Noctisardor Bypass [m] ave verum corpus

sorry eb i know we have our other one still but i just have so much muse LMFAO no rush on this! keeping vague timeline wise <3

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: grossness later in thread y'all know how it is

andras built his chapel from nothing.
the giant was where he chose for the procession. he spent an entire afternoon plucking wildflowers and scattering them beneath the shaded base. the stream, too, was set with rosepetals and christened with fresh wild yarrow, dancing along the rocks and glittering with droplets in the sunlight. on the bank laid skinned meat and a handful of sweet berries, plucked from the pharmacy and fermented just for an occasion such as this. filtering between leaves was now the sunburst glow of evening.
it was delicate. intimate. holy.
the father's head tips back in a call for @Heda, chest thudding with a long dormant anticipation.

making some assumptions! <3 tags for ref!

@Druid had left rivenwood to isolate herself, and heda did not think she had experienced such a loneliness since the death of caracal. she was on autopilot,
hunting for the children and quietly answering their questions.
more than once she had laid inside the den of dawnleaf, crying out, asking god to please protect druid, to not do this. to not take more.
she tried not to think of @Anselm at all, forcing herself not to avoid him, despite the fact that every tendril of his pathways twisted her spirit with the seed of rejection.
the giant, rendezvous and now altared place, was where she found amadeo.
vulnerable, she tried to toss off the veil of her sorrow, golden eyes moving over the glowing evening light which illuminated the beauty of his offerings.
the scent of roses were in her nose when she finally glanced curiously at amadeo, warm despite the strain on her pale features.

what has happened?
something was wrong. he had not seen heda in only a few days, and in that time — she changed. she is sallowed and vulnerable, metaphorical robes drawn over her chest and yet revealing a sliver of olive skin. something was wrong; truly wrong.
which meant andras had an opportunity.
he invites her to sit with him, gesturing to the meat and to the berries. i believe i am meant to say peace be with you, he tries to form a light tone, create safety in the soiled and tense air. but you do not look so peaceful.

she was not sure what to say; her eyes fell with appreciation upon the prettiness of the repast, but her stomach was too put upon by her own mental convolutions to consider eating. 
anxiously worrying the stem of a flower between her forepaws, heda tried to think of what excuse she could give to cover druid — but she did not need one.
"my last oldest children, they've gone, in the night. it's just the boys and i now." ezra and gideon and their failure of a mother.
tears spilled crystalline down her face; "why did god give me so many blessings, so many children to love, if he was just going to take them away one by one? why did he give me this heart," heda sobbed, "if he was just going to break it again and again?"
and now, poor fool she felt she was, the red-nape was crying for anselm too.

within seconds, it seemed, heda was crying, and if she were anyone else, he would have struck her.
instead, he reaches for her, guiding her slender face toward his chest in an embrace, resting his head tenderly atop her own. he breathes in the saltpine of her scent and when he closes his eyes, he can almost feel shaba.
uncomfortable as it was to have a female release their feminine emotions unto his grace, he allows it for a time, listening to her wavering voice. he almost feels a twinge of sadness for her, burning somewhere unknown, deep and low within him.
everything happens for a reason, he reminds her softly. god has a plan for you, heda. he does not want you to feel this pain. and you will not forever.

it felt so good to be held, to be cradled, to feel small and protected against the heartbeat of one who was stronger, who knew more. heda sagged with relief in his arms, her tears finding a crescendo as her nails curled into the fur of his chest — then a slackening, grief finding its gentle fade as her shoulders shook and the sobs quietly slowed.
"what plan, amadeo?" voice muffled somewhat. "a year of pain? how much m-more?"
and her questions were not rhetorