omega, those factors were shocking yes, but the icing on the cake was that the pink haired male had his ass and mouth stuffed with the cocks of two other larger male's and if the loud moans spilling from his lips indicated anything it seemed he was enjoying himself

Very much

 Other than the saint's slutty moans ,the sound of skin slapping against skin , squelching noises and the hard creaking of the king sized bed were echoing in the room and how he didn't even hear the noise before he didn't know, but one thing was for sure he needed to leave. Yet he couldn't find the strength to tear his eyes away from the seen, his e/c eyes glowing with curiosity as he watched. 

 Even though Oriol's skin was marked it still had that eternal look to it, seeming to glow in the moonlight spilling in through the open windows though to the smile shin of sweat, his eyes trailing lower to watch how his ass seemed to swallow the member entering him without any difficulties, his round ass jiggling everytime he took the man's dick to the hilt, his soft skin smacking the knot  of the man underneath him, as everytime he slammed back down harder it seemed like it would actually slip in and keep him in place. E/c trailed up, wincing a bit when he noticed the huge bulge in his throat as the pretty male wrapped his lips around the other male's cock. The same lips he would use to smile innocently at the crowds of people during parades while preaching words of the holy book. The peoples precious Saint commuting such a sin on the very first night of the sun ceremony.

M/N knew he was supposed to leave, slam the door open and run away from this place, but he just couldn't tear his gaze away from the pink haired male as his eyes trailed upwards only to freeze as he felt his heart drop to his stomach, his already dry throat going parched.

Staring back at him was blue violet eyes that seemed amused? The way he lowered his eyes making pink lashes flutter gently on his cheeks gave him an even more seductive look. With how focused his gaze was he  probably been watching the petite h/c male since he first entred and thought made M/N's blushed grow worse.  Oriol knew he had been there since the very beginning yet he didn't stop, with how the flushed head of his cock seemed to be dripping out precum it seemed the attention on him turned him on even more. A tantalizing shock ran down the s/c male's spine and he could feel his underwear getting tighter.

He needed to leave. Now

Cursing at himself for staying so long he turned and tried to open the door realizing that no matter how much he pushed it pulled it wouldn't budge, if anything the noise only attracted the attention of the two larger male's in the room.

Oriol watched in amusement as the petite male tried to open the door, laughing in his head at how bad he was failing and decided he had teased him enough. He sild his mouth off the recessive's dick, releasing the pulsing appendage with a wet 'pop' sound, watching as it twicthed helplessly in the cold air covered in saliva and precum. To bad he had grown to bored of it to give the man his release. Ignoring the whimpering alpha in front of him, the smaller male pushed himself up from his sitting position, taking the other Alpha's dick out of him, ignoring the blond male's whine as he climbed down the bed.

A growl from him was enough warning for the two to not touch themselves, before he  sensually walked over to the still desperate h/c male, frowning when he noticed their was no scent on him, catching glimpse of the scent collar around his neck.

Oh well he could deal with it later, he had waited years for this moment, he could wait a few more for the stupid scent collar, but first....

Using his larger frame to his advantage, Oriol pinned M/N's hands to the door, leaning in closer to let his breath fan against his face, letting out his scent to try and intoxicate the more submissive male and get him to submit easily ( but he wouldn't mind a struggle, got his blood boiling ), leaning closer and purposely grinding his leaking cock on the s/c male's clothed ass, not caring about how he stained the fabric, as a groan left his lush lips feeling the soft skin of the others plump ass through his clothes.

His actions made M/N struggle harder a broken plea leaving his lips and Oriol laughed. Not the sweet laughter he gave to the people or his friends he considered close. It was cynical and mocking.​

" Ne~ your begging me to let you go, yet you were the one who just stood there while watching your younger brother get dicked down, and you even got hard from it? My my ~ I never knew you were such a pervert big brother. Sadly I can't let you go. We haven't discussed your punishment for coming late yet ~ "

The way the pink haired male purred out his words in such a silky soft voice only sent a cold shiver down the s/c male's spine and his struggling stopped for a moment to see the smug look behind him.

And for the second time in his life ever since the first incident, despite his angelic appearance, M/N saw Oriol as the devil he really was. 

Only this time he wasn't sure he would be able to escape.

Hi guys. So umm.... I have no excuse other than being horny. It's shitty I know , I know, but if I stay up all night because of this so will you. Still hope you like it.

* this story is actually on a hiatus on quotev because I lost the motivation for it, but I wanted to post the chapters I've written here. I hope you all enjoy *

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

18th January >> Fr. Martin's Reflections / Homilies on Today's Mass Readings (Inc. Mark 3:7-12) for Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time: ‘All who were afflicted in any way were crowding forward to touch him’.

Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Mark 3:7-12 He warned them not to make him known as the Son of God.

Jesus withdrew with his disciples to the lakeside, and great crowds from Galilee followed him. From Judaea, Jerusalem, Idumaea, Transjordania and the region of Tyre and Sidon, great numbers who had heard of all he was doing came to him. And he asked his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, to keep him from being crushed. For he had cured so many that all who were afflicted in any way were crowding forward to touch him. And the unclean spirits, whenever they saw him, would fall down before him and shout, ‘You are the Son of God!’ But he warned them strongly not to make him known.

Gospel (USA) Mark 3:7-12 The unclean spirits shouted, “You are the Son of God,” but Jesus warned them sternly not to make him known.

Jesus withdrew toward the sea with his disciples. A large number of people followed from Galilee and from Judea. Hearing what he was doing, a large number of people came to him also from Jerusalem, from Idumea, from beyond the Jordan, and from the neighborhood of Tyre and Sidon. He told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, so that they would not crush him. He had cured many and, as a result, those who had diseases were pressing upon him to touch him. And whenever unclean spirits saw him they would fall down before him and shout, “You are the Son of God.” He warned them sternly not to make him known.

Reflections (13)

(i) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading declares that ‘great numbers’ who had heard about Jesus’ healing ministry came to him by the lakeside. Because ‘he had cured so many’, all who were afflicted in any way ‘were crowding forward to touch him’. We are given a sense of Jesus being constantly surrounded by the broken and the afflicted. Indeed, according to the reading, Jesus was in danger of being crushed by people in their desperation to touch him. Yet, the gospels never suggest that Jesus tired of his healing ministry. Even when he took his disciples away to a lonely place for some quiet time, he had compassion for the broken and bruised crowd who unexpectedly showed up on his arrival. He once referred to himself as like a doctor who attends to the sick. He came to bring God’s healing and merciful love to those who were broken not just in body, but also in mind and in spirit. Jesus didn’t tire of those who needed God’s healing power that poured from him. The risen Lord today does not tire of us either when we approach him in our physical, mental or spiritual brokenness. Just as Jesus drew people to himself from all over, according to the gospel reading, the risen Lord continues to draw all people to himself. In the first reading, Jonathan stood by David when his life was in danger because of Saul’s anger and jealousy. The risen Lord continues to stand by all who turn towards him in their need, regardless of where we are on our life journey, what we may have done or failed to do in the past. As Saint Paul triumphantly declares in his letter to the Romans, ‘nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord’.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

In the beginning of today’s gospel reading Jesus withdraws with his disciples to the Sea of Galilee. He had just experienced hostility from the religious leaders. In fact, Mark had just told us that, because Jesus had healed a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath in the synagogue, the Pharisees conspired with the Herodians against him, with a view to destroying him. He withdraws from that hostility with his disciples to the Sea of Galilee. Jesus also encounters a response which is the complete opposite to the hostility he experienced from some. People approached him from a huge area, trying to touch him so as to be healed of their brokenness and diseases. The contrast between the two responses to Jesus is very striking. Some wanted to break him; others looked to him to heal them of their brokenness. Those who had no sense of their own poverty despised him; those who were aware of their poverty flocked to him. Every human being Jesus met was poor and broken to some degree; yet, it was only those who recognized their own poverty and brokenness who responded to Jesus. The gospel reading suggests that it is above all the sense of our own need, the awareness of our own poverty, that opens us up to the Lord’s presence to us.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading this morning gives us a picture of great crowds of people coming to Jesus. In particular, all who were afflicted in any way came forward to touch him. It was the people who were suffering, who were distressed, who had least going for them, that came to Jesus in the biggest numbers. They sensed that he had come to heal their brokenness, that he had come in a special way for the suffering, the broken, the lost. We too come to the Lord with the greatest urgency when we are struggling, when we are in some kind of distress. Like the crowds in the gospel reading, we reach out to touch the Lord in our brokenness, recognizing him as the source of healing and life. The Lord is as available to us as he was to the crowds of Galilee; he remains strength in our weakness, healing in our brokenness, life in our various experiences of death. We can approach him with the same confidence of being well received as the people in today’s gospel reading.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Mediators can be very important people, especially in times of dispute. The mediator can bring together conflicting parties who would never otherwise come together. This is the role that we find Jonathan playing in this morning’s first reading. Saul is in conflict with David, although David has no conflict with Saul. David’s popularity made Saul jealous of David; he turned away from David, even though David did not turn away from Saul. Jonathan’s intervention on behalf of David succeeded in reconciling Saul to David, for the time being at least. In the New Testament Jesus is spoken of as a mediator on a couple of occasions. He is the mediator between God and ourselves. Even though God never turns away from us, we turn away from God every so often. Jesus is our way back to God. He came from God to draw us back to God. He draws us back to God by drawing us to himself, just as in the gospel reading, he is portrayed as drawing many people to himself, to such an extent that he was in danger of being crushed. We pray at this Mass that we would allow Jesus to draw us towards himself and, thereby, towards God.

And/Or

(v) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s first reading is the beginning of the tragic story of Saul’s jealousy of the younger David. In his anger Saul saw David as his enemy, whereas in reality David was his courageous supporter. Jonathan, son of Saul and the great friend of David, helped his father to see David in a clearer light, at least for the moment. He helped his father, Saul, to see a side to David that he was completely ignoring. In the words of Jonathan to his father, ‘David has not sinned against you, and what he has done has been greatly to your advantage’. Saul was helped to see David through the eyes of Jonathan, rather than just through his own angry and jealous eyes. We all need a Jonathan in our lives from time to time, someone who can help us to see some person or situation in a clearer way. Our way of seeing can be very limiting; our emotions can sometimes make us focus on one aspect of a person or a situation to the exclusion of all other aspects. So often we need the perspective of another or of several others. The Lord enlightens us through the experience and the insight of others. We need to keep recognizing the limits of our perspective and to be open to what the Lord may be trying to show us through those who are part of our lives or those whom he sends to us in life.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

In the verse immediately preceding the gospel passage we have just read, Mark says that ‘the Pharisees went out and at once began to plot with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him’. That very ominous verse is immediately followed by the passage we have just heard which states that great numbers from a huge area were coming to him because they heard of all that he was doing. In particular, all who were afflicted in any way were crowding forward to touch him. Whereas some of the religious and political leaders, the Pharisees and the Herodians, were plotting to destroy Jesus, those who were afflicted in any way came to him in their droves. Whereas the former wanted to lay hands on him to kill him, the latter wanted to touch him so as to be made well. It is striking how Jesus’ words and deeds could meet with such strikingly different responses. Those who had power were threatened by him; those who had little or nothing were drawn to him. Perhaps the gospel reading this morning is saying to us that we need to come before the Lord in our poverty. It is not such much our knowledge or our influence that creates an opening for us to approach the Lord; it is much more our brokenness, our poverty, our affliction.

And/Or

(vii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading gives us a picture of Jesus with people coming to him, not just from Judea and Galilee, but from much further afield, from Idumea, Transjordania, Tyre and Sidon. This great and diverse crowd had one thing in common; they were all afflicted in some way. The gospel reading says, ‘all who were afflicted in any way were crowding forward to touch him’. A little earlier in Mark’s gospel Jesus had spoken of himself as the doctor who came not for the healthy but for the sick, for those broken in body, mind or spirit. We all need to go to the doctor from time to time, some less often than others. However, we all need to go to the Lord in our brokenness all of the time. We all belong in that great throng of humanity that made their way to Jesus in the gospel reading, even though we do not always recognize ourselves as belonging to that great crowd. We all need the Lord, because what we receive from him cannot be received from any merely natural source. That is why he calls on us to seek him, to ask of him, to knock on his door, or in the image of today’s gospel reading, to touch him. We keep reaching out to touch him in our brokenness because we have a need deep within us that only he can satisfy. One of the privileged ways we touch the Lord is in the Eucharist, which has been aptly described as broken bread for a broken people.

And/Or

(viii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s first reading paints a very vivid picture of the destructive power of jealously. Saul, the king of Israel, grew jealous of David’s popularity and military success. Even though David wanted to serve Saul, Saul saw David as a competitor and a threat and wanted to kill David. Jealousy clouded Saul’s judgement and made him see David in a way that wasn’t true to the kind of person David was. It was Jonathan, Saul’s son and David’s friend, who helped Saul to see David differently. On this occasion at least Saul was receptive to Jonathan’s more insightful judgement of David. Jonathan helped his father to see more clearly; he helped to heal him of his blindness. The gospel reading presents people coming to Jesus in huge numbers for healing. We are all in need of healing of some kind. We can suffer from a certain kind of blindness, like Saul. We see others not as they are but as we imagine them to be. The strong emotions we feel towards them can distort our perception of them. We often need a Jonathan to help us see more clearly. Sometimes we may be called to be a Jonathan for others, by helping them to see someone with less prejudiced eyes. The Lord needs each of us to be channels of his healing work. He wants to work through each of us to open the eyes of the blind. He needs us to be a Jonathan for each other.

And/Or

(ix) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading, Mark gives us a very vivid picture of the popularity of Jesus during the early stages of his Galilean ministry. Great crowds from a very large area came to him, from as far north as Tyre and Sidon in modern day Lebanon, and as far east as Transjordania, modern day Jordan. They came to him in their need. In the words of the gospel reading, they were ‘afflicted’, and they recognized in Jesus one who could heal their affliction. It is often the way that we seek out the Lord with greatest passion and energy when we or someone we love is afflicted. Our vulnerability, whether it is physical, emotional or mental, opens us up to the Lord’s presence. When all is well with us, we can go along without too much reference to the Lord. Our relationship with the Lord can deepen in times of personal crisis. It is not that our need of the Lord is any greater at such times, it is just that we become more aware of our need of the Lord when the sense of our own self-sufficiency is undermined. Those experiences of brokenness, which we might lament because of the pain they cause us, can be surprising moments of grace. Saint Paul made this discovery for himself. He came to recognize that what he termed the ‘thorn in the flesh’ he so desperately wanted to be rid of created an opening for the Lord to work powerfully in and through him, as he heard the Lord say to him, ‘my power is made perfect in weakness’.

And/Or

(x) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

According to today’s gospel reading, ‘all who were afflicted in any way were crowding forward to touch’ Jesus. People wanted to get as close as possible to Jesus because they recognized God’s life-giving power at work in his ministry. They recognized Jesus as the Life-Giver, as one who could heal their brokenness. In the first reading, Saul, the first king of Israel, takes on the opposite role to that of Jesus. Far from being a life-giver, he shows himself to be a death-dealer. He grew jealous of the young David’s success on the battlefield, especially when people began to compare David’s successes favourable to Saul’s. The jealousy of Saul fuelled his anger, and his anger led him to resolve to kill David. It took Jonathan, Saul’s son, to restrain Saul’s murderous intent. We are told that Jonathan held David in great affection. Jonathan’s affection for David was a truly life-giving power. Because of Jonathan’s affection, David was preserved from Saul’s murderous intent. In this way, Jonathan showed that he possessed something of the life-giving quality of Jesus. There are many Sauls in our world who are driven by jealousy and anger to bring death to others. There are also Jesus figures to be found, like Jonathan, who bring life to those who are threatened by death. We are all called to share in Jesus’ life-giving ministry. As in the case of Jonathan, that will often mean having the courage to stand up to the forces of death.

And/Or

(xi) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

I think we all appreciate it when people say that they will pray for us. We feel a sense of spiritual solidarity with them, which can be very reassuring at vulnerable moments in our lives. In that context, the opening words of today’s first reading are very reassuring. According to the author, Jesus ‘is living for ever to intercede for all who come to God through him’. The risen Lord himself is praying for us. When we come to God through Jesus we are being assured of his prayerful support. The gospel reading speaks of ‘great numbers’ coming to God through Jesus, people not just from Galilee and Judaea, but from further afield, from Idumaea, Transjordania, and the region of Tyre and Sidon. Jesus is the object of popular attention over a wide area. It is said of this large crowd that they were crowding forward to touch Jesus. One of the ways we touch Jesus today is through prayer. In prayer, we enter into communion with the Lord, touching his presence to us. Whereas the Lord prays for us, we pray to him. That coming together of the Lord praying for us and of our praying to the Lord can create an opening for the Lord to work in a life-giving way in all our lives, just as in the gospel reading he worked to heal people of their afflictions.

And/Or

(xii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading suggests that there was something very attractive about Jesus. People were attracted to him, not just the people of Judea and Galilee but people from much further afield, from Idumea, Transjordania, Tyre and Sidon. Here was an attractiveness that spoke to people from all directions. These people were attracted by what Jesus was saying and doing. Jesus was revealing the attractiveness of God, and people were allowing themselves to be attracted. In the first reading, there is something unattractive about Saul. When people praise the future king David to the detriment of the current king Saul, Saul becomes angry and jealous. These are natural and understandable human emotions in the circumstances. However, Saul allows his anger and jealousy to get the better of him and he begins to plot to kill David, the Lord’s anointed. In contrast to Saul, there is something attractive about Jonathan, Saul’s son. Holding David in great affection, Jonathan intercedes with Saul on David’s behalf and, eventually, helps Saul to recognize that David is not a threat to him but a blessing. Jonathan revealed something of the attractiveness of God, anticipating Jesus’ fuller revelation of God’s attractiveness. Our calling is to reveal by what we say and do something of the attractiveness of God. Like Jonathan, like Jesus, we are called to allow the God of life and loving mercy to shine through us in some way.

And/Or

(xiii) Thursday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

The beginning of today’s gospel reading says that Jesus withdrew with his disciples to the lakeside. Elsewhere in the gospels, when Jesus withdraws it is usually to spend time in prayer. The demands on him were great, but he needed to withdraw from people from time to time so that he could be with God in prayer. On this occasion, according to the gospel reading, when Jesus withdrew, large crowds followed him, not only from Galilee, but from a wide area. They wanted to touch him so as to be healed. Whereas Jesus wanted to touch God his Father in prayer, the needy crowds wanted to touch Jesus for healing. Jesus did not spare himself when it came to serving the needy, but he also needed to withdraw to pray. His ministry to others flowed from his prayer. Today’s first reading declares that Jesus is living for ever to intercede for all who come to God through him. Prayer is as central to Jesus’ life as risen Lord as it was during his public ministry on earth. It is reassuring to know that the Lord is interceding for us. As well as praying for us, the risen Lord continues his active ministry among us that we find portrayed in the gospels. He remains close to us in our suffering to strengthen and heal us, inviting us to touch him. He also works through us for the strengthening and healing of others. Jesus continues to do as risen Lord what we find him doing in today’s gospel reading, withdrawing to pray and serving the needy and broken. That same two-fold movement is to shape our lives as his followers. We withdraw to pray and we come from prayer to bring God’s healing love to those whom we meet.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[astridstorm]

Easter Sunday 2023

For an audio version of this sermon, click here.

Alleluia, Christ is Risen! The Lord is Risen Indeed, alleluia.

Good morning on this glorious spring Easter Day. It's always so nice to see your faces, parishioners, friends, and family, people from afar. If you’re visiting for the first time, a special welcome to you. After the service we have a coffee hour and I hope you'll join us for that, and also come back. This is a great parish, and a great time to be part of it.  

Today, we celebrate our happiest day, the very reason we exist, as a church, and as Christians, Easter Day. It happens to fall, this year, on the same day as the feast of someone in our calendar of saints that you may or may not have heard of. His name is Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Now, technically all Sundays and especially Easter Sunday override lesser commemorations like saints’ days. But I always check the calendar for interesting convergences like this, to see what they might teach us. 

Bonhoeffer was a German pastor and theologian who was part of the resistance to the Nazis. He began speaking out in the early 1930s, and soon became part of an organized resistance movement. Many of its members were arrested and put into prison camps. Some survived; some did not. Bonhoeffer was executed just months before the war ended in 1945. Today his feast is honored each year on April 9 by churches all over the world. 

He also made a visit right here to Scarsdale, in 1941, and spoke at the Greenville Community church just over the hill, on Ardsley Rd. A week from now they’ll be hosting a symposium on the 75th anniversary of that visit (delayed because of Covid). 

Many here also know that the local Baptist Church, Scarsdale Baptist (just down Popham Rd towards the village), once hosted Dr. Martin Luther King. We, many of us, including St. James, have incredible stories to tell of times when our churches have stood on the right side of history. 

The coincidence of Bonhoeffer’s feast with Easter Day is meaningful. Because his life modeled the central truth of Easter: that to get to today, with its trumpets and flowers and joy; to reach the fullness of what we’re called to be by God, we have to first pass through Good Friday, and the cross. There is no other way. Struggle and freedom, death and resurrection--are inextricably bound together. 

Some of you were able this past week to spend time here walking through the last days of Jesus’ life, which we act out liturgically--and have done for almost 2000 years. On Thursday we gathered to remember the night Jesus was betrayed by one of his disciples, then taken away by the Roman guards. That service ended with one of the most striking moments in the church year, the stripping of the altar where we removed everything--every candle, cross, even the linens and kneelers from the high altar and chancel around it. The cold marble altar and its bleak surroundings recall a tomb. 

On Friday, many came back to hear St. John’s Passion sung, in which was told the final hours of Jesus at his trial, and his death on the cross. We consumed the remaining sacrament, and extinguished the candle signifying Christ’s presence.

Easter doesn’t come out of the blue. It follows a process of pain and death. It’s hard won. And I wonder, looking each of us at our lives, and the lives of our loved ones, and of the institutions and societies we belong to: If we’re not engaged in some struggle, are we claiming the fullness of life that was promised us that first Easter morning? 

Struggle, even death--Big D, but also small “d” death as in the the things that have to die to free us up for new ways, new friendships, new patterns of thinking and living, new life--struggle and death, far from being signs something is heading in the wrong direction, may well be signs they’re going in the right direction. That a fuller life lies ahead, if we can just pass through and get to the other side.

We English speakers are among the few who call this day “Easter,” which actually (I didn’t know this until this year) derives from the name of an old pre-Christian pagan goddess Aestre. The majority of the Christian world uses a word for today that comes from the Hebrew festival underlying our celebration: Pesach, Passover. So Greek Christians call today Pascha, the French Paques, Spanish Pascua, in Dutch Pasen, in Swedish Pask. And so on. We’re the odd ones out. And so we miss the sense of it being a passing through trial to get to freedom. Passing through death, to get to life.

So What does an Easter life look like for you, a life “fully alive”? What must you overcome, pass through, to get there? Christ, and so many of the saints (like Bonhoeffer) made better lives and worlds by taking this Easter journey. The journey to which God calls us every year, all over again, so that one of these times, or once again, we’ll stand up and claim our life in Christ, the life (to quote St. Paul) that really is life. 

[fr-martin-gospel-reflections]

4th December - ‘He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire’, Reflection on today’s gospel reading (Mt 3:1-12)

Second Sunday of Advent

I don’t like to see trees being cut down. Occasionally, it may be necessary to cut down a tree, if it is diseased or if it is in danger of falling. When I came to Finglas, I was surprised at the number of trees that were here. They are there in abundance in the parks that surround Finglas, like the Tolka Valley Park, Jamestown Park and Poppintree Park, but they are also to be found throughout the various housing estates in the green stretches of which there are many. I had never planted a tree of my own before I came to Finglas, because I never lived in a house that had a garden big enough for a tree. I am fortunate now to live in a house with a long back garden and shortly after I arrived I planted a couple of trees towards the end of the garden. I look forward to seeing them grow into the future.

There are several references to trees in today’s readings. The reference in the gospel reading is somewhat forbidding. John the Baptist declares that the axe is laid to the root of the trees, so that any tree which fails to produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown in the fire. We can picture a tree farmer ready with his axe to attack the tree’s root because it failed to bear good fruit. John wasn’t really talking about trees but about people. He was criticizing the religious leaders who were very complacent, thinking that all was well with themselves simply because they were descendants of Abraham, ‘We have Abraham for our father’. Yet, their lives were not bearing good fruit; there was a lack of love and compassion in the way they interpreted God’s Law. John the Baptist was a no nonsense kind of person. He seems to have thought that Jesus would be a bit like himself, ready to cut down what wasn’t bearing fruit and throw it in the fire. He speaks of Jesus in the gospel reading as one who would gather the wheat into his barn and burn the chaff with fire

Yet, in reality, Jesus wasn’t like John the Baptist. Yes, his message remains very challenging for all of us today. Yet, to go back to the image of trees, he was more in the business of nourishing trees than cutting them down. He once told a parable about a fig tree that hadn’t borne fruit for three years. In the parable the landowner wanted the tree cut down because he felt it was just taking up space. However, the tree farmer asked the landowner to give him one more year to care and feed the tree in the hope that it would bear fruit the following year. He wasn’t ready to give up on the fig tree. That is very much in the spirit of Jesus. He was very reluctant to give up on people, including his own disciples. Even though they kept failing him in various way, he kept faithful to them, he continued to invest in them. In the same way, the risen Lord continues to invest in us, even after we have failed him. He keeps faith in us, and he wants us to keep faith in ourselves, so that we never give up, even when we fall short of what he wants of us. In today’s second reading, Saint Paul says that ‘people who did not give up were helped by God’. The Lord looks upon us with eyes of hope. He is always hopeful in our regard. Advent is a season of hope. It is a season when we renew our hope in God, but it is also a season when we renew our awareness of the Lord’s hope in us, his looking out upon us with hopeful eyes.

That note of hope is very evident in the second reference to trees in our readings, in today’s first reading. There the prophet Isaiah looks upon a tree stump. Some might have concluded it was dead, but Isaiah imagines a shoot springing from the root of the stump. He sees signs of new life in what appears to be dead. Again, Isaiah is not really talking about trees, but about people, and, in particular about rulers. The rulers of his time were like a tree that is as good as dead and, yet, Isaiah, looking with eyes of hope, could see a new ruler emerging who would be full of the gifts of the Spirit of God and who would bring about God’s just rule and the peace that flows from it. This was the way Jesus looked on people and how he continues to look upon us today. The Lord sees signs of new life in what seems dead to us. Indeed, the Lord brings new life out of death. If there is something dying in ourselves, in our church, in the world, the Lord will work tirelessly to bring new life out of the death, and he looks to us to help him in his life-giving work. He needs us to see ourselves and others, our church and our world, with his hopeful eyes, so that he can work through us in life-giving ways.

[thebadgerclan]

Grief Beyond Words

Paring: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: The loss of your baby leaves a grief beyond words...

TW: Miscarriage

A/N: please heed the TW!  I briefly discuss the removal of a baby, nothing graphic or in detail.  This deals heavily with grief of losing a child, so if this may trigger you, I recommend avoiding it.  

That being said, I did enjoy writing this and am very proud of it.  

The scream that left your mouth was one that would haunt Aleksander for the rest of his very long life.  “I’m so sorry, moya soverennyi,” the Healer had said.  “There is no heartbeat.”  Grief welled up within Aleksander, longing to be let loose.  He longed to lash out with the Cut, to tear this damned palace in two, to scream at the heavens for taking his unborn child from him.  But no, he had to be strong for you right now.  He could break later, but right now, you needed him.  

You curled in on yourself, screaming yourself hoarse, tears drenching the front of your husband’s kefta.  His own tears fell too, beading up on your hair as he held you tight to him.  Logically, he knew that this pain would pass, it might take a long time, but it would.  But now, Aleksander felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean, and all he wanted to do was swim down.  He laid down next to you, wrapping his arms tight around you, clutching to you like a lifeline, sure as you were clinging to him as one.  Your shoulders shook with your sobs, shattering Aleksander’s heart into dust.  His cries were silent, biting his lip so he wouldn’t make a sound.  You needed him to be strong now, he could shatter later.

The Healer had left the room, offering you your time to break.  But Aleksander heard the door open and shut softly, and he turned to look at the young woman.  She spoke in hushed tones to him, as you were too far gone in your grief to truly listen.  But you caught phrases, “...procedure….”  “...removal…” “...completely painless…”  What did it matter?  Your baby was gone.

Aleksander didn’t leave your side once; only vacated the bed and moved to sit at your side so the Healers could work.  They did so in relative silence, only speaking to one another when necessary.  When it was done, the head Healer said only four words: “A girl, moya soverennyi.”  A sob left your mouth, and Aleksander bowed his head.  “Leave us,” he said, voice ragged.  The Healers bowed and left, shutting the door silently behind them.  

Your husband crawled back into bed with you, kicking off his boots as he did.  You gravitated to him, burying your face in his chest as you cried.  You wound your arms around his middle, gripping like a vice, but Aleksander needed it too.  He needed to be held, and even if you were a mess, in all honesty, you were offering him comfort as well.  “My love,” he whispered, voice wavering.  “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”  You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, only held him tighter, but the sentiment was clear.  I’m sorry too.

Aleksander held you for hours, rubbing your back through your sobs, smoothing your hair from your face, making you drink water so you wouldn’t dehydrate.  After 4 hours, you’d tired yourself out enough that you fell asleep, tears still leaking from your closed eyes.  Aleksander slowly rose from bed, tucking the blankets over your shoulders.  He knew he wouldn’t get a chance to see Ivan for a while, and there were things he needed to tell him.

He found the Heartrender in the War Room, Fedyor behind him.  “Moi soverennyi,” Ivan bowed.  “We heard, and we are so very sorry.”  “Thank you,” Aleksander said, monotone.  “I’ll be unavailable for the foreseeable future.”  “Of course, sir.”  “Ivan, Fedyor, you are my most trusted men.  Therefore, I leave both of you in charge.  Short of civil war, no one is to call on me, understood?”  “Yes, sir,” the Heartrenders chorused.  “Let no one in our rooms except for yourselves, Genya, and servants.  Leave.”

Ivan and Fedyor bowed and left, closing the door to the War Room behind them.  Then and only then did Aleksander let himself break.  He screamed, falling to his knees with grief, his power flooding out of him.  The Cut lashed out from both hands, tearing a map of Ravka in two on his right, shattering the windows on his left.  But Aleksander didn’t hear it, he only heard his own voice, crying out in anguish.  The tears flowed freely now, tracking down his face, puddling on the hardwood floor.  There could very well be another Unsea right here, what with the pain Aleksander felt, but he restrained himself.  He collapsed fully, lying on the cold hard floor, sobbing for his daughter, for the little girl he’d never meet.

That was where you found him hours later.  You’d awoken from a restless sleep to a damp pillow and an empty bed.  So you’d risen, pulled your robe over your shoulders, and exited the bedroom.  Fedyor was stationed outside the door, and he bowed.  “Moya soverennyi,” he greeted.  “Where is my husband?” you asked, voice virtually gone.  “He is in the War Room, ma’am.”  “Thank you.”  You set off through the corridors, feeling like a ghost in your own home.  The door was shut, and you heard soft cries from the other side.

He was on the floor, curled in on himself, sobbing.  “Aleksander,” you said, closing the door behind you.  You made your way over to him, kneeling at his side.  He lifted his face to look at you, his grey eyes bloodshot.  “Y/N,” he whimpered.  “Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry.”  He dissolved into tears again, and you opened your arms, which he immediately fell into.  Aleksander buried his face in your chest, arms around your waist, holding onto you like you might evaporate.

“Sasha,” you sighed, stroking his back, doing the best you could to comfort him.  “Sasha, I know.”  “Our little girl,” he wept.  “Our daughter.  Saints, our little girl.  I’m so sorry.”  “Aleksander,” you said, bending your head to rest it atop his.  “I know.  We lost her.”  Saying the words made it real, and Aleksander felt like the ground had opened up beneath him.  “I’m so sorry, Sasha.”  You began to cry again, and that’s where the two of you stayed; on the floor of the War Room, in each other’s arms, grieving for the daughter you’d never meet.

The corridors were dark when you exited, hand in hand with your husband, slowly moving back to your rooms.  When you arrived, there was a massive bouquet of pink roses on the side table.  The note attached read: We are so deeply sorry for your loss.  May the Saints receive her. -Alexander and Tatiana.  The King and Queen had sent flowers (well, and aid had likely sent them).  You teared up again, wiping them from your face as you dressed for bed.  

Aleksander pulled you into his arms as you laid down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, then finally, your lips.  “I love you, Y/N, he whispered into the dark.  “I will always love you.  And I love our little girl.”  “I love you too, Aleksander,” you replied, wiping a tear from his cheek.  “And I love her too.  I’ll always love her.”  He nodded, stroking your side gently.  “It hurts,” you said, forehead against his chest.  “It hurts so bad.”  “I know.  But it will fade.  Not for a while, but it will.  The sun will rise on this, Y/N, I promise.”

***

The next morning, you woke to Genya setting a vase of flowers on the nightstand, one of what looked to be hundreds.  “Good morning,” she said softly.  “What are all these?” you asked, and Genya smiled.  “Condolences from all over the country.  And Fjerda, Kerch, Novyi Zem, the Shu Han.”  “Wow,” you breathed, feeling more tears spring to your eyes.  You didn’t blink them away, but let them fall.  “This is from David,” Genya said, handing you a small box.  Inside was a ring bearing your birthstone, Aleksander’s, and what would have been your daughter’s.  An inscription was on the inside: She returns to the Making At The Heart Of The World.

You couldn’t hold back the broken sob that left your throat, yet you smiled.  “Thank you, Genya.  It’s perfect.  Tell David I love it.”  Aleksander had woken and sat up behind you, taking your hand in his, looking at the ring.  “Give David my thanks as well,” he said, sliding the ring onto your fingers, above your wedding band and engagement ring.  “I will.  And I’m so sorry for your loss.”  “Thank you, Genya,” you managed, feeling more tears building.  “I’ll go now,” she said, taking your hand and squeezing it, before exiting.

Aleksander pulled you into his lap, kissing your forehead, sweet and lingering.  “How are you feeling today?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.  “Like my heart’s been ripped in half,” you said, and your husband nodded.  “Me too,” he said, lying back down with you in his arms.  “It’s… grief beyond words.  But we’ll get through this.”  “Yeah,” you agreed, though you didn’t feel it at all.  But you would; you had your husband, and he had you.  He, along with your friends, would pull you from this darkness and back into the light. It would take time, but the sun would shine again.

[yandere-society]

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar​

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like   lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that��s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”,  Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

© unfurlingtwinklingstar 2020 | all rights reserved | do not re-post/translate

[satendou]

⟼ some kind of disaster

⍣ all time low series | previous | next | 2/4

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: tendo/reader

⇢ au: atl!au, college!au

⇢ summary:  tendo knows he is, he was just waiting for you to figure it out  

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: angst, breakups, akaashi being a good friend, semi being (maybeb too much of) an asshole

⇢ word count: 3496

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: 1) this is unedited. 2) i have a serious complex about this whole series now due to how well monster did, so i’m sorry if anyone is disappointed by this chapter.

i’m a liar i’m a cynic i’m a sinner, i’m a saint i’m a loser i’m a critic i’m the ghost of my mistakes and it’s all my fault that i’m still the one you want what are you after, some kind of disaster

They say falling in love is easy, it’s falling out of love that’s hard. What they fail to mention is how hard it is to still be in love even when you know it isn’t what’s best for you.

And right then, Tendo wasn’t good for you.

It had been several months since that first night and, though you had known it wouldn’t be easy, you had never expected it to be like it was. He had more issues than you could have imagined and a staunch refusal to talk about them. You had your guesses about why which you tried to understand, but the way he handled any small argument or misunderstanding in your relationship was unbearable and unhealthy.

Even now, he wasn’t speaking to you and it was tearing you apart. You weren’t even aware of what you had done because he wouldn’t tell you and you couldn’t for the life of you recall having done anything specific.

“Are you gonna do it today?” Akaashi asked, his words soft, full of understanding. The classical literature class you shared with him was over, and he hovered beside your chair waiting for you to gather your thoughts and your items up. He knew most of what had been happening with Tendo and sympathized because he also knew how enamored you had become with him. It was understandable-- you had been dating for a while, but he had seen a slow decline in your mood over the last few months. After the honeymoon period was over, he would guess, and the little issues that always crop up in relationships started to manifest. 

He recalled the night two weeks ago when you had come to him asking for advice, and it all poured out over takeout and wine. Even Bokuto, who always saw the bright side of things, remained in silent shock at everything happening behind the scenes.

You said he was never violent or angry or irrational. He would just...ignore you for hours or days on end, sometimes for things you couldn’t even determine, then come back like nothing had happened. If you did have an argument, no matter how small, he would just walk away without even trying to come to an agreement, then refuse to speak to you like normal until he decided he was done with that.

Akaashi’s heart broke for you as you sobbed into first your hands and then Bokuto’s shoulder, though he couldn’t refrain from smiling at Bokuto’s sympathy tears. His partner really was too cute for words.

Then you had spoken the dreaded words he was sure had been sitting in your throat for a lot longer than it had taken you to come to him.

“I think I’m going to break up with him.”

The relief that drew across your face as you said that was evident that you weren’t thinking about it, that you just needed support to go through with it. Of course, he and Bokuto were more than willing to give you that.

“I think so,” you murmured, taking your time packing up your stuff. The text you had sent at the beginning of class went unanswered, but marked that it was read two minutes after you sent it.

We need to talk.

It was too obvious what that meant and you were dreading the confrontation to come. You weren’t worried about him getting aggressive. In fact, you were pretty sure you knew how this was going to go down. Like every other argument, he was going to pretend it wasn’t happening and walk away.

The door was too loud when it opened, the students out in the hall too happy when Akaashi opened it. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Tendo standing across from the door staring out the window with a pensive expression. Then it clenched with all the emotions you were feeling, good and bad and your head spun with anxiety. He looked so sad, his usually vibrant red eyes dull and blank as he watched whatever was going on in the quad.

“I’ll wait for you, okay?” Akaashi asked. You nodded absently, eyes still locked on Tendo. For most people, he would be afraid they were going to renege on their resolve and give into the false promises of change. But the change he had witnessed in you over the last few months and the quiet sadness in your softly spoken words a couple of weeks back had given him a different feeling. You would go through with it, and it was going to shatter you.

Tendo still didn’t look at you when you called his name and, if you had been wavering at all, that shut it down. But he followed you anyway, until you found a secluded spot down an empty hallway. 

You took a deep, stuttery breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, and his voice was icy. He didn’t even seem to care about the tears starting to fall or the way you swiped them away. But it pierced his heart, knowing it was him that caused them, and he knew what was coming. He had known it would end this way the moment he fell for you. He had ended up hurting you just as he’d said he would, and yet he’d let it get this far anyway.

“I’m sorry for whatever it is I did this time. And I’m sorry, but-- I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you whispered, drawing him back to the present.

Silence followed those words. You still weren’t looking at him, so you missed the widening of those sleepy vermillion eyes you’d so come to love and the hands that caressed you so gently curling into fists at his sides.

He knew it, but couldn’t stop the surprise, even as the first crack appeared in his heart. “I-- What?”

It was so hard. Without meaning to, you had fallen in love with him, flaws and baggage and all. You should’ve known better. You had known it wouldn’t be easy to love him but it...it was so much harder than you had been expecting. Too much of your time was spent wondering what you had done to upset him this time and why he was ignoring you, because Tendo didn’t talk about his feelings with you. He left them on a back burner on high until they were so burnt they were unrecognizable, and when he was done being pouty he would seek you out and act like nothing was wrong.

There was no communication in your relationship-- if you could even call it that at this point. You couldn’t find a point to being together if every other day you had done something new to drive him away. It was taxing on you, your mental health plummeting because you were constantly worried about if something was wrong with you. It wasn’t until one of your other friends pointed out how different you were that you turned inward and discovered that particular truth.

You were struggling to keep it together by then, the pain in your heart and the tightness in your throat threatening to overwhelm you. You still hadn’t looked at Tendo. It was too hard-- you would never be able to get the words out if he was staring at you with hurt and confusion. 

Taking a steadying breath, you said, “I can’t fix you, Tendo. This-- This thing we have isn’t healthy, it’s-- we spend more time f-fighting than we do-- or you spend more time ignoring* me for things I-- I don’t even know why half the time and I’m constantly wondering what I’ve done--”

You stopped.

Your thoughts were racing in time with the throbbing pain in your chest and your voice had risen into a high-pitched, breathless mess and you couldn’t think. Breathing in deep, you closed your eyes, letting the tears fall as they may just to give you some relief from the pressure in your throat and once again you missed the look of fear on Tendo’s face.

He’d seen it coming. He had been expecting it for weeks, but didn’t know he would still be blindsided by it. It was his own fault, expecting you to chase after him and deal with his bullshit on your own. He knew it wasn’t fair, but every time he considered the alternative, he clammed up. Still, he wanted to reach out, to comfort you and tell you he would change, but he knew it wasn’t true.

His problems were deep rooted and it wasn’t his partner’s job to put him back together-- even he knew that.

So his nails continued to bite into his palms at his side as he let you spill every pent up emotion, just waiting for the final door to slam in his face.

“But it isn’t me,” you whispered, so quiet he almost missed it. At long last, you lifted your head up and met his eyes. Those beautiful red eyes that you often found yourself lost in were bright and clear and dead, not a trace of emotion anywhere in them. Like he didn't care, and that only made you cry harder. “I know it’s you and I can’t do it anymore. Everything you do makes me-- I’m not the problem, Tendo.” He flinched at the use of his surname and you ignored it. “I love you, you know that? I don’t know when or how, but I do know why. But I also know we aren’t healthy and this relationship is-- it isn’t a relationship. It just isn’t. I don’t know what it is but I--”

He swallowed as your shoulders fell. The words he wanted to say bubbled on his tongue and he bit them back. Hearing you say them now was a cruelty he knew he deserved after the way he’d been treating you, but he still wanted to lash out and break you like you had broken him. But as a last kindness for what you had given him, he only turned and walked away.

The silence that remained spoke volumes like the space that had developed between you, and you left as well, leaving everything behind.

Akaashi was waiting for you just around the corner from the hall, watching Tendo shove through the crowd and out of sight. His hand was warm against your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears. For now, they had stopped, but he knew more would come.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, in some regards. The weight of your feelings for him still remained, and you knew they would take some time to slide off as well. Akaashi was watching you with kind sympathy, his quiet company a relief as you looped your arm with his, letting him lead you out into the warm spring air. It seemed almost cruel that the weather was so nice when you were so miserable, and a few more tears spilled. 

Guilt accompanied every breath that you felt so light following your breakup, but you knew it was for the best. Nothing good would come of remaining with Tendo when he was so mixed up-- you couldn’t make him happy if he couldn’t make himself happy, and vice versa.

Bokuto’s voice rang loud over the sound of the rest of the crowd, waving his hand above his head at the pair of you. 

“Shall we go get something to eat? And it’s Friday, you can stay with us, if you’d like,” Akaashi said, his voice soothing and melodic to your ringing ears. Suddenly you were more than grateful to have him and Bokuto in your life-- even if the latter was a bit obnoxious.

Like now, he was literally tugging you and Akaashi along behind him, talking nonstop about food, not listening to a word Akaashi was saying. But when you looked over to your friend, he didn’t look aggravated. He looked content and amused, staring at his partner with a soft fondness that made you almost jealous as you thought about when Tendou would look at you that same way.

There was a sharp pang in your heart as you realized he probably wouldn’t look twice at you again. Because that’s just how Tendou was. He ignored his problems and waited until they just went away. And you needed more than that.

i crashed down from a high that felt so real i never knew how much it would hurt to feel you gotta hurt sometimes to learn to heal you gotta get back up and learn to deal, yeah and it’s all my fault that i’m still the one you want

“You’re a fool, you know that?” Semi said. Though it was posed as a question, Tendo knew perfectly well that Semi was telling him what he already knew. As soon as Tendo had shown up in front of him, Semi had snapped that and he could only nod in agreement. “I always knew you’d do this. _____ was perfect for you but you--”

“I know, alright,” Tendou snapped, curling his fists into hands. It was almost impossible for him to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall since he’d first gotten your text an hour and a half ago. Like the coward he was, he had ignored it and met you outside your class instead, a part of him hoping it would just go away if you saw him. But the hopelessness in your eyes when you had looked at him told him he wouldn’t get his wish this time. “I know I’m a fucking idiot, and _____ was always too good for me.”

A flash of your face and the echo of your words replayed in his addled brain.

“I don’t know what I’ve done this time.”

You hadn’t done anything. You had never done anything. He was a coward when it came to arguments but when he was ignoring you it wasn’t because of you.

It was him, all his fears bubbling to the surface and an attempt to push you away, to make you realize you were worth more than whatever he had to offer.

“Whatever we have is unhealthy.”

“It isn’t even a relationship.”

He was unhealthy, he knew he was, and it had driven you away from him. He only had himself to blame.

Semi huffed, watching Tendo closely. He was doing that blank thing he did to mask his feelings when he couldn’t handle them, turning into himself instead of applying the burden to someone else. He was sure he was doing it to you in your relationship too, and you probably didn’t understand because Tendo wasn’t being open. It was a vicious cycle, one Semi had seen too often. “I’m glad you realize, you idiot.” Then, more softly, he said, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I know you love her.”

Tendo flinched, his eyes closing.

*“I love you, you know that?”*

He would have said them back in a heartbeat, given the opportunity. He wanted so desperately to say them but the words had stuck in his throat, and the less selfish part of him knew it was for the best. The situation was already fucked up enough without him stirring it up more. Saying those words back would have hurt more than helped, especially because, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t change.

At least he could say he had done something right, in letting you go. 

You would flourish without him holding you back and weighing you down with all his problems and baggage.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Semi’s voice cut through Tendo’s derogatory thoughts, and he flinched again. He hated that smug, all knowing tone even though he was usually spot on.

“Alright then, oh great oracle. What am I thinking?” he asked, shuffling along down the sidewalk towards their apartment. Trying to think of anything besides you, he tried to remember what was in their fridge to eat. Old pizza is all he could think of, from when you had come over and--

Nope.

Semi snorted at Tendo’s sad attempt at humor. Not that all of his attempts weren’t sad but his heart really wasn’t in it this time. “You’re telling yourself it was for the best and how you aren’t good enough and blah blah blah. You’re still an idiot.”

“Would you stop saying that?” Tendo asked, looking up to the sky. It was still early afternoon, the sky cloudless, the air pleasantly warm. If circumstances were different he would be spending it with you by his side-- then again, probably not. He hadn’t properly spoken to you or seen you in a few days and it wasn’t going to change today either. “My ears hurt.”

And his heart. He could feel a slow throbbing building up between his ears. A migraine was the final nail he deserved in his coffin and the sadistic part of him wanted to exacerbate it as much as he could. Just to give himself something else to focus on.

“Fine, fine. Just one more time. You’re a goddamn idiot,” Semi said, glaring at him. He knew he should feel worse for his friend than he was, but he also deserved it. There was only so much sympathy he could give when Tendo refused to help himself. He had never been happier than when he started dating you and Semi couldn’t go ten minutes without hearing your name. Now Tendo was slumped over as they walked, feet shuffling against the sidewalk as he stared blankly ahead, and Semi sighed. “Can I give you some advice? You know, friend to idiot?”

Tendo groaned, rolling his eyes, but nodded nonetheless. Semi meant well-- mostly-- and usually gave good advice. Now, if only he would stop trying to make Tendo feel worse. “Sure, I guess. We both know I won’t listen though.”

Semi nodded, snickering behind his hand. The signal for the crosswalk changed, throngs of people instantly flooding the street. They flowed through and around each other, becoming separated for a few moments, until they met on the sidewalk on the other side.

“When you two are together, were together, I’ve never seen you happier. And Akaashi says that _____ is-- was-- too. Do you not trust her?” Semi asked, and watched the way Tendo froze up and paled, inhaling sharply. But he didn’t immediately say no, and that was telling. “If you don’t trust her, you’ll never maintain a relationship, with her or anyone else. Do you really want that, ‘Tori?”

He hadn’t considered that. Not trusting you wasn’t the exact issue. He felt he could tell you anything-- so long as anything didn’t entail things that might annoy you or make him a burden on you. His biggest fear was putting too much of himself into you only to overwhelm you, driving you away. That had backfired pretty spectacularly though, if he had to say so, and now he was left to wonder what would have happened if he had gone that route.

“No, I guess not,” he answered. To anyone else it would have sounded callous and uncaring, but Semi had known him a lot longer and recognized the sound of a Tendo who was in serious thought.

“Then you need to change. I get that you’re afraid, but those bullies from elementary and highschool shouldn’t keep holding you back. And who knows, maybe it isn’t too late with _____,” Semi said with a shrug, and smirked at the way Tendo perked up at that. He deflated just as rapidly a split second later, but it was to be expected. 

The smirk fell as Semi considered. The way things stood, you were better off because Tendo was unhealthy, and probably not in a good place to be in a relationship. He didn’t fault you for breaking it off-- not when he would have done the same. Still, he’d like to see him happy again, especially with you. But he couldn’t guess if Tendo would take it to heart and try, or whether or not you would wait around for him to decide and figure himself out.

Shrugging, he glanced at the barbecue place they were passing by and reached out, tugging Tendo to a stop. When he nodded towards it, Tendou sighed.

“Sure, I’m down. Shouldn’t be sad on an empty stomach.”

Semi groaned. “You are such an idiot.”

i’m a liar i’m a cynic i’m a sinner, i’m a saint i’m a loser i’m a critic i’m the ghost of my mistakes and it’s all my fault that i’m still the one you want what are you after, some kind of disaster

⇥ masterlist 

⇥ taglist: @sluttony​, @visaintes​, @yunhosblackgf​, @super-noya​, @byebyes-world​, @newfriendjen​, @atsunakaashi​

[stydiaeverafter]

One Bed, Two Hearts, Three Nights

Summary: Buck and Eddie share more than just a bed in Texas; they share their feelings.

It's been a while since I've written for our boys! I've missed them. With the new season starting and all the new content for the 911 Crossover and Buck Begins, I've been feeling inspired. @reachgirl made a post about a bed sharing fic idea, and being a person who loves this particular trope, I was happy to oblige. This fic will have 3 parts. I hope you enjoy the first chapter! Xo.

Read on ao3

***

Chapter One: 1st Night —

Buck was beyond exhausted as the 118 finally made their way to a small motel close to the wildfire.

As Bobby went up to the counter, talking to the lady at the front desk, Buck couldn't help but take in his best friend.

How could someone manage to still look so damn good after a day of putting out fires? That was the thing, though; he always did.

Buck couldn't help the thoughts that were popping into his mind, any more than the feelings that had risen.

He concluded that he had fallen for his best friend years ago. When exactly, he wasn't sure. But there they were, and he wasn't sure what to do with them.

Buck had started noticing when they had spent time together quarantining. During a dark time of the unknown, Buck had found comfort in staying with Eddie and Christopher. It felt so natural being together as if a light bulb went off in his brain, screaming, this is what you've been waiting for!

They had cooked together, watch movies together, fallen asleep near each other on the couch, and shared lingering glances, to the point where Buck started to question if Eddie was feeling the same way as he was.

Buck and Eddie hardly talked about romance, especially after Abby and Shannon. They kept to themselves about all that. That wasn't what their friendship was based around. So Buck wasn't even sure if Eddie could ever see him in that way. Hell, he had been surprised himself. Growing up, he knew he was bisexual, but he hid it away. His father wasn't an accepting man for anything different from the norm he wanted to display—the perfect family image. So Buck, unfortunately, had suppressed that part of him deep down underneath everything that made him, him.

It was only when being around Eddie that that part of him was revealed once more.

The two of them had always been tighter than tight, but this felt different somehow, and spending endless time with Christopher? A huge bonus. He loved that kid more than life itself.

One night when they had been playing Monopoly, Christopher had accidentally called Buck dad. Eddie had looked startled but not as surprised as Buck had felt in that moment. But the feeling brought a sense of ease that all was right in the world. It felt natural and right, something Buck had dreamed about for most of his life. He could still remember Eddie's expression as his astonishment had shifted into what seemed like happiness at Christopher's following giggle.

Buck also recalled a particular evening when it had been stormy, and the power had gone out. Eddie had lit candles around the house, and the two of them shared a couple of drinks as they chatted in the darkness. At one point, their fingers had touched, and they held each other's gaze for what felt like a lifetime. Eddie had seemed to want to say something to him, just like he had wanted to express to Eddie how he was feeling, but Christopher had gotten scared from the thunder and interrupted them. Eddie, being the amazing father he was, had stopped everything so he could be there for his son.

Buck had to love him for it.

They hadn't finished the conversation in the days to come, because then Cap had said they could return to their homes. Buck, of course, had been disappointed, but he didn't want to overstay his welcome, especially because Chimney was asking to stay with him, wanting to make sure Maddie and their baby would be safe. How could he have said no to that?

So here Buck was, sitting in a grimy motel looking at his best friend, who he was madly in love with and not knowing how to move forward.

Eddie looked exhausted as he laid his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Buck realized his hand was moving towards his friend, wanting to touch his face. Quickly, he moved it down by his side, stuffing his palm into his pocket.

Bobby walked over, actual room keys in hand, "Alright, because the firefighters are in town helping with the fire, they're limited on space. I hope you all don't mind, but we'll be getting a bit cozy for the next couple of days. Chimney and I will room together in a two-bed bedroom. Hen, you'll have an adjoining room, but to yourself." Bobby looked over at Buck and Eddie, "And because I know you two are close, I figured you wouldn't mind sharing a bed. At least, I hope you don't mind, that's all they had left."

Buck noticed Eddie stiffen, and he couldn't ignore the way his own heart was hammering against his chest.

Unfortunately, there had been some unspoken tension between them as of late, which was making things a bit awkward between them. Buck was unsure if it was his energy or the two of them combined.

Way to make me confront my feelings, Cap...

Clearing his throat, Eddie shook his head, "Nah, we don't mind, do we, Buck?"

"Not at all." ***

"It smells like sulfur in here," Eddie said, squinting his nose.

"Isn't that just the way Texas smells?" Buck laughed as he put his duffle bag on the bed.

Eddie looked over at his friend and chuckled, "No, Buck, it's not. But don't go out there saying that; you might get a bullet in your behind for dissing the state."

Not that he had looked at Buck's ass or anything.

Okay, that was a blatant lie. Of course, Eddie had looked. How could he not?

The guy was hotter than the fires they put out daily.

"I agree though, it stinks in here," Buck replied. "That or it's me." He lifted up his arm to smell his pit and winced, "I need to get this dirt off my body."

Do you need help? "Yeah, go for it."

"You sure?"

Eddie nodded awkwardly towards the bathroom, "I'll get the second shower."

Buck walked towards the bathroom and leaned out the door with that familiar grin, "I can't promise I'll save you any hot water."

"Okay, and I can't promise that I won't kick you off the bed in my sleep," Eddie responded with a wink.

"Duly noted," Buck chuckled as he closed the door.

As Eddie could hear Buck's clothes hit the floor and the water start, his heart started pounding. Get a grip, Diaz.

Then again, if he hadn't been able to control it during quarantine, there was no hope for the next few nights when sharing a bed.

Damn his feelings.

Eddie had thought he had been a certain way all his life, so it surprised him when he felt a sexual awakening for the guy after spending more time with him.

He had mistaken it as a deepened friendship. That all changed when he had stared at Buck's lips, wanting a taste.

Shaking his head, Eddie pulled out his phone and called Chris, who was currently staying with Carla.

After exchanging some pleasantries with Carla, she handed him the phone, "Hi, daddy!'

Eddie smiled, "Hey, buddy, how you doin'?"

"Good! We made breakfast for dinner."

"Ooo, my favorite! I wish I could be there. Pancakes and eggs?"

"Mmhmm, with chocolate sauce," Chris replied with a giggle.

"Sounds good, but make sure you eat some veggies and don't forget your vitamins," Eddie said, raising an eyebrow. He stated it, but he knew Carla was a saint; she always took the best care of his boy, even getting a COVID test so she could stay with him. He was so blessed to have her in their lives, thanks to Buck, of course.

Someday he'd thank the guy for everything.

"Tell your dad that I've got it covered, baby," Carla's voice exclaimed in the background.

"Did you hear her?" Chris asked.

"I sure did, tell her she's the captain in charge, and I trust her."

As his son relayed the message, he wished he could give Christopher a big hug. It was crazy how much he missed him even after just one day.

"How's Buck doing?"

Eddie looked towards the bathroom door, "He's good. We've been busy out there trying to get this fire to stop. It's been a lot of work for us."

"You're both superheroes!"

His son, the angel.

"We're proud to do it."

"Well, I'm proud of you and Buck, tell him, okay?"

"I'll tell Buck, I promise," Eddie responded with a nod.

"Tell me what?"

Eddie looked over and saw Buck standing by the bathroom, steam coming out through the cracked door like the smoke of the fire.

God damn. Eddie swallowed at the sight of the towel around Buck's waist. His muscles were still wet, and his hair was perfectly messy. Eddie forced himself to look away.

"Christopher was just telling me to tell you he's proud of us for the work we're doing out here," Eddie answered with a sheepish grin.

Buck's face lit up, in the way it always did when he was around Chris. "Can I talk to him for a minute?"

Eddie nodded, standing up, "Of course. I better get in the shower anyway so we can get some sleep." Buck walked up to him, and Eddie prayed the towel would somehow fall off on his way over, which were totally inappropriate thoughts to be having. He turned his focus back to his son, "Hey, Chris, Buck wants to talk to you, okay?"

When his son cheered, Buck laughed, clearly hearing it.

"Talk to you tomorrow, son. Sleep well."

"Night, Daddy," Chris replied. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Eddie stated, his heart feeling full. "Here's Buck."

He handed Buck the phone, and their fingers touched. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Eddie realizing how close they were standing.

It was electrifying.

This same thing had happened when they were quarantining together. That was the night Eddie wanted to express his feelings, even though he had been afraid to potentially change their relationship. But he never had the chance to tell Buck; he wondered if he ever would.

Buck bit his lip, and Eddie could hear how shakily he inhaled.

Stepping away hurt, but his son was waiting on the other end of the line. But it was those moments that Eddie felt as though Buck had feelings for him, too.

Buck sat down on the bed and ran his fingers through his wet hair, "Hey buddy! I miss you!"

Eddie reached into his bag, getting a pair of thin workout pants out. He looked for his shirt to wear to bed and swore internally because he realized he had forgotten it.

As he walked to the bathroom, he paused and looked over at Buck, who was in deep conversation about the new game Christopher had played. It always warmed Eddie's heart to see the connection between his son and his best friend.

Closing the door, he realized that he was one of the lucky ones.

***

Buck loved talking to Christopher; it was just what he had needed tonight. After the grueling work they'd performed all day, the sweet innocence of that child made him feel like he had been embraced with ease and comfort.

He sat for a moment on the bed, not moving after ending the call, and thought about what had just transpired between him and Eddie.

There had been a spark—Buck had felt it.

His fingers still hummed from the touch of Eddie.

God, he wanted more. He craved more.

This type of desire for another was unlike anything Buck had ever experienced.

As he looked down at his hand, Buck realized he wanted to tell Eddie how he felt. Sure, it was scary as hell, but having these feelings and not acting on them after all this time, was freaking killing him.

Buck didn't want to be afraid anymore. He had been talking to his therapist not to hide away from feelings—something Buck had done most of his life.

He sighed as he changed into his sweat bottoms and a tank top, regretting his life choices as the humidity of a wet towel lingered around his body; he couldn't wait to get back to California.

Buck turned the AC as low as he could, hearing the rumble it started making. "Lovely," he muttered.

Eddie opened the door and raised an eyebrow, "What the hell is that noise?"

Buck's reply was all but lost on him as he took Eddie in, wearing his tight workout bottoms and his chiseled bare chest.

Holy crap... how was he going to function for the rest of the night, especially lying next to this Adonis?

He cleared his throat, "Sorry, I had to crank the AC on to deal with this god awful humidity."

"And here I thought you could handle the heat," Eddie smirked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

If Eddie were flirting with him, he'd take it and give it right back.

"You know I can handle a lot," he replied, moving closer to his friend, "but sometimes a man can only take so much." Buck rolled his hand down his shirt, feeling the sweat already pressing through.

Eddie's eyes followed his hand as they traveled down, but then Eddie looked towards the single queen bed, "C'mon, let's get some sleep. We've gotta be up in a few hours."

Guess that was the end of that.

"Roger that."

As they got into bed, Buck's body was vibrating, shaking with anxious anticipation.

Eddie switched the light off and muttered as he turned away from Buck, "Good night."

"Night, Eddie."

They laid there for what felt like an eternity, and Buck felt more awake than ever.

The mixture of humidity and Eddie's body heat so close was overwhelming. Buck wanted to move further away to catch his breath, but he also wanted to straddle the guy.

What a predicament.

He flipped back-and-forth, trying to get not only comfortable but hoping to turn off his thoughts for a while.

Finally, he just sat staring at the ceiling, hearing sirens somewhere outside. They were still going strong on the fire—that would be them soon enough.

Buck had to get some sleep; his safety and his team's depended on it. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.

"Buck?"

His eyes popped open. He turned his head towards Eddie, "Yeah?"

"Are you okay over there?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you're flopping around like the omelet my son had for dinner," Eddie mumbled sleepily.

Buck laughed without humor at the ridiculousness of wanting his best friend so badly. "I'm fine, sorry about that. Can't seem to get comfortable."

"It is a tiny bed. I can scoot over more if you want, though?"

As Eddie started to shift over more, Buck grabbed his arm on impulse, feeling his thick muscles, "No, no, it's okay. You don't need to do that."

"Well, if it's the heat, you might wanna lose your fleece sweat pants."

Buck bit his lip at what Eddie was implying. He attempted to make his comment light, "You'd know with your hometown experience I suppose."

"Mmhmm."

"Okay, that might help. If you don't mind, of course."

"Why would I mind?" Eddie asked, turning over to look at Buck through the darkness.

"Uh, I dunno. Just wanted to be respectful is all."

"Buck, we've known each other for a long time. You taking off your pants won't offend me," Eddie said. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "Believe me."

"Okay, okay, I'll take off my pants then." Buck smiled as he stood up, removing his pants and then his shirt. All that was left was his boxer briefs. It was both a relief and a turn on, especially as he noticed Eddie watching him.

Eddie rolled over onto his stomach and chuckled, "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me for it."

"I do."

The words halted Buck in his tracks, and he just sat there.

I do.

Eddie looked at him while he was stuck being frozen, "Buck? What is it?"

I do.

Buck exhaled as he lowered himself back into bed, "It's nothing." It was everything.

He maneuvered under the sheets and put his hands behind his head, exhaling loudly.

"You can talk to me, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Buck replied, closing his eyes.

The problem was, he just didn't know where to start.

[blueberrypossum]

Wounded Lover

I’M BACK!!!

No one tells you how much college takes up your free time but I’m back with my Mud Dogz content (especially Leonard, my boy). I’ve never posted much on Leonard and Nova’s friendship/relationship so this is how they bounce off each other’s personalities!

⚠️WARNING⚠️: There is usage of inappropriate adult words and sexual comments and insults. 

(Shoutout to the lovely @ultra-gingerlotus   for making me fall in love with the Snow Leopard from the Shiki x Danny reading! Also @greaser-wolf for drawing them on the motorcycle! Go check them out!!!)

“I’m not getting on that if you’re driving.”

“Then I guess you are just like other girls then, huh?”

Nova eyed the ogre in front of her as he once again offered his hand towards her, the motorcycle under him letting low growls of excitement rumble under their feet. 

They had planned to go out to eat and get away from the other members of the Mud Dogz, Leonard explaining that the love flying between the couples was making him sick and he needed a little bit of excitement. 

The mountain cat looked across the bike with her sunset eyes. She never knew that the ogre yokai had this stashed away, never once talking about it.

“I’ve never seen you ride this and then all of a sudden you have a bike? It’s kind of hard to believe, Leon.”

The feline walked around the bike as if it was an artifact on display, her fingers trailing over the front of the bike as she looked at her reflection. 

“You never asked.”

“You never presented.”

The ogre leaned his arm against the handle of the bike and rested his face in his hand, sending a smug smile up towards the feline.

“I mean, if you’re a scaredy-cat-”

“....Scoot.”

The Mountain cat was hesitant at first as she tried to get herself comfortable behind her friend, he boots trying to find their footing as Leonard revved up the beast under them, causing Nova’s tail to spike up in shock. 

“Titans above! I get it, it’s a motorcycle! Let’s just get there,” the cat grumbled, her arms snaking around Leonard’s waist. 

The leader of the Mud Dogz let out a gruff chuckle at the feline’s reaction as his fingers worked on the handles, the soft paws around him distracting him for a split second before he brought the machine under him back to life. 

“Whoa wait, no helmets?”

“No helmets.”

“Oh great, so that’s where you get it from. Nice to know.”

With that comment, Leonard pulled quickly out from the front of the orphanage and sped down the road, the gravel threading under the tires flying up behind them. 

Nova let out a loud meow of alarm and tightened her grip around his leather jacket, the wind whiplashing her hair as she closed her eyes against his back. Usually dangerous things didn’t scare her, but she knew what was coming, she could predict what would happen, but not with this. 

The ogre rolled his eyes as she shielded herself behind him and took a light left. 

“Do you not trust me?” Leonard screamed at her, his voice carrying with the wind. 

“I got on the bike, doesn’t that tell you?!”

“A little!”

Nova let out a gust of air as her curled up hands unclenched from his shirt and she opened one of eyes, the wind fluttering between her eyelashes as she took in the traffic around them. 

The bridge they were crossing was pouring with life, with other vehicles passing by and yokai’s walking on the sidelines, the city lights sparkling over the outline of each individual. The feline couldn’t contain her gasp of wonderment as she steadily rose herself up to get a better view over Leonard’s hair. 

She let the strong breeze push her hair behind her and her claws dug into the ogre as the bike wobbled a little bit, her face snuggling into his shoulder out a sizzle of panic. 

“No wonder you have whiplashed hair!” Nova laughed out as she felt her brown hair tangle within itself behind her, more fits of laughter barreling out of her as the chill of the wind settled in her fur. 

Leonard couldn’t help but feel beyond warm due to the feline’s face so close to his, even with the wind chilling him to the bone, he could feel the slightest bit of warmth against his neck and goosebumps traveled over his skin. 

Her yellow and green eyes shimmered like a sun’s shadow in a pool, the curl of her smile almost causing the sun to set as she turned to look at him. 

She was definitely different from most women he had run into. More brash and overly-confident, but he wasn’t stupid, he knew that there was some dark shit buried within the cracks of the mask she wore. But he didn’t push, he didn’t want to push and make her feel uncomfortable, when she was ready, he would be there. 

He revved up the motorcycle and a squeal purred against his back as more frightful laughter came from his friend and for once the leader of the Mud Dogz felt the tension in his body go dull. The howls that parted from her mouth would make anyone laugh with her, even causing him to release a chuckle or two as he turned the corner and into one of the multiple towns of side door restaurants. 

He parked the machine into one of the parking areas behind a building and he could still hear the upchucks of giggles come from the tabby, her claws brushing through her hair to undo the knots. 

“You take all the girls and boys you meet for a ride?” She asked as she flipped her leg over the side and leaned into the bike. 

Leonard could help but stare at the feline as she presented herself on the metal bike, her wine colored jacket edged over the black lining and her thighs jetted out from the tight leggings. Her leveled out hair was loose over her face and her bangs waved over her face as she looked up at him, a raised eyebrow motioned towards him to show that she knew he was eyeing her. 

“Only those stupid enough,” he replied as he rose from his spot and awaited for the feline to follow him into the busy market, the fresh scent of meats and fried food wafted from the corners of the stores. 

The streets that were decorated with food stands were brightened with lined lanterns and the air was warm due to the passing conversations of the animals and plants and the steam from pots and pans. 

 Nova felt her stomach grumble as her eyes darted between the different food stands, the engrossed horde of yokai buzzing around them as they tried to pick which stand to eat from. As Nova darted over to a stand on the far side to have a natural smoothie, she turned to see Leonard talking with someone, and by his face she could tell it was not a good someone. She quickly grabbed her drink and felt balmy rage hit the roof of her mouth as she caught who he was talking to. 

The feline could feel her extended claws trying to push through her fingertips and she shoved them back as she came up behind the female that was talking to him, a slash of ease crossing the ogre’s dark eyes. 

“How’s the cut in your ear, snow leopard?”

The white and grey cat yokai turned with a snarl, the long tear in her ear flicking as Nova recalled the fight, the tabby’s claws sinking into the grey cat’s face and then ripping into her small ear and creating the new scar. 

The snarl dwelled in her white throat as she sent Nova a cocky smile as she turned herself to face both members of the Mud Dogz, her back up against one of the pillars holding up a snack bar. 

“Oh, you’re here, too? I thought you would be off swimming with the fishes,” the female leopard cooed as she rolled her eyes and turned back to Leonard, her eyelids fluttering her sky blue eyes. 

“The names Serena, by the way.” She purred, her fingers working to pull her shirt lower as if she had forgotten him knocking her out and giving her a bloody nose in their last encounter. 

“Oh because you’re such a saint,” the ogre huffed back as he leaned away from the furry yokai and Nova’s tail flicked back and forth in irritation, her mind seeping with her feral instincts as she almost stalked over to her. 

Sunset eyes and sky eyes met in a battle as Nova stood in front of Leonard, Serena only an inch taller than her and she took it to her advantage as much as she could. The sparehire’s in her head looked down at the tabby’s bruised knees that were light against her dark leggings and the pearly cat let out a chuckle. 

“Are your knees always bruised? I’m surprised that so many men would pay for it from you.”

“At least someone wants me on my knees. Is it fun being a guy’s target practice?”  Nova shot back, her finger pointing to the dark white spot on the snow leopard's shirt and she scoffed, but pulled her green jacket closer as Nova let out a chuff. 

Leonard was a little taken aback by the women’s cruel words, as if it was a normal day to insult one another. Well, for Nova it was at least. But he had never seen her like this before, her form almost covering him as if trying to protect him. 

Her tail was lowered but the fur stuck out of its ends and her shoulders were risen from their usually slacked posture. As they continued to slap slander at each other, the green yokai realized that if Serena would move to make herself an inch closer to him, Nova would move as well, her tail swishing side to side and her ears going flat against her brown hair.

The ogre didn’t know much about cat conflicts, but he wasn’t blind and he could scent the traction that vibrated between the two. 

Nova was being territorial of him. 

And Leonard could feel a feverish desire rise over his body as Nova’s tail curled into his chest. 

“So, are you here to seduce yokai for your boss or to fight us?” Nova asked, snapping the ogre out of his thoughts.

Serena shook her short hair with a feral grin, as if she was trying to hide the fact she wanted to rip the cat in front of her in two. 

“Relax, pretty kitty. I won’t make a scene with you two with the public around, someone here has to have some class.”

The tabby opened her mouth to report back but a strong hand was placed between her shoulder blades and she turned to Leonard, his face now leaning from her shoulder.

“Look, if you want to bother someone, go to the corner, you’ll find yokai’s there that are right up your alley, good-bye.”

Nova let a few snickers carry over to the snow leopard as the snow leopard’s face lit up like a stoplight, her black and white ears going back against her head as Leonard led Nova away. 

“What’s up with you making everyone want to kill you?” The ogre grumbled as he took her over to one of the food stands they had chosen. 

“Guess I’m just irresistible,” the cat purred, her once agitated tail now calmly swayed back and forth. 

“More like irritable.”

“And you love it.”

His hand was still in the middle of her back when he looked down at her, her head barely passing his shoulders even with her boots on. The curve of her smile, the flicker of tease that pounced between her eyes, how she was jealous of Serena, it was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. 

It made his heart go rigged in his ribcage as he moved his arm away from her, the warmth and the yearning disappearing as he went back into his own bubble.

Forget it, idiot, she’s just a friend. Only a friend. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After eating, both of them went back to where Leonard had parked his bike, the once lonesome piece of metal was now surrounded with other types of mobilization. Nova held her fist over her mouth to subside a burp as she crashed onto the bike’s seat. 

“Uhhhhhh, why did I eat that fourth taco?" She groaned out as she bent into Leonard’s back as her stomach felt like it was going to bust past her leggings. 

“Because you didn’t want to waste it.”

“Stilllll.”

 The ogre started up his motor and took things a little slow as he drove from his parking spot and into the silent night of the Hidden City. The once busy streets were now barely rode on and only a few animals walked on the sidelines. The feline’s claws barely tugged on his jean jacket as the food that settled in her stomach made her almost fall asleep on his back, until the bright lights of a car behind them blurred past her eyelids. 

The mountain cat turned around to find a dirty jeep speeding up behind them, the figures driving hidden under hoodies that somehow fought against the thrustful wind. 

Nova narrowed her eyes as other jeeps started to follow the leading jeep, more hooded figures filling in the seats, and then past the yellow beams she saw the small tufts of white circular ears. 

“Leonard, we got company,” Nova choked out as the ogre turned to look at what she was talking about. 

“Shit, who is it this time?”

“Well, you did say that I make everyone want to kill me,” she nervously chuckled, and then gave him a nervous smile as he narrowed his eyes at her. 

The first jeep was at the edge of the bike’s bumper now and Nova could see the snow leopard clearly now and the snow cat was sending her own confident smirk as the car hit the edge of the bike. 

Leonard’s lips were slipping curse words as he sped up, his bike roaring to life as it gave it all it had and went further down the highway, the group of jeeps racing after them. 

“Did she really send a whole army after us?!” He hollered as he took a hard right, cutting a car off as he intersected onto another road. 

“She sure does want your number,” Nova joked as her grip on him tightened as the wind pushed against her.

‘Oh I’m so going to have a talk with her later,’ he thought as he opened up a secret compartment on the side of his bike. 

“Here, take this.”

Nova couldn’t help but gasp as the gun was placed in the palm of her hand and she darted her eyes from him and to the gun. 

“YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME?!”

“It’s for emergencies!”

“HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO REALIZE THAT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY?!”

“JUST SHOOT!!”

Nova let out a hiss of displeasure as she checked the rounds in it and then once he slowed down for the next turn, she flipped in her seat, her body now facing the rows of vehicles. 

She took aim and shot at one of the jeeps on the left, taking out two of its four tires and watched as the ruined rubber rolled over in its spot and then caused the vehicle to crash into the side of the bridge, the large explosion giving a wave of heat over them as the chase continued. 

“Alright, one down, four to go,” the tabby whispered to herself as she aimed at the next jeep, her eyes widening as she saw them take aim with their own rifles and guns. 

“Len! They got guns as well! Bigger ones too!” She screamed to him as she shot at them to keep them from firing at them. The leader of the Mud Dogz let out a growl of frustration and  turned the bike into a narrow alleyway, the closest jeep coming to a screeching halt before reversing and faded away. 

The feline on the back of the motorcycle let out a sigh of joy as she leaned her back against Leonard’s, her free hand gripping the seat she sat on as they turned back onto a new street, not a jeep in sight. 

And then one crashed right next to them, sending both of the friends screaming in shock as Serena’s jeep closed in on them, her handgun taking aim towards them. 

“Alright, leader, got any plans?”

“Not really!”

“Okay, don’t wait up for me then!”

Leonard turned to question her but the feline had shoved the gun back into its box and lifted herself up into a crouch and once the jeep got close enough, she launched herself onto the hood of the jeep. 

Serena pointed her gun at the feline but she quickly knocked it over, the driver receiving the bullet into his arm and a loud scream echoed through the night. Nova then lifted herself over the mudded window and slammed her boot into the snow leopard’s face, sending the white cat into the back seat. 

Nova then punched the driver in his wounded arm and used the chair and the window panel to hold herself up and used both of her legs to kick him out of his seat, the male yokai rolling out onto the street with a thud. 

In the span of five minutes the mountain cat had taken over the car and was then turning the wheel to strike the jeep next to her, causing the vehicle to rock and the yokai’s in it to lose the grip on their weapons. 

‘I can’t tell if I should confess that I like her or am terrified of her.’

But the ogre swallowed and pulled the gun out she had put back, taking aim to the leftover jeeps and shot into their tires, redirecting the muddy piece of metal over the ledge of the new bridge they were on, the thunderous splash of water the only thing left of them. 

They both turned and surprise watched as the last jeep turned off onto a different road as if giving up on the hunt.

Nova sped up until she was right next to Leonard, a smug smirk crossed her face as they turned a corner, the next bridge they would take would have them home free. 

“You act like you’ve done this before!” Leonard laughed at her and she shrugged her shoulders with a confident flip of her hair.

“Mess with the kitten, you get the claws!” She joked as she tilted her head to laugh at her own joke and then white paws like snow were over her chest to hold her place. 

“Now! Come now!” Serena screamed into a radio she held in her hand. 

Both Leonard and Nova turned to see the last jeep come from its hiding place, like a predator staying in plain sight for its prey. 

“Leonard!”

Nova elbowed the snow leopard in the face and sped up the jeep, the hunk of metal taking the hit as the ogre’s motorcycle got out of the way. 

Nova held onto the wheel as the jeep t-boned in the passenger seat, rocking the car onto its side and then into a roll onto the bridge until it rammed up against the stone railing, the girl’s heads inches away from making contact with the rocks. Serena was pushed into the ground while Nova’s seatbelt held her in place, cuts now sliced into her skin and she had bitten her lip hard enough to cause it to bleed. 

She could faintly hear her name being called out but it almost seemed like everything was fuzzy, her vision, her hearing, even the blood that was trickling down her throat was fizzy like pop. 

The leader of the Mud Dogz had left his motorcycle on the side of the bridge and was racing over to the wreckage, but had to take cover behind a pillar as the last standing jeep started to fire at him. 

The tabby released a groan and spat up a few drops of blood as she felt the spark of flame flicker next to her, instantly waking her to her full senses. 

‘Come on, can’t I catch a break?!’

She lifted her hands up, her digits and elbows ached with pain but they weren’t broken as she undid her seatbelt, her arms barely supporting her as her shoulder slammed into the concrete. The snow leopard was motionless next to her and a big gash was bleeding from the back of her head. 

The mountain cat grunted as she pushed past the wheel and watched as the fire started to creep around her like a nightmare come to life. Her now stained paw pushed the small roped door of the jeep and crawled her way out, the broken up cement tearing into her elbows and forearms as she made distance between her and the fire. 

Leonard had taken out two of the yokai’s, the last of them ever so slightly getting closer with their larger rifles with more ammunition than his small handgun. He turned back to the rubble of metal scraps and raised his eyebrows in horror as the red hands of death started to consume the fire as its own, a barely breathing creature laid in a pile next to it. 

Leonard felt strength and courage rise in him as he turned back to his two main targets, giving it all he had so they wouldn’t see her trying to get away from the burning debris. 

Nova wheezed in the fresh air into her bruised lungs as she tried to get onto her hands and feet, but a pair of hands engulfed her hair into a bundle and had her rise to her feet. 

“Hey, hey! Only my dominatrix can do this!”

“Ugh! Do you ever shut up?!”

Serena dragged the feline out into the edge of the bridge and threw her down, a few strings of hair pulled from Nova’s hair and hung off of the leopard’s nails. The leopard's face was painted with blood from her wound, the only white that shined against it was her fangs that gleamed in the city lights. She bent down and dug her hand into Nova’s skull and pushed her face into the ground, the red liquid dripping onto the side of Nova’s face. 

“Y’know, your type always acts like they’re so strong and confident with themselves,” she snarled into her ear, her knee digging into the tabby’s scarred back to keep her in place. 

“But we all see that you’re just sad and scared. That when moments like this come all you can do is joke and hope that your charm can save the day.”

“I didn’t know that villains actually monologue like this! What’s next? You’re going to tell me how mommy didn’t love you and daddy left once he knocked her up?!

Serena let out a fake roar and slammed Nova’s head into the cement, the feline letting out a wail, causing the other fight to look over. 

In Leonard’s fight the guns had been dropped and there was nothing left but fists and kicks, his knuckles busted and split open, unfortunately the bad guys had gotten a few hits in his face and over his chest. 

The snow leopard lifted Nova’s head up towards the ogre with a sinister smile as her nails dug into her scalp. 

“Take a long look, ogre, because this pretty face will be at the bottom of this bridge before I’m done with it!”

Nova let out a cargled laugh as she looked up at the snow leopard and then back at Leonard. 

“Hey Len, she’s got an extra stain on her shirt. Which goon do you think it was?”

“Really Nova?! Joking now?!”

“Well, it distracted her.”

The mountain cat had wrapped her claws around Serena’s ankle and used it to flip herself over and with her feet now placed into the snow leopard’s stomach she lifted her over her and straight into the gushing river below, the feline letting out angrish cries as she was swallowed by the dark liquid. 

Nova rose to her feet and looked at her friend and then to the last standing bad guy, her large eyebrows raised in annoyance. 

“Can you, uhh, finish your fight so we can leave?”

The ogre raised his fist and made contact with the yokai’s face, knocking her straight out as he came over to where Nova was limping, his arms barely coming up in time to catch her as she leaned into him. 

“Did you know that snow leopards aren’t the best swimmers, so she’ll be at the bottom of the bridge instead of me,” The feline joked into his chest, the dots of blood that were spilled on her face smearing into his dusty shirt. 

Leonard pushed her away with his hands on her shoulders and he brushed a few loose strands out of her face and Nova believed that the heat of the crash was making her sizzle like a fryer. 

Why was he staring at her like that? The worry that burned in his face was unmistakable as the feline felt like she might pass out due to his comforting touch. 

“Are you okay?”

Nova’s tail curled against her back as she couldn’t help but lean into his hand, his calloused and strong hand that seemed to hold her effortlessly. Blame it on all the adrenaline or the loss of blood, but she let him hold her as she finally let the throbbing pulse of her wounds settle. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. You?”

“One kicked me between the legs and I’m screaming on the inside.”

“Don’t worry, your future children will be fine. Somewhat if they turn out like you.”

The mountain cat hissed as weight was placed on her right leg, a long gash on her calf making her come to a halt. 

The ogre turned to her and let her go from his hold, only to bend down and wrap his arms around her thighs and throw her onto his back,a smile breaking against his lips as she let out a small mew of surprise as she gripped his shoulders for support. 

“You know the bike is only a few feet away, right?”

“You know you’re still irresistible.”

“What?”

“Irritable. I said irritable.”

[saintsdeath]

  ❝    DON’T    TOUCH    ME  .  .  .    ❞                      it is spoken  ;    though but a whisper in his head  ,   it echoes with all the glory of god    /    a lord’s voice reverberating through the cosmos  ,    the earth    &    the heavens rise and fall beneath the sway of his hand  ----     for it is the sun that breathes life into all things  ,    it is that warmth    &    that light  ,    that we are all drawn to                      (    and it is from you that that holy light pours  ,    a thousand golden urns upturned into the palms of your hands  ,    you bleed    &    you create  ----    you  ,   our sacred sun  ,   our timeless saint    )

his eyes  ,    like two orbs of burning fire  ,   close softly    /    as if peaceful  ,    as if once more laid to that timeless sleep  .    and his head tilts towards the glory of the heavens as the sky opens up above him  ,    the hands of the gods reaching out towards him  ----    all for a touch  ,   all for a taste  ,    just to be blessed for a moment by all that he is  .    his lungs fill with the sharp air  ,   and the light grows stronger  ----    glorious rays of gold  ,   filling the sky                       (    and perhaps there were those who doubted him  ,    for how rarely he donned that burning halo  ----    those robes woven from solar flares  ,    but there was no doubt then  .   as he stood  ,    as he burned  ,    as before them he became the vision of christ risen from the tomb  .   something too holy  ,   too divine to be named    )

bare feet lift from the floor  ,    with all the grace of angels  ----    as though they had taken him by outstretched arms and guided him into the air  .    his lips part gently  ,   and with his breath that burning halo roars to life around his head                       (    o’ divine creature  ,    was this the life you foresaw all those years ago  ?    was this what you felt as you laid beneath the sun in your parents field  ?    was this the retribution you swore as your still beating heart was torn from your chest  ?    )                      for all your suffering  ,    for all your pain  ,    you have been revealed to this world through layers of hazy light  .    and now they will see you  ,   now they will know you  .    now they will remember the name that was burned from the pages so long ago

his fingertips close slowly  ,    palms turning downwards  ,   and the light follows his command  .    

  ❝    let there be no more darkness    ❞                        his gaze finds erik’s from down below  ,    and through that look there is understanding                      (    though i am no longer mortal  ,    though my life has become that of the sun itself  ,    you are more precious to me than any thing in the heavens    )                      you will be forever beloved by me                      ❝    let there be no more pain  ,   or hurt  .    let this land be touched by light  ,    let this land be blessed by my hand  ,   and mine alone  .   for those who live here will forever lay under my protection  ,   and should harm be done to them  ,   it is the wrath of the sun that they shall face  .    so saithe the lords of this world  ,    and by my command  ,    it is done    ❞  

and all at once the light becomes blinding  ,   white - hot    &    burning as it caresses the land beneath him  .    and just as quickly as it came  ,   it is gone  .   the light fades softly from the rolling hills  ,    and once more there is silence  .

he is lowered gently back to the earth  ,   his head fallen backwards  ,   the light all but gone except for the faint shine of the sun through the clouds  .    slowly  ,   he is placed on the ground  ,   his body laid against the hard    &    cold stone  .   his chest rises    &    falls softly  ,    asleep  .     yet still  ,   he knows erik is there  ,   and his palm lay upturned  ----    still warm from magic  .    it is unspoken  ,    but it is understood nonetheless  :    now you see all that i am  ,    now you see how i am the light  ,   and the light is me  .    now you know the ways of saints  ,    now you must understand  ----    that though i belong to many  ,   it is to you my heart eternally lies with  .

  ❝    have no fear    ❞                      spoken through slumber’s embrace  ,    the echo of a mind traced lovingly against another                      ❝    soon i will rise  ,    but for now lay with me  ,    and remind me of how you love me    ❞  

don’t touch me  ,    @thephantom 

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 3rd Sunday after Easter (EF)

1 Peter 2:11-19; John 16:16-22

“You have sorrow now, but I will see you again and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” In this statement, the Lord reveals to us the joys of heaven after this life which is full of sorrow and tribulation; a “vale of tears” as we say in the Salve Regina. But, when this life is over, the Lord promises that we shall see him again. Or, to be more precise, he says: “I will see you again”, which means that it is his divine initiative to show himself to us once more. For to behold the Lord in heaven is not something we have earned, nor our right, nor something we can will, but it is entirely in God’s gift. Hence, he promises that, when the sorrows of this life is over, then, by his grace, he shall see us. This is to say that God will look upon us, and it is his divine gaze, his look of love and mercy that, as ever, holds us in being and fills us with joy. For God sees us as we are, with all our faults and failures, full of need, but also as well he sees us with all our talents and gifts. God sees all of us, and he simply loves us. And God sees all of us in our sorrow and pain and neediness, and so he is merciful towards us. 

There is a beautiful scene in the current season of The Chosen, in episode 2, when the apostle Nathaniel is in a crisis. His career is over, his dreams in tatters, and he is ashamed and denigrated by his peers. Sitting under a fig tree, he cries out to God, and he calls on God to look upon him in his desperation and need, in the sorrow that is constitutive of his frail humanity. And then, when Jesus encounters him for the first time, he says: “I saw you under the fig tree”, and at once he realises who Jesus is, and he falls to his knees in tears. 

So, too, before his Resurrection, the Lord says to his disciples in today’s Gospel that he has known our human sorrows, he has shared most deeply in our sufferings, and thus he has seen our fundamental human need. For as St Paul says: “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23), and this is the source of all our sorrows now. But God has first looked upon us in his mercy, and so, Christ promises his faithful followers that he will see us again, for it is he, the Risen Lord who will raise us up also to the joys of heaven where we shall see him face to face. 

The first joy of heaven, the joy of the Saints, therefore, consists in being seen and known thoroughly by God such that they are loved by him as by a Father and indeed, saved by him through the Son in the Holy Spirit. The Saints, therefore, rejoice that they have become truly children of God and co-heirs with Christ to the heavenly kingdom. How we long, therefore, to be numbered among those blessed ones who shall be held in God’s loving gaze for all eternity, and who shall, in turn be permitted to look upon the face of God and live.   

As a consequence of being seen by Christ again, and seeing God in the beatific vision of heaven, Our Lord then reveals in today’s Gospel that our hearts will rejoice. At first this might seem obvious, for to be in heaven contemplating God’s goodness and for all eternity is to obtain all that the human heart has ever desired, so of course we would be satisfied and joyful. Thus St Thomas Aquinas has said, “man's last end is the uncreated good, namely, God, Who alone by His infinite goodness can perfectly satisfy man's will.” 

However, the second joy of heaven is not merely due to the attainment of our deepest desires – it is less about us getting what we want, and much more about the One whose life we share in heaven. For heaven is charity, that is to say, union with God through our love for him. As such, the Saint in heaven is united to God by grace, and so the soul in heaven dwells and participates in the being of God, enjoying to the full the loving communion of the Blessed Trinity. So, the Saint rejoices in his heart because in heaven he contemplates God and is united to him, and God is joy and happiness. As St Thomas Aquinas says: “God is happiness by His Essence: for He is happy not by acquisition or participation of something else, but by His Essence.” Hence the Dominican mystic, Meister Eckhart once said that concerning the Blessed Trinity, that “the Father laughs at the Son and the Son at the Father, and the laughing brings forth pleasure, and the pleasure brings forth joy, and the joy brings forth love” who is the Holy Spirit. So the second joy of heaven is to be rejoice in the Triune God who is laughter, pleasure, joy, and love. In heaven we shall endlessly delight in God and rejoice in him because God is simply delightful and he is joy. 

And finally, the Lord reveals in today’s Gospel that this joy is eternal, enduring, lasting for ever. This is the third joy of the Saints in heaven, that their joy in God, precisely because they are now united to God, is permanent, and cannot be stolen away by sin or the Devil. By comparison the joy we find in this life is fleeting, transient, all too fragile. Earthly joys only give us a glimpse of the joys of heaven to come, and worse still are the counterfeit joys that comes through worldly or even sinful pleasure, which are not joys at all, but mere diabolical distractions from the sorrows we have to endure now. The Lord Jesus therefore counsels us to endure, with his grace and with the gift of fortitude, the pains and sorrows of this life, just as a woman endures the pangs of childbirth. His promise today is that if we suffer with him, if we “abstain from the passions of the flesh that wage war against your soul”, as St Peter put it in today’s epistle, then we shall share in Christ’s victory in heaven. Let our contemplation of the joy of the Saints, therefore, encourage us, inspire us, and spur us onwards with courage and magnanimity, in faith, hope, and charity. 

The whole of the apse of this church, therefore, which has been so painstakingly restored to its full splendour, is a vision of heaven to inspire us, to draw us forward on our Christian journey, and to attract us. Hence we see Our Lady, Queen of the Saints, being welcomed into the joy of heaven. All the Saints look on with rejoicing, and we too look on, and are emboldened to hope that we may be numbered among them. The golden walls are symbolic of the eternity of heaven, as gold is incorruptible, and they are also a reminder of the virtues of the Saints which are like treasure that they have laid up in heaven, and which shall never tarnish nor spoil. (Cf Mt 19:20) So, too, let us lay up treasure in heaven, as the Lord counsels us, and indeed, let our faith be tested and refined like gold, as St Peter says. Let these gleaming walls remind us of these words from St Peter which show us how, through faith in the victory of the Risen Lord Jesus, we can endure the sorrows that we have now. So the prince of the apostles says: “In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honour at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Without having seen him you love him; though you do not now see him you believe in him and rejoice with unutterable and exalted joy. As the outcome of your faith you obtain the salvation of your souls.” (1 Peter 1:6-9)

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

21st March >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 12:20-33 for The Fifth Sunday of Lent, Cycle B:   ‘We would like to see Jesus’.

Fifth Sunday of Lent, Cycle B

Gospel (Except USA)

John 12:20-33

If a grain of wheat falls on the ground and dies, it yields a rich harvest

Among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. These approached Philip, who came from Bethsaida in Galilee, and put this request to him, ‘Sir, we should like to see Jesus.’ Philip went to tell Andrew, and Andrew and Philip together went to tell Jesus. Jesus replied to them:

‘Now the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you, most solemnly, unless a wheat grain falls on the ground and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies, it yields a rich harvest. Anyone who loves his life loses it; anyone who hates his life in this world will keep it for the eternal life. If a man serves me, he must follow me, wherever I am, my servant will be there too. If anyone serves me, my Father will honour him. Now my soul is troubled. What shall I say: Father, save me from this hour? But it was for this very reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name!’

A voice came from heaven, ‘I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.’ People standing by, who heard this, said it was a clap of thunder; others said, ‘It was an angel speaking to him.’ Jesus answered, ‘It was not for my sake that this voice came, but for yours.

‘Now sentence is being passed on this world; now the prince of this world is to be overthrown. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I shall draw all men to myself.’

By these words he indicated the kind of death he would die.

Gospel (USA)

John 12:20–33

If a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it produces much fruit.

Some Greeks who had come to worship at the Passover Feast came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and asked him, “Sir, we would like to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.

   “I am troubled now. Yet what should I say, ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it and will glorify it again.” The crowd there heard it and said it was thunder; but others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered and said, “This voice did not come for my sake but for yours. Now is the time of judgment on this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” He said this indicating the kind of death he would die.

Reflections (6)

(i) Fifth Sunday of Lent

I came across a story in a book that caught my attention. A distinguished citizen came to a Zen Master, seeking the meaning of life. The visitor began to tell the Zen Master all about his ideas, his achievements, his interests. As he continued his hymn of praise to himself, the Zen Master graciously placed a beautiful cup in front of his guest and began filling it with tea. Even after the cup was filled, he continued to pour tea into it. The distinguished visitor quickly moved away from the overflowing cup, saying to the Zen Master, ‘The cup is overflowing! No more will go in!’ The Zen Master replied, ‘Like this cup, you are overflowing with your own opinions and achievements. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?’

The wisdom expressed in that story finds expression in our gospel reading today in a different form. Jesus proclaims the paradoxical wisdom of self-emptying in order to become full, of dying so that we may be raised to new life, ‘Unless a grain falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies it yields a rich harvest… Anyone who loves his life loses it; anyone who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life’. The language of hating our life in this world jars with us. Yet, it is a way of speaking for emphasis and is not to be taken literally. Elsewhere Jesus calls on us to love our neighbour as we love ourselves. There is a healthy, wholesome, love of self which is the foundation for the love of God and love of others. Jesus is warning against an excessive love of self, the kind of over-valuing of our achievements, our gifts and abilities, which stunts our growth as human beings made in God’s image and likeness.

When a grain of wheat is dropped into the earth, the seed shrinks, ‘empties’ itself and dies. Yet, in the warmth and moisture of the earth new life breaks out of the husk and yields a rich harvest. The grain of wheat is an image of Jesus. Saint Paul says of Jesus that he ‘emptied himself, taking the form of a servant’. He emptied himself in loving service of God and of humanity. He continued down this path of self-emptying love of others, even when it became clear that it would cost him his life. As Paul says, ‘he emptied himself… becoming obedient unto death, even death on a cross’. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is aware that the hour is at hand when, like the grain of wheat, he will be buried in the heart of the earth. He stands to lose everything. It is clear from the gospel reading that the prospect of such loss troubles him deeply. He is tempted to pray, ‘Father, save me from this hour!’ Yet, he comes through this struggle and remains faithful to his love-inspired mission, like the good shepherd who loves his flock so deeply that he is prepared to lay down his life for them. His ultimate self-emptying on the cross yields a rich harvest. It reveals the depth of his love for us all and the extent of God the Father’s love for the world. In the light of the resurrection, the cross is seen to be an explosion of divine love, which is why Jesus can say in the gospel reading, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. As Jesus hung from the cross, Pilate declared him a king in mockery, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews’. Yet, this mocking title proclaimed a great truth. Jesus was a king, but his kingdom was not based on force of arms but on the drawing power of love. Jesus lifted up on the cross, lifted up in glory, continues to draw people to himself. In drawing us to himself, he draws us into a sharing in his own risen life. His dying was life-giving, not only for himself, but for all who turn to him in faith.

If the grain of wheat which falls to the ground and dies and in dying yields a rich harvest is an image of Jesus, it is also an image of his followers. ‘If anyone serves me, they must follow me’. Following the Lord will always involve an element of self-emptying, of dying to ourselves out of love for others. The image of the wheat grain invites us to ask, ‘What within me needs to die so that I may live more fully with the life of the Lord, so that I may love more fully with his love?’ For us as followers of the risen Lord, the moment of death is the final self-emptying that yields a rich harvest. It is the ultimate letting go that opens us up to a wonderful encounter with the Lord of love who finally and fully draws us to himself. As we journey towards that final moment of letting go, the Lord calls us daily to empty ourselves in love for others, to die to our self-centeredness in the service of the Lord and his people. As we respond to that call of the Lord, we will begin to experience something of that fullness of life which awaits us beyond death.

And/Or

(ii) Fifth Sunday of Lent

 Martin Luther King once wrote about a time when he knelt down in prayer at the kitchen table in his home in Alabama. A hail of stones had just come through the window because of his advocacy of civil rights for black people. His wife and children were in danger. He had already become a highly qualified academic by then, and a promising career lay ahead. In prayer he found himself asking, ‘Do I really need this additional worry and danger?’ It was in that prayerful moment that he decided to put the will of God and the welfare of others before his own security and that of his family. He chose to let go of an easier path in order to serve God by working on behalf of those who were most oppressed. In a sense, he chose to die so that others might have life. His life is a striking example of the image that Jesus uses in the gospel reading, the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies, and in dying yields a rich harvest.

 Jesus himself was the supreme expression of that image. He is the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in dying yields a rich harvest. He refers to that harvest towards the end of today’s gospel reading: ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. God worked powerfully through the life of Jesus, and God worked even more powerfully through the death of Jesus. Jesus’ death reveals the power of God’s love in an even fuller way than his life did, and this love, revealed in the death of Jesus, drew people to God, and continues to do so. Many people over the centuries, looking upon the crucifix, have experienced God’s love for them, and have found themselves drawn to God in some way, because of the crucifix. In choosing to accept the loss of so much that was dear to him, in particular, his vibrant life, Jesus drew people to himself and, thereby, to a sharing in God’s life. That moment in his life when Jesus chose such a significant loss out of love for us all is well expressed in this morning’s gospel reading, ‘What shall I say? Save me from this hour. No, it was for this very reason I have come to this hour’.

 In these spring days we may find ourselves sowing some seeds in the garden. The seed that dies in order to yield a new form of life is as familiar to us today as it was in the days of Jesus. The seed has to shed its husk so that the potential for new life it carries within itself can be realized. The loss of the husk is a necessary loss if the seed is to realize its destiny. This phenomenon of nature can speak to our own experience as much as it did to the experience of Jesus. Jesus recognized that the loss of his life was a necessary loss if he was to remain faithful to his mission, and, thereby, realize his destiny. Each of us in different ways can be called upon to choose some significant loss if we are to remain true to our deepest and best self, true to what God is asking of us. We can find ourselves at a crossroads, as Jesus did in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Martin Luther King did in the kitchen of his home. At such crossroads we can either choose some loss for the sake of a greater good, or hold on to some reality that is good in itself but that prevents us from taking the path that God is asking us to take, that others need us to take. There are many such crossroads on the journey of life. Whenever we choose some loss for ourselves so that others might live, we are following in the way of the Lord, and a harvest will come from it.

 Then there are other losses in life that we do not choose, but that are forced upon us. These are losses we have no choice but to accept. Jesus’ disciples had no choice but to accept the loss of Jesus on Good Friday; their loss flowed from the choice Jesus made. We often have to accept the loss of people we love and care about because of the choices they make. Parents may not wish to see a son or daughter go abroad to live and work, but they accept that as a necessary loss, because they respect the choice made by the one they love. Many of the necessary losses we have to accept in life arise from the choices others make. In accepting those losses, in letting go of those we love, we often find them again in a fuller and richer way, as Jesus’ disciples received him again in a richer way through his resurrection from the dead and the sending of the Spirit.

 There are other, more demanding, losses we do not choose but have no choice but to accept. The loss we experience because of the death of a loved one comes to mind. The acceptance of such a loss only comes with great struggle. Then, for each of us, there is the final and unavoidable struggle to let go of our own earthly lives, with all the loss that is entailed in that. As we face all these inevitable losses that are an integral part of life, we are strengthened by the words of Jesus in today’s gospel reading, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. We trust and we believe that, at the end of the day, after we have struggled with all our losses, the Lord will draw us to himself, and, when that happens, we will lack nothing.

And/Or

(iii) Fifth Sunday of Lent

 We can ourselves faced with the prospect of doing something which we know is worth doing but which we also know is going to make demands on us. Faced with that kind of a situation we can experience something of a struggle within us. In our heart of hearts we want to do this worthwhile task and, yet, at another level we do not want to do it. Invariably, if we overcome our resistance and follow through on our good intention, we will feel afterwards that we did the right thing. It is probably true to say that we experience that kind of a struggle several times a week. As well as those daily struggles that are part of life, we may find ourselves engaged in a more fundamental struggle, where the future direction of our lives is at stake. I am thinking of those moments in our lives when we have a really important decision to make, and how we make it has enormous consequences for ourselves and for others. The right decision can often be the more difficult one, and the struggle in making it can be great indeed.

 In today’s gospel reading we find Jesus in just such a significant moment of decision. The hour when he has to leave this world is drawing near. The journey from this world to the Father will be painful and traumatic. As he faces into this hour, he asks aloud the question, ‘What shall I say?’ There are two possible answers to that question. He could ask the Father to preserve him from the hour and all that it entails, ‘Father, save me from this hour’. Alternatively, he could ask the Father to be present to him as he heads into his hour. This in fact is the prayer he makes at this crucial moment in his life, ‘Father, glorify your name’. Rather than the focus of his prayer being on himself, ‘save me’, the focus of his prayer is on God, ‘glorify your name’. Rather than putting what he wants at the centre of his prayer, he puts what God wants to the fore. With the prayer, ‘Father, glorify your name’, Jesus commits himself anew to doing the work that the Father has given him, with all its consequences.

 That question of Jesus, ‘What shall I say?’ or some version of it can be a question that we find ourselves asking too. ‘What shall I do? What path will I take?’ Jesus took the path that God wanted him to take That path involved a dying but it was a path that was ultimately life-giving, not only for himself but for all humanity. In our own lives, taking the path that God would want us to take will often involve some kind of dying for us, such as dying to our own comfort and convenience, letting go of the plans that we have for ourselves. This can take very ordinary forms. We get a phone call from someone who needs to talk to us, just as we are about to sit down and watch our favourite television programme. Someone asks us to visit them, and the only opportunity we have for doing that is Saturday afternoon when we would normally take it easy. A call for help goes out in regard to some issue and we know that we have the time and the ability to respond, but we also know that if we do so it will make demands on us. The strong temptation is to pray, ‘Father, save me from this hour’, to try and preserve ourselves, to protect ourselves. Yet, today’s gospel makes a strong declaration that if we invest energy in trying to preserve ourselves, we will loose ourselves. ‘Anyone who loves his life looses it’. If, on the contrary, we give ourselves away, we will find life. It is the grain of wheat that falls to the earth and dies that bears much fruit.

 We are only a week away from Holy Week. During Holy Week we remember Jesus’ readiness to fall to the ground and die for our sakes. As we contemplate his dying for us, we may find ourselves drawn to him. Jesus says in today’s gospel reading, ‘when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. It is in allowing ourselves to be drawn to him that we will find the strength to take the path that he took, the path of self-giving that leads to fullness of life. It is only our union with Christ which will empower us to take this path. Every day we invite the Lord to draw us to himself, so that we too can become the grain that falls to the ground and dies, and in dying bears much fruit.

And/Or

(iv) Fifth Sunday of Lent

 The lead singer of a legendary pop group from the 60’s died a few years ago. The name of the group was the Monkies and they were big in the United States. Those of a certain age might remember them. They were probably as big in the US as the Beatles were in England. Both of those groups had and still have a huge following; at their peak they drew very large numbers of young people to themselves. There have been many other singing groups since then who drew large crowds of people whenever they performed. It is not only singing groups who draw crowds. Football teams draw huge crowds to their matches. Indeed many Irish people get on a plane early on Saturday morning to fly over to Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle, London, or wherever to watch their favourite team. Huge crowds will be drawn to Croke Park in the coming months up to September to watch the championship matches in football and hurling. There have always been individuals and groups of people who have had the ability to draw large crowds.

 At the very end of this morning’s gospel reading Jesus says of himself, ‘when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. It is one of the sayings of Jesus in the gospels that has always struck me. Jesus speaks there of the drawing power he will have when he is lifted up from the earth. In John’s gospel, from which our gospel reading is taken, when Jesus speaks of himself as one who will be lifted up from the earth, he is referring to both his death and his resurrection and ascension. He will be lifted up on the cross and he will be lifted up in glory. In John’s gospel there is a sense in which both of those moments of lifting up are one moment. When Jesus is lifted up on the cross, he is at the same time being lifted up in glory, because on the cross Jesus reveals God’s glory, the glorious presence of God who is love. Jesus declares in our gospel reading that when he is lifted up from the earth, he will draw all people to himself. The drawing power of Jesus on the cross is the drawing power of a divine love. Authentic love always draws us; it attracts. There is no more authentic love than God’s love revealed in Jesus when he is lifted up on the cross and in glory. That is why the crucified and risen Jesus has been drawing people to himself for over two thousand years and will continue to do so for the next two thousand years. We are drawn to Jesus lifted up from the earth because we experience there a love which is stronger than sin and death, a love which assures us of our worth, and holds out to us an eternal destiny beyond death. If we allow that love to enter within us we will be inspired and empowered to love as we have been loved. Jesus lifted up from the earth, Jesus on the cross, has always drawn people of faith. The liturgies of Good Friday are always very well attended. It is not that as Christians we are in love with suffering. It is just that we sense that the lifting up of Jesus has in some profound sense lifted us all up.

 In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus speaks of his forthcoming death using a very different set of words to the language of being lifted up. He speaks of the grain of wheat which falls into the earth and dies and in dying yields a rich harvest. He himself was the grain of wheat which fell into the earth and died and his death yielded a rich harvest for all of us. We are all part of the harvest of his death. His death was life-giving for himself and for us all. That is why we find ourselves looking upon Jesus lifted up from the earth, on the cross and in glory. Later on in John’s gospel Jesus says of himself, ‘no one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends’. In being lifted up from the earth, Jesus was laying down his life for all of us, for each one of us; he was drawing us into his friendship. We look upon the cross because we sense that no one has ever befriended us or could ever befriend us in such a complete way. This is the harvest which has come from the grain of wheat falling to the ground and dying.

 This being lifted up from the earth, this falling to the ground and dying, did not come easy to Jesus. We can sense that from this morning’s gospel reading. ‘Now my soul is troubled’, he says, and he is tempted to pray, ‘Father, save me from this hour’. His love for us was a costly love. All authentic human love is costly. In giving ourselves away to another in love we leave ourselves vulnerable to suffering and brokenness. Yet, this is the path Jesus took; it is the path we are all called to take as his followers. In the words of the gospel reading, ‘if anyone serves me, he must follow me’. The path of self-emptying love is ultimately the path that leads to life, a full life here and now and eternal life beyond death.

And/Or

(v) Fifth Sunday of Lent

 We probably all have a wish list of things we would like to do before we die, or, perhaps people we would like to meet. If we were given a blank sheet of paper with the words ‘I wish...’ at the top and asked to fill it in, we would likely all come up with a different list, although there might be some elements in common. What we would have in common would probably be the more important, deeper, realities of life, such as health, peace of mind, loving relationships, happiness for oneself and one’s loved ones. As people of faith we might include on our blank page some expression of our religious longings. We might wish for a deeper experience of the Lord’s love and forgiveness in our lives or for greater clarity as to what the Lord is asking of us or desires for us.

 At the beginning of this morning’s gospel reading we are introduced to two people who approach one of the disciples of Jesus and express their wish in a very simple way, ‘We should like to see Jesus’. They are described as ‘Greeks’. In saying to Philip ‘We want to see Jesus’, they are giving expression to their deeper religious longings. No matter where we are on our own faith journey, there is a sense in which we can always say, ‘we want to see Jesus’. Those two Greeks were at the very beginning of their faith journey as followers of Jesus. Yet, their wish is appropriate for every stage of the journey. When it comes to the Lord, there is always more to be seen. When it comes to our relationship with the Lord, there is always room for growth. Saint Paul was one of the few people in the New Testament who had seen the risen Lord. Writing to the church in Corinth, he says, ‘Have I not seen Jesus our Lord?’ Yet in that same letter, he acknowledges, ‘now, we see as in a mirror dimly; but then we will see face to face’. In that eternal moment beyond this earthly life we will see the Lord clearly, face to face. Now, we see dimly, and so we can always say, ‘I want to see Jesus’, ‘I want to see him more clearly’. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul gives expression to this wish, this longing to see the Lord more clearly, when he says, ‘I want to know Christ’. We might be tempted to say to him, ‘Surely, you already know Christ’. He would reply to us, quoting again his letter to the Corinthians, ‘Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known’. It is only ‘then’ beyond this earthly life that we will know the Lord fully, will see him clearly.  Until then, we are among the Greeks in today’s gospel reading who say, ‘We want to see Jesus’.

 It is striking that the two Greeks did not approach Jesus directly. They approached one of Jesus’ disciples, Philip, who in turn went to Andrew and then, together, they went to Jesus with the request of the Greeks. The two disciples, Philip and Andrew, served as mediators between the Greeks and Jesus. These two disciples made it possible for the two Greeks to see Jesus. This is as true today as it was in the time of Jesus. We come to the Lord through each other. We are called to bring each other to the Lord, to help one another to see Jesus. In our faith life, in our search for Jesus, we are intimately bound up with one another. Parents help their children to see Jesus by teaching them to pray, bringing them to the church, reading passages from the gospels to them. Children, in turn, can bring their parents, and all of us, to see Jesus. Their unselfconscious desire to know the Lord, their openness to prayer and the world of the spirit, can touch us deeply, and even awaken some faith in us that has been dormant for some time. When it comes to our faith, we are all struggling to see; we are all a little blind and we need others to show us and to guide us.

 If at the beginning of today’s gospel reading we have two Greeks wanting to see Jesus, at the end of that reading we have those wonderful words of Jesus, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. Jesus declares there that when he is lifted up on the cross and lifted up in glory, he will be revealing his love for us and that love will draw us to himself. The one whom we wish to see is not playing hide and seek with us. Rather, he is constantly drawing us to himself in love. He is the grain of wheat that falls into the earth and dies and in dying bears much fruit. His dying is an explosion of love that envelopes us and brings to pass our wish to see him more clearly.

And/Or

(vi) Fifth Sunday of Lent

 Martin Luther King once wrote about a time when he knelt down in prayer at the kitchen table in his home in Alabama. A hail of stones had just come through the window because of his advocacy of civil rights for all. His wife and children were in danger. He had already become a highly qualified academic by then, and a promising career lay ahead. In prayer he found himself asking, ‘Do I really need this additional worry and danger?’ It was in that prayerful moment that he decided to put what he believed to be the will of God, which was the welfare of the most vulnerable, before his own security and that of his family. He would suffer a great loss for the sake of others. In a sense, he chose to risk death so that others might have a more humane life. His life is a striking example of the image that Jesus uses in the gospel reading, the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies, and in dying yields a rich harvest.

 Jesus himself was the supreme expression of that image. He, more than anyone, is the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies, and in dying yields a rich harvest. He refers to that harvest which springs from his dying towards the end of today’s gospel reading: ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. Jesus is declaring that God who worked powerfully through his life, would work even more powerfully through his death. His death would reveal the power of God’s love for us in an even fuller way than his life had done. God’s love, revealed in Jesus’ death, would draw people to Jesus. Many people over the centuries, looking upon the crucifix, have experienced the strength of God’s love for them, and have found themselves drawn to Jesus, and through him, to God. Roman crucifixion was a degrading form of execution. Yet, the first believers, in the light of the resurrection, came to recognize Christ crucified as the fullest human expression of God’s love for humanity. In the words of Paul’s letter to the Romans, ‘God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners, Christ died for us’. This explosion of God’s love on Calvary was the rich harvest that came from the death of Jesus.

 Yet, the gospels suggest that becoming the grain of wheat that dies so that others might be touched by God’s life-giving love did not come easy to Jesus. It was a struggle to accept the loss of so much that was dear to him, in particular, his vibrant life, just as it was a struggle for Martin Luther King. Something of Jesus’ struggle comes through in today’s gospel reading.  He is tempted to pray to God, ‘What shall I say? Save me from this hour’. In the other gospels, Jesus prays in the Garden of Gethsemane, ‘Take this cup from me’. Yet, he went on to choose this great loss out of love for all of us. In the words of Jesus’ prayer in today’s gospel reading, ‘It was for this very reason that I have come to this hour’.

 In these spring days we may find ourselves sowing some seeds in the garden. The seed that dies in order to yield a new form of life is as familiar to us today as it was in the time of Jesus. The seed has to shed its husk so that the potential for new life it carries within itself can be realized. The loss of the husk is a necessary loss if the seed is to realize its potential. This phenomenon of nature can speak to our own experience as much as it did to the experience of Jesus. Jesus recognized that the loss of his life was a necessary loss if he was to remain faithful to his mission of revealing God’s love to a broken world. Each of us can be called upon to choose some significant loss so as to remain true to what God is asking of us. We can find ourselves at a crossroads, as Jesus did in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Martin Luther King did in the kitchen of his home. These are times when we sense a calling to risk some significant loss out of love for others, so that others, especially the most vulnerable, may have a fuller life. When we sense such a calling, we can be tempted, as Jesus was, to pray, ‘Save me from this hour’. However, whenever we choose some loss for ourselves out of love for others, we are sowing the seeds of a rich harvest. In the words of the gospel reading, we will be serving the Lord, sharing in his loving and life-giving mission. The Lord does not ask us to take this more difficult path, relying only on our own resources. We need to allow the Lord to keep drawing us to himself, so that we can draw strength from him. It is the strength we get from the Lord that allows us to keep taking the path of self-emptying love. Again, in the words of Saint Paul, ‘I can do all things through him who gives me strength’.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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Easter Sunday - April 4, 2021

The Temple of Christ’s Body is restored; He is risen, alleluia!

Today is the Feast of Feasts!

On this, the holiest day of the entire year, and for the entire Octave of Easter, Latin Catholics greet each other with the words of Luke 24:34, “Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia!” (“The Lord is risen indeed!”). The person so greeted responds, “Et apparuit Simoni, alleluia!” (“And hath appeared unto Simon!”). Catholics may even answer their telephones with this greeting. An old Ukrainian legend relates that, after His Resurrection, Christ threw Satan into a deep pit, chaining him with twelve iron chains. When Satan has chewed through each of the twelve chains, the end of the world will come. All year long, the Evil One gnaws at the iron, getting to the last link in the last chain — but too late, for it is Easter, and when the people cry “Christ is risen!” all of Satan’s efforts are reversed. When the faithful stop saying the Easter acclamation, the end of time has come…

Throughout the entire Easter Season, the Angelus prayer that is offered, when possible, at the ringing of the Angelus bells, is replaced by the joyous Regina Coeli, which begins, “Queen of Heaven rejoice, alleluia: For He whom you merited to bear, alleluia, Has risen as He said, alleluia.”

On this most beautiful of Feasts, the Easter table should be adorned with the best of everything — the most beautiful china, a pure, white tablecloth, the best possible wine, flowers (especially pussy willow, lilies, and spring bulb flowers), etc., all with the colors white and gold — symbolizing purity and glory — and the traditional symbols of Easter predominating. And we should look our best, too; it is common for those who can afford it to buy a new outfit to wear on this day. This custom springs from the idea of “newness” inherent in the entire Season — the new members of the Church baptized at the Vigil in their new Baptismal albs, the New Law, a new life in Christ.

by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“And on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalen cometh early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulcher.”–John xx, 1.

Alleluia! Once more we greet the joyous Easter-day, the glorious festival, the feast of feasts! Alleluia! the lofty note of triumph resounds throughout high heaven to salute the Lamb of God, the mighty Conqueror, while earth takes up the glad refrain, and Alleluia wakes happy, holy thoughts in Christian souls, absorbed in fervent homage in many a temple wherein is celebrated this great festival with all the splendor of our Holy Church. And yet, alas! to how many it brings no real heartfelt joy!

How many, who call themselves Christians, unite in a merely external manner in the celebration of today! To outward seeming they rejoice; but only a superficial joy is theirs. To them the spiritual delight, the real happiness–in a word, the Alleluia of the Paschal time–brings no deep meaning; while to those who have, from spiritual death, risen to the life of grace, and then, with zealous earnestness, continue their efforts to attain perfection, this feast will prove a happy day indeed. The joy of Easter will penetrate the very marrow of the soul.

So it was with Mary Magdalen, and so, too, it will be with every Christian who, like that great saint, and also like Mary the Immaculate Mother of Christ, is sincerely disposed for a proper participation in the joy of Easter. And today, my brethren, I will explain to you in what this special preparation for it consists; so that to each and every one of you it may be given to feel the delight of Mary Magdalen, when she beheld her risen Lord.

O Mary, thrice happy Mother of Jesus, may we participate in the joy felt by Magdalen on that Eastermorn! May a faint reflex of your sentiments, as you embraced your beloved Son and Lord, arisen from the dead, fall upon our hearts today! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

Dear brethren, let us dwell for a few moments upon the scene! The Redeemer, Master of life and death, had scarcely burst the bonds of His prison-house, when countless souls, ransomed by His infinite mercy from Limbo, hovered over His sepulcher. Myriads of angels too were there, bowing in homage before their King. The rosy dawn dispelled the lingering shades of night which had hung like a pall over Jerusalem, and revealed the uncertain steps of one whose attitude of deep dejection betrayed her grief. It was Mary Magdalen.

She approaches the tomb. It is empty, and now a new anxiety weighs upon her; when suddenly Christ stands before her, not as she had known Him in life, but in the dress of a gardener. Not recognizing Him she asks: “If thou hast taken Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him away.” Now the Lord calls her by name: “Mary,” and she feels that it is the voice of Jesus, the voice which uttered the consoling words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” It was a voice she could not fail-to know. She looks up at Him; she recognizes Him; she falls prostrate at His feet. “Jesus, Master, you live! Alleluia!” Heavenly joy thrills her heart as she hastens to the disciples with the glad tidings that Jesus lived, and had appeared to her.

Each child of the Church should share the joy of Magdalen, the penitent and forgiven. And if in it he has no part, where can be found the cause? I answer: Something is wanting in the preparation of the heart. Look at Mary Magdalen, and learn from her. She rejoiced, because her’s was a soul purified by sorrow and tears of repentance. In her we behold the Magdalen, who, sinking beneath the burden of her contrition, gave vent to her feelings at the feet of Jesus.

Christian! if you feel not the joyous influence of the Paschal time, is it not that you are, as yet, unreconciled with your risen Lord? that your soul is marred with the disfiguring stain of mortal sin? For others the Easter jubilee; for you the mournful memories of Good Friday! For, alas! you have crucified your Saviour in your heart. Let me beg that you will not refuse to unite with those fervent souls whose Alleluia resounds throughout the earth, but that, by fervent prayer, you will obtain the grace of contrition, and, having “arisen with Christ,” by a worthy confession you may rejoice with His faithful followers.

And you, lukewarm and indifferent Christian, what sentiments does this glorious day awaken within your heart? Alas! it is cold; the Alleluia finds no responsive echo there. And what wonder? You may not indeed have crucified your Saviour by mortal sin; but the many venial faults which sully the purity of your soul, drive Him from you, and sorrowfully He stands afar off.

Mary Magdalen knelt at His feet. It was her dearest joy to be near her Lord, but that privilege was never hers, until by tears of sorrow she had cleansed her soul from the slightest stain of sin. She was a penitent soul. Imitate her example, purify your soul from its sins and faults, and then, with the illustrious penitent, can you truly welcome your risen Lord.

Secondly.–Mary Magdalen had disposed her heart for the celebration of Easter by meditation. She was a contemplative soul. Absorbed in adoration at the feet of Jesus, she listened to the words of divine wisdom which issued from His lips, and, according to Christ Himself, she “chose the better part.”

But how many Christians, celebrating Easter exteriorly, do not meditate, and hence a cold and lifeless faith is theirs, causing them to listen with indifference when the most sublime truths of religion are presented for their instruction. Nay, even the good and pious are not free from censure in this regard. They believe, they pray, but they do not meditate; and even by them the solemn mysteries of our redemption are not celebrated according to the spirit of our Holy Mother Church. Her wish and desire is that we may endeavor to bring the truths of holy faith before our mental vision, in as vivid a manner as though we had lived at the time those wonderful scenes in the great work of our redemption took place, and had witnessed them in the very order in which they transpired. Then we will begin to realize the reward which in an eternity of bliss awaits the purified soul and feel the sweetness of its Alleluia on earth.

Thirdly.–Mary Magdalen’s heart was prepared by works of self-denial. She was a mortified soul, and how could it have been otherwise with her? Was she not the same to whom was given the grace to behold, with her own eyes, the dreadful spectacle of a lacerated, scourged, nay, even of a crucified and dying Saviour? Was she not the same devoted lover of Jesus upon whom, as she knelt beneath the cross, His tears and blood fell down? And her entire subsequent life, when she dwelt in solitude in the little hermitage in Gaul, was spent in acts of penance, although, from the Redeemer Himself, she had heard the blessed words: “Thy sins are forgiven thee!”

And you, Christians, if your hearts are not entoning the Alleluia today with her exultation, why is it? Because you do not love the cross, and strive to escape from the observance of the holy season, which this day terminates. Immediately preceding the festivity of Easter, the Church, during the days set apart for penance, strives to instill into the hearts of her children that penitential spirit, which will impel them to take up the cross and follow their suffering Redeemer to Calvary. Have you spent the holy season according to that spirit? Then, indeed, you may rejoice with Mary Magdalen today. But, if not, although the grandeur of the ceremonies which are displayed before you can not fail to produce an impression and excite some joy, it will be but a transitory impression and a superficial joy, in which the Alleluia has no part.

Fourthly–Mary Magdalen, in her longing after the divine word gave up every thing, and followed her Saviour in His apostolic missions. Trampling under foot the opinion of the world, and casting aside the promptings of human respect, in the presence of Him she found her greatest happiness. Such sentiments animated her, when, at the banquet given by the haughty Pharisee, she knelt publicly at the feet of Jesus. With such feelings she sought Him on Good Friday, prostrating herself before Him; and so also on the Easter-morn did she seek for, and find her risen Lord.

Child of the one true Church, do you wish to rejoice with Mary Magdalen? Then with her resolve to follow your Lord, and for this end seek Him with neverflagging earnestness; and, having found Him, contemplate in Him the adorable model, by imitating which you will one day behold Him face to face. Souls who are satisfied to lead an ordinary Christian life, who do not hunger and thirst after perfection, who lead not an interior life, do not participate in the joy of this great penitent, and alas! they will never understand it.

In conclusion, the soul of Mary Magdalen was a grateful and loving soul towards Jesus. She recognized Him on that Easter-morn by His voice; and as He spoke her name, “Mary!” the thought of the countless favors she had received at His sacred hands rushed swiftly over her. Her heart overflowed with its burden of gratitude; and oh! she felt how sweet it would be to cancel that debt by the perfect love with which she would regard her Saviour during an eternity of purest bliss. Then, indeed, could she worthily celebrate the feast of feasts!–the glorious Easter jubilee in heaven!

Mary’s love was sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant. Of this Christ Himself has given testimony: “She hath loved much.” This mighty love not only gained for her an unconditional pardon of her former sins, but it became the source of numberless graces for her future life. And the same is promised to every member of the one true Church, whose love for Jesus is sincere, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and constant, like that of Mary Magdalen.

The recurrence of Easter, my brethren, should increase every year our confidence in divine Providence, and remind us of the unwearied solicitude with which God has, from our very infancy up to the present moment, watched over us, guided our footsteps through the dangers which encompass us, and through His Holy Spirit is ever whispering to us to renounce our sins, to “love much,” that He may “forgive us much.” If we listen to that whisper we will indeed “arise with Christ; “we will participate to the utmost in the true spiritual jubilee of this blessed day.

Thus, my brethren, let your preparation for Easter be according to the disposition of St. Magdalen; and you will celebrate with Magdalen, in the spirit of the Church, Easter on earth, and soon, with Magdalen also, Easter in heaven forever. Amen!

“And the disciple whom Jesus loved came to the sepulcher.”–John xx.

As often as the Church, in commemoration of the glorious Resurrection, celebrates the yearly recurrence of the Paschal time, and entones the joyous Alleluia with her children, so often do we recall to mind those privileged souls who, the Gospel tells us, had the happiness of hearing the glad tidings: “Jesus, lives; He has arisen,” of listening to, of beholding the risen Jesus. This privilege was not limited to one or two; but was enjoyed by a number of the disciples, who believed and hoped in the Lord. Often, too, we go in spirit to the sepulcher with the holy women who went thither bearing ointments, and think of that bliss which filled their hearts when, from the angel of the Lord, they heard the welcome words: “He is arisen.” We think of Mary Magdalen, whose joy found utterance in the single word, as she knelt before her Lord, “Rabboni.”

We behold the wondering Apostles, when, on the evening of the same day, as they were assembled together “with closed doors,” their Master stood before them and pronounced the blessed words: “Pax vobis”–“Peace be unto you.”

But there is one Apostle, St. John, upon whom our attention should be particularly centered, that we may attain a better understanding of the state in which the Christian must be before the real joy of Easter can illumine his soul. We have seen him at the Last Supper; we have beheld him at the foot of the cross, and let us hope that we may have shared, to some extent, in the love which filled his heart at those solemn times. Let me, brethren, today present, for your contemplation, St. John, the disciple of love. Let us glance at him as he stands by the sepulcher of the Risen One, and endeavor to picture the joy which overflowed his heart as he beheld the Lord.

O Mary, Mother most joyful, infuse into our hearts that bliss which filled your own upon that first happy Easter-morn, that we, like St. John, may experience its most wonderful effects for the salvation of our souls! I speak in the name of the newly-risen Jesus, for the greater honor and glory of God!

“He is risen; we have heard it even from the angels!” said the holy women, as they returned from the sepulcher. And as the Apostles heard the wondrous tale, two of their number immediately arose and hastened away; but the “dearly beloved Apostle,” St. John, in the fervor of his love, left St. Peter far behind, and, arriving first at the sepulcher, found the stone rolled away. St. Peter, however, was the first to enter the empty tomb. In him, therefore, is illustrated the Apostle of faith, while St. John typifies the disciple of love. In the divine economy, every thing is full of a deep, mysterious meaning, and herein we learn that faith must first penetrate the soul before the flame of divine love is enkindled in the heart. John followed Peter, and, as he placed his hand upon the winding-sheet, which, but the evening before he had wrapped about the sacred body of his Lord, a flood of joy rushed over his soul, and filled his heart with happiness, as he felt that Jesus had indeed arisen, that Jesus lived.

We will today consider the character of his holy Easter joy, and endeavor to understand how mighty and sanctifying it was rendered by the excessive ardor of his love for Christ. To clearly realize the intense joy of this saintly disciple, we must recall the feelings which agitated his heart while, for love of the crucified One, he stood beneath the cross, and think of those words of Holy Scripture: “According to the greatness of my sorrows your consolations gladdened my soul.” St. John stood at the foot of the cross wholly absorbed in compassion, adoration, gratitude, and resolution, according to the will of God, to follow Jesus unto death, through love; and, therefore, the Alleluia of the Easter joy, in which his heart rejoiced at the tomb of the arisen Jesus, was a participation in the sentiments of adoration, thanksgiving, and determination to be faithful to his calling as Apostle in proportion to his love for Christ.

The one who loves, so rejoices at the happiness of the beloved object that it would seem as if he were happier to see the joy of his friend than to feel his own. For example, what joy is experienced by a mother whose child has met with some great good or benefit, or has been unexpectedly saved from some impending danger! But of true friendship Holy Writ testifies that it is stronger than all other love–witness that of David and Jonathan.

But incomparably more tender was the friendship of St. John for his Saviour, and in the same measure his heart rejoiced at the certainty that He had burst the bonds of the grave and lived once more. This joy must have stirred his heart to its very depths, and moved him, in a much greater degree, than it affected St. Peter and the other Apostles, because he had beheld his Saviour in agony upon the cross, in suffering and in death. His loving heart was more sensitive than theirs.

The Alleluia of his Easter joy was the outburts of his overflowing friendship. It was, at the same time, one of adoration and thanksgiving for the consummation of the Redemption. Until that time the life and labors of the Lord had been, as it were, veiled in the obscurity of a mystical darkness; but by the Alleluia which came forth from the heart of Jesus as He rose from the tomb, all radiant with celestial light, this vail was rent, and that Easter morn forever dispersed the gloom. St. John, as he stood by the grave of the risen Jesus, realized more clearly than ever the whole order of salvation; and what an “Exultet” arose in his heart as he entoned it, in the same sense in which it is sung by the Church on Holy Saturday, to announce the joyful truth that Christ had risen. As often as we hear it, our souls are filled with the joy of this holy Easter day. St. John entoned it at the sepulcher, in the name of the whole human family. Even as the Church sends forth her most joyful chants, so sang his heart, overflowing with the joy of that Easter day: “O Ineffable Miracle of Grace! to forgive Thy servant his sins, Thou hast delivered up Thy Son!”

“Of what avail had it been for us to be born into the world had we not received the grace of redemption? O happy fault which gave us such a Deliverer!”

St. John also thanked God, as he had never done before, for the grace of the election which, in the kingdom of Christ, became his portion, recognizing more clearly than ever the privileges which he enjoyed before all men, even the Apostles, especially that one which gave him the care of Mary, the Immaculate Virgin, the Queen of heaven, the Mother of his Lord. How he rejoiced that he would have her example and her prayers! for it would be her duty to care for her adopted son as became a tender and loving mother. Well may St. Paul exclaim: “I chastise my body that I may not become a castaway.” No marvel was it that St. Peter trembled when he thought upon the judgment which would come after death; but St. John, the adopted son of Mary, was, through her, assured of his eternal salvation. And in relation to the duties of his apostleship in general, as he stood by the Saviour’s tomb, how greatly encouraged he felt!–how firmly he resolved to be a fruitful branch in the vineyard of the Lord!

What invigorates the soul in its apostolic calling is the strengthening power of faith, hope, and charity, united with an earnest love of our neighbor. These were precisely the sentiments which prevailed in the heart of St. John as he burst forth in that glorious Alleluia by the grave of Christ.

The certainty of the Resurrection, as St. Paul affirms, is a pledge of the whole treasure of faith, “If Christ had not risen again, as He said,” writes the Apostle of the nations, “we would have been miserably deceived and disappointed and left without a name.” But He did arise, and we possess our holy faith with its promises for time and eternity. We also shall arise and live with Him forever. But St. Paul was not at the sepulcher; he did not touch the sacred body of Christ, but the beloved disciple did. With what strong testimony for the truth of the Resurrection, therefore, could John announce the Gospel with the assertion that he had lived with the Redeemer on the most intimate terms of holy union; that he beheld Him when He breathed forth His last sigh upon the cross; and looked upon Him after He had risen from the dead. The sentiments of his heart were that of triumphant faith.

What invigorates a soul in the exercise of its apostolic calling is victorious hope. “The Lord, who calls me to this office, is also my strength, and will, at some future day, be my reward.” Who experienced this in a higher degree than St. John? To whom was more fully and more bountifully given the vivifying power of Christian hope than to him who was permitted, while still on earth, to pierce the golden vista of the celestial vault, and gaze upon the mysteries of heaven?

Finally, what urges the true Apostle on in his holy mission more than any other thing is love–the love of God and man. In these respects, St. John was, as you know, eminently called the disciple of love. His very Epistles, contained in Holy Writ, stand, and will remain forever, undying testimonials of this his apostolic love. This, dearly beloved in Christ, is the character of the Easter-day of St. John and of his Easter Alleluia; and these the conditions, to feel it re-echoed in our own hearts. Amen!

“In Thy light we shall see light.”–Ps. xxxv.

The glorious orb of day was still invisible to the expectant world in the early Easter-morn, when the earth trembled as if moved by some terrible convulsion of nature and an angel of the choir of the Powers, radiant and beautiful, hovered above the sepulcher wherein lay the Body of Christ, and descending rolled the stone away. Instantaneously the glorified soul approached, the Sacred Body was transfigured, and the Lord arose, body and soul, more brilliant than the sun, which now burst forth in all its splendor to pay fitting tribute to Him Who gave it light–Who came forth the Victor of all the powers of evil, the Conqueror of death and hell. Then were seen the millions of holy souls who, for four thousand years, had languished in the gloomy prison of Limbo, full of trust in the Lord, and waited until “patience had her perfect work.”

Adam and Eve, the venerable patriarchs and prophets, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, with legions of holy angels, surround the Redeemer, the Sun of justice, the Lord Who had risen in all the grandeur of His Majesty. Yet a little while and He will ascend from the Mount of Olives, penetrate the heavens, and take His place at the right hand of the Father, clothed with the glory which flows from His divinity to His humanity, and send throughout high heaven celestial light to intensify the bliss of the angels and saints therein. In other words, all that which causes heaven to be heaven, will be imparted in its full extent by Christ to all the blessed therein. Let us today, therefore, look up to Him as the Sun in the kingdom of eternal beatitude. Let us picture to ourselves the heavens opening to our wondering view, while strains of sweetest music fall on our raptured ear. It is the angels entoning their Easter hymn.

O Mary, Queen of heaven, enthroned at the side of thy divine Son, pray for us that we may one day see Him in His glory and share in His beatification forever! I speak in the holy name of Jesus, Who arose from the dead, to the greater honor and glory of God!

What causes heaven to be heaven is, first, its external magnificence. When God created the visible world, the angels burst forth in praise, as Holy Scripture says in the Book of Job, on beholding such a stream of divine power and wisdom and goodness. Even after the sin of our first parents it still presented a scene of beauty and grandeur, and it does so still.

What a wonderfully majestic spectacle is afforded by the “deep and dark blue ocean” as it seems blended with the brilliant skies which it reflects in its depths! What a glorious radiance is cast upon the changing waters by the setting sun as he sinks to rest–as he gilds the ever-tossing waves with tints of the most gorgeous hue. The world of stars which sparkle in the darkness of the night, form a most enchanting sight; how then would it be, were we permitted to contemplate those wonders of creation through that lofty arch of the heavens, so far above the stars, and view the essence of those objects of which we now only behold the exterior appearance?

But as a diamond, encircled by precious stones, emits rays of dazzling light from the center of a diadem, so does the glorified humanity of Christ shine forth amid the angels and saints, as the mystical Sun, compared to which, our sun is naught but a waning light. In this glorious radiance of the humanity of Christ, the Blessed eternally contemplate the crown of the creation, especially if we consider its transfiguration at the end of time.

As God the Father created the world by the Son, so do we contemplate in the light which is Christ, the ideal of the creation as it was conceived by the eternal Father, and consider it so in all its relations to the creation of grace through the same Jesus Christ. No one can so well explain the beauty of a work as the author thereof. Contemplative soul, look up to Christ, Who has arisen, and rejoice; soon shalt thou see Him in His glory.

What adds to the happiness of heaven is, secondly, the sight of the glorified world of spirits. The angels are the blossoms of the creation. The doctors of the Church with St. Bernardine of Sienna affirm that God created more angels than visible corporeal beings because He was Himself a Spirit. Those beautiful spirits are divided into nine choirs, each end higher than the other, as we are taught to believe by our holy faith, viz: Angels, Archangels, Principalities, Thrones, Dominations, Powers, Virtues, Cherubim, and Seraphim. Each choir is higher, and therefore more beautiful than the other. We will one day behold in heaven the reason of this, but some of it we are already permitted to know.

For all their beatitude and glory, the angels are mediately indebted to Jesus. The holy Fathers assert that it was the confession and adoration of the Son of God, Who was to become man, into which mystery God permitted them to glance, which confirmed them forever in grace. And after Christ ascended into heaven the angels beheld, according to their ranks, the increase of glory which they were to receive from the glorified King of that celestial realm. This increase of glory, conferred separately on-every choir, like rays of light, is centered in the brilliant humanity of Christ, the King of every choir of them.

It is somewhat similar to the choirs of the Saints, which are different too, glorified by their individual graces. In heaven we will one day, through the grace of God, behold Adam and Eve, the Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Holy Innocents, the Virgins, the Confessors, the Bishops, the Martyrs, and the Apostles of Christ. Each of these choirs is distinguished by a particular degree of glory. By whatever degrees of glory these choirs are distinguished, transfigured, and beatified, their different glories, with those of Mary herself, the Queen of the Saints, are as so many rays which are concentrated in Christ as the Sun.

What adds to the individual bliss enjoyed by the saints of God in heaven, is the fact that it is a reward conferred upon them for the holy lives which, in imitation of Christ, they led upon earth. But, as the Church at the Council of Trent taught, God crowns only the gifts of His grace whose Creator is Christ. The rays of all the merits of the saints unite therefore in Him, the author of grace.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the united enjoyment of all its joys through Christ our Lord. In that blissful home all will be united in love with Christ and with one another, as He is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Heaven is mine; all is mine through Jesus Christ! Such will one day be the outburst of joy of every sanctified soul.

What causes heaven to be heaven is the thought that it was already lost to us, and that Christ, the Redeemer, regained and re-opened it for all. Alleluia! What enhances its bliss since Christ ascended thither, is the character it possesses as the kingdom of triumph. Here, too, we have no reason to envy the angels, for upon one occasion only had they an opportunity of acquiring merit through Christ, when they confessed and adored the Son of God made man, and were thereby confirmed in grace. Although they are, as St. Paul calls them, ministering spirits, they but fulfill the will of God without increasing their happiness or merit. This is not the case with us children of men. Every breath, every thought, every desire, every work, through divine grace, may be an occasion of merit for us to increase our glory in heaven, which is, therefore, for us also the kingdom of triumph.

Life is, as Holy Writ testifies, a warfare against the enemies of salvation; but Christ conquered them, and we can do likewise through Him. We know not what joys of heaven would have awaited us if we had never sinned; but this much is certain, it would never have become what it is now, the kingdom of triumph, which character elevates its joy in an immeasurably great degree. In conclusion, beloved in Christ, “what is heaven?” Listen! It is God. “I myself,” says the Lord. “I am your infinite reward.” Yes! It is the beatific vision of God, an intimate union with Him who is all delight, beatitude, and love. All this we shall possess through Christ. The end and aim of the creation is God Himself, the glorification of His perfections in their exterior relations. We distinguish, in this regard, His omniscience, omnipotence, wisdom, mercy, longanimity, justice, truth, majesty,–His beauty, beatitude, and love. But all these divine attributes concentrate their most brilliant radiance in the work of Redemption, consummated by Christ. So, then, it is Christ through Whom we are permitted to contemplate God in the triumph of His perfections in heaven, and be there inseparably united with Him.

That is proved by His prayer as High Priest: “Father, I pray Thee, let them be one with Us, as We are one;” and again: “No one knoweth the Father save the Son, and those to whom the Son will reveal Him.” This is verified by Christ the Sun, in the kingdom of light, as it is written: “In Thy light we will see light.”

The various ways in which God so wonderfully conducts us to our destiny, in conjunction with the fate of all, will then decidedly prove that it is Christ to whom we are indebted for the possession of heaven. Therefore, one day, the tribute of praise will resound before His throne in heaven: “Worthy is the Lamb to receive divinity, adoration, gratitude: Who has redeemed us with His blood, and has made us as kings in His celestial realm.” St. John asserts: “The city of God needs no light, for Christ is her light.” He, the glorious Sun of Redemption and Salvation. Amen!

The Resurrection of Our Lord

Easter Sunday

by Fr. Raphael Frassinetti, 1900

Gospel. Mark xvi. 1-7. At that time: Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome bought sweet spices, that coming they might anoint Jesus. And very early in the morning, the first day of the week, they came to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said one to another: Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And looking, they saw the stone rolled back: for it was very great. And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed with a white robe: and they were astonished. Who saith to them: Be not affrighted: ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: He is risen, He is not here: behold the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he goeth before you into Galilee: there you shall see him, as he told you.

No longer are there tears in our eyes; no longer are heard wailings of grief, but hymns of the greatest joy. Our Lord is risen. Jesus, the good God, is risen glorious and triumphant from the tomb. Let us rejoice! Let those tremble and despair who are His enemies! The Jews bragged of the success of their execrable work; but their triumph is short. They did not see that all this happened to Our Lord, because He desired it so. They triumphed for a while, when they had shut up His body in the tomb, but Christ, full of life and immortal, now passes through the stone vault and is truly risen. He is indeed risen and endowed with greater beauty; clothed in light, like that of the sun; the crown of thorns is changed into a beautiful diadem, the wounds into signs of victory; the blasphemies of the Jews into the exultation of the angels; His sorrowful death into a most happy life. O day of happiness for the whole earth! “This is the day which the Lord hath made; let us exult and rejoice therein.” What fruit shall we draw from this feast? It is this: Jesus Christ is risen from the dead to die no more; so also when we rise from our death of sin, we should die no more, but continue in the life of grace.

It is a fact that many rise from the sleep of death during these days of the paschal joy; because the Church has made an express law that every Catholic must go to confession and communion at Easter. Therefore many, obedient to the law, confess, bewail their sins and promise to remain faithful to the graces of a new life. Many, however, are not steadfast; a few days have scarcely passed before they forget, and by sin fall back again into death. Have such really risen? It appeared as if they had, but if they had been really converted they would certainly not have fallen back into sin so easily and in so short a time.

I should like to believe that all you, my dear young friends, who have gone to confession, have really made up your minds not to fall into sin again. Just think what a terrible thing it is to be in the state of moral death; by sin you become an enemy of God and you cease to be the brother of Jesus Christ. The character of the soul is goodness; and so beautiful is it that God loves it and takes special delight in it. You are by Baptism brothers of Jesus Christ, associates of the angels, of the Blessed Virgin and the saints in heaven. It is worth your while, then, my dear young people, to preserve with the greatest care the purity which you have again acquired by the use of the sacraments. Unhappy beings, if you become bad again, you are throwing away your last chance of salvation; it is very hard to rise from the state of sin to life; the devil will make every effort to hold on to you; he will redouble his watchfulness, will strengthen his net about you, will double the chains that already bind you. He will send his servants to you, who will surround you in such a manner that nothing good can come near you. He will make the life of a sinner seem most delightful, so that in your blindness you would not change it if you could. That is the great difficulty–that we are our own obstacles. We would not love God if we could, we would not serve Him if we could–such are the machinations of the devil to keep you in his service. So you see it is not as easy as you think to return to God. Without grace we can do nothing, and we cannot run to Him and stay away from Him at will. When God has seen you unfaithful to Him several times, after having been saved by His mercy, He will no longer give you those extraordinary graces which brought you out of your evil ways heretofore; now He will let you go, He will abandon you as a thoroughly worthless subject.

From these considerations you can gather that it is most important for us to be in the state of grace, for on it our salvation depends. It is also very essential never to think lightly of the state of grace, not to let it go and come as we often do in the Sacrament of Penance; we return again and again to confession accusing ourselves of the same sins, and thus we continue until the day of our death. When once we have risen as Christ has risen, to die no more, we also must begin a new life. If in the past we have been so fond of the world that we thought of nothing else, now in our new life we must live with Jesus Christ; we will renounce the world to flee from those unlawful pleasures, to lead a celestial life, to be in heaven rather than upon this earth. “If you have risen with Christ, relish the things of heaven, not the things of earth.” Do not run after the pleasures of this world with such a relish; look for the joys of heaven, pray to God, use the sacraments frequently, and hear the word of God; then this new life will also be a resurrection for you, a glorious day; and will foreshadow the day on which you will be crowned with the crown of perseverance.

[ofasturias]

BACKGROUND 

{ death cw, child death cw }

Born in the midst of tragedy, Cécile was the second child and only daughter of duke René de Guise and Therese d’ Anjou, princess of France and sister of the late King Ferrant. Her birth came only a few weeks after the passing of her infant brother; another victim of the plague that was ravaging the land at the time. Heartbroken and mourning the loss of his firstborn and heir, the duke failed to find any joy in the birth of a daughter, at first. His wish for an heir was granted a few years later with the birth of twin boys. At a very young age Cécile was taken to court where she served as companion to the princess of France (née Tsarina of Russia) and placed under the guardianship of queen Hellicent. Being brought up alongside her royal cousins, Cécile received a well-rounded education but her tenure at court was interrupted when another wave of the plague hit France. Cécile, her mother and two brothers were sequestered at an abbey for their protection until it passed.

After her return to Paris and her coming-of-age, Cécile was introduced and instructed under the guidance of her mother in a whole different aspect of life at court. She studied philosophy and perfected her languages while heeding her mother’s advice on courtly affairs. Her “training” was indicant of her own and her family’s ambition and high expectations. Banquets, festivities, innocent flirtations and politics of court came into sharp focus. Soon enough whispers of betrothals to French and foreign noblemen, even some connecting her to her cousin, began to fly in the halls of Saint-Pol. Her mother’s ancestry and her father’s high place among the French nobility made the possibility of a good match a near certainty. Their aspirations were realized when the crown had need of a French noblewoman to pave the way for an alliance with the exiled Aragonese court. However, instead of the Prince of Viana, heir to the throne and of a similar age with Cécile; she was betrothed to his uncle and married within the year. Exile didn’t quite agree with her and the first years were challenging, especially if one considered her previous circumstances, but since then she has risen to the occasion following the king’s and queen’s untimely deaths.

PERSONALITY

As a child, lady Cécile was the apple of her parents’ eye. Her mother instilled a sense of pride in the young girl on account of her noble blood. It was on that note that she was introduced early at court and given a place in queen Hellicent’s household. Often described as a “vivacious and spirited young lady”, her charm arose primarily from the deep-seated confidence in her conduct and accomplishments causing her to thrive under the praise offered generously by courtiers and tutors. Aside from her vitality and good manners, the princess also possesses the temperament and arrogance to back her royal upbringing and sense of self-importance. Passionate in her loves and hates, Cécile is very generous with her feelings but at the same time expects them to be reciprocated; be it loyalty, fondness or respect.

TIMELINE

1432 :: Birth to the Duke and Duchess of Guise {DIJON, FRANCE} 1439 – 1446 :: Placed under the wardship of Queen Hellicent {PARIS, FRANCE} 1446 – 1449 :: Plague outbreak. Sequestration to St. Saviour's Abbey {ÉVREUX, FRANCE} 1449 – 1453 :: Tenure as lady-in-waiting to {Princess of France {TBD}} {PARIS, FRANCE} 1455 :: Betrothal and marriage to {Prince of Asturias} 1456 :: Birth of {Fransisco of Aragon} 1458 :: Lisbon Summit {LISBON, PORTUGAL} 1459 :: Parisian Summit {PARIS, FRANCE}

MOCKBLOG.

PINTEREST BOARD.

INTRODUCTION

What current conflicts does your character face?

THE PRINCES OF VIANA. The burdens and dangers of reclaiming the Aragonese lands had fallen mostly on her husband’s shoulders even before the death of his brother, the King. {The Prince of Asturias} is taking all the risks but dwelling in uncertainty about whether he, and by extension Cécile herself, will reap the fruits of said efforts. By law of succession his nephews, {the Princes of Viana}, take precedent over him on the throne. {The Prince of Viana (1)} has no interest in ruling or stepping into his role as heir but that disposition might change once the dust settles and there is always the matter of his younger brother. As a result, she ponders all possible courses of action - legitimate and illicit - to ensure her husband prevails but she is hesitant to voice her concerns to him out of fear of alienating herself and being accused of seeding discord among them at such trying times.

HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF. Her mind keeps drawing parallels between the Trastámaras and Anjous. The falling out of her own cousin, {the King of France}, and his uncle serves as an example of what the future may hold for {the Prince of Asturias} should his position as head of the family and claim to the throne be challenged by his nephews. Cécile is concerned that after the prince regent’s failed coup and treason, {the King of France} might not support her husband’s ascend to the throne once it is reclaimed. The fact that {the Princess of Viana} is the new French queen only adds to her worries that France’s support will shift towards the young princes once Aragon is under Trastámara rule.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

A TEST OF LOYALTY. Living in hiding, by the grace of other people’s charity has begun to sour the title of “princess” she bears. Returning now to familiar grounds has only accentuated the lows of living in exile and enhanced her well-concealed frustration with her current circumstances. Cécile prays for the family’s success in their efforts and longs to make herself indispensable. Should the opportunity arise to prove herself in their pursuit, she will make the most of it and assert any and all influence the noble name of de Guise holds in French court to shift the wind in her husband’s favor. Likewise, any further hardship or obstacle in their way; testing the limits of her loyalty and the extends she would go to to ensure her family’s ascend back on the throne would be very interesting to explore.

MARRIAGE. { subject to changes } Despite being married for a few years now the prince and princess of Asturias have been away from each other more often than not whether due to the numerous and long campaigns {the Prince of Asturias} has led or the court’s often and sudden relocations. Regardless of this, they present a united front and Cécile admires his resilience and strength. However the affairs between husband and wife might differ greatly behind closed doors, especially those who might have grown apart. But now is the time for peace or so it seems. Perhaps these last two summits in Lisbon and now Paris will provide the perfect opportunity for them to be reacquainted with one another.

[thebadgerclan]

An Ocean Away

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Requested by @mrs-brekker15

Summary: Nikolai will do what he must to keep you safe...

A/N: Came up with the plot to this as I was falling asleep last night lol

Nikolai sighed as he pinched his brow, leaning back in his chair.  The letter on his desk was written in scarlet ink, so dark it looked like blood.  “I have tried diplomacy, princeling, and yet, you resist.  My desires are clear,” it read.  “I have made several offers, you resist.  I have dabbled in a bit of violence, you resist.  I would have thought that the marks I left on your precious princess would have been enough, but alas, I was wrong.  I thought the letters I sent her would be enough, yet you proved me wrong again.

“So now, I come to you with an ultimatum.  Give me the funds I require to save our country, or the next letter you receive will be written in your Y/N’s blood.  I eagerly await your response.  -General Kirigan.”  The threats had been coming in for months, and through it all, Nikolai thought he could protect you.  But he was wrong.  Letters promising dismemberment, torture, death, all delivered to you.  And not just to the palace; they were on your pillow before you went to sleep, they were under your breakfast trays in the morning.  Nikolai had no idea how they were getting here, but one thing was for certain: the Grand Palace wasn’t safe anymore.  

He knew what he had to do, but the thought ripped his heart out.  But Nikolai had to keep you safe; if he failed to do that, then what was he doing with his life?  So, it was with a heavy heart that Nikolai picked up a pen and set it to paper, tears filling his eyes as he wrote.  You wouldn’t be happy, but this needed to be done.  For your safety, for the promise of coming home to you, Nikolai would do what he had to do.

***

“What?”  “Love, I know it’s not ideal, but I have to keep you safe.”  You were in disbelief, but in the back of your mind, past the slight anger and sadness you felt, it made sense.  Nikolai was sending you away, to Novyi Zem to lie low until things died down.  The Volkvolny was departing tomorrow, and you’d be on it, crossing the True Sea, away from your husband.  “Y/N, look at me,” Nikolai said, and you did, teary eyes meeting his.

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.  If he hurt you… Saints, I can’t even think about it.  I love you, Y/N, and I don’t want to send you away, but I have to do this.”  “I know, Kolya,” you responded, stepping into his embrace.  “I understand.  But… this isn’t forever, right?”  “No!  No, of course not, love.  I can’t be sure how long it’ll be, but you’ll be home, I promise.”

The next morning, before the sun had even risen, you were strapping yourself into the Hummingbird, wearing peasant roughspun, your hair tucked under a cap.  Nikolai wasn’t with you; it would be too dangerous for him to be seen leaving the palace.  Your goodbye this morning was emotional, with both of you shedding copious amounts of tears and being unwilling to let go of the other.  But you had, and as the Hummingbird rose into the air, you felt more tears falling, quickly dried by the chilly morning air.

***

You were in the captain’s quarters, the whole room having touches of your husband everywhere.  You sat on the edge of the bed, running your hand over the soft blanket.  Your heart cracked, you missed your Nikolai.  It would take just over a week to get to Novyi Zem, where a jurda farmer was waiting to take you in.  “An acquaintance from my time in Ketterdam.” your husband had explained, and that was enough for you.

Privyet knocked on the door, peeking his head inside.  “Y/N?” he said, and you looked up, eyes red and puffy from crying.  “Yes?”  “Nikolai asked me to give this to you once we were out of port.”  He handed you a letter, and you took it with a smile, and Privyet ducked out, leaving you alone.  You broke the seal, and the looping scrawl of your husband bared itself to your eyes, which greedily ate up his words.

“My beloved, If you’re reading this, then Privyet actually listened to me for once.  I know you’re not exactly pleased with this plan, but neither am I.   But with Colm, you’ll be safe, and that’s all I can ask for.  I’ll try to write as often as I can and let you know what’s going on, but letters will take time to get across the True Sea and to you.  So, I’ve come up with an admittedly brilliant solution.

“In your bags, you’ll find a box of letters.  If you were wondering why I was up all night last week, this is why.  About half of them are dated: ‘Open on August 15th’ and so on, but the rest are more general: ‘Open when you’re feeling sad’, ‘Open when you can’t sleep’ (there are a few of those, my love, I know how you are).  And yes, there are a few more… adult letters, and I’d advise you to open those when Colm is out of the house.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be honest, I don’t know when it’ll be safe for you to come home, but I promise you, you will come home.  He can’t hurt you over there, and that alone will help me sleep at night.  Letters with updates will take longer to get to you, but the letters you already have are for you when you’re feeling down or are missing me.  I love you so much, Y/N, and even though you’re asleep in the next room right now, I miss you like crazy already.

“It might kill my pen to write this, but I’ll do it anyway: I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you… let’s pretend I wrote that a million more times.  Y/N, know that every waking moment, I will be thinking of you, my darling.  I love you more than I could ever tell, and I will love you for the rest of my life.  Yours forever, -Nikolai.”

More tears rolled down your cheeks as you read your husband’s letter, heart skipping several beats.  Once you’d calmed a bit, you rose, walking across the cabin to your bags, finding the box of Nikolai’s letters.  They were in orderly columns in the wooden box, labelled in black ink in Nikolai’s penmanship.  You fought the urge to tear each of them open right now, and shut the lid, holding the box to your chest.  Even if you were thousands of miles apart, Nikolai was still with you.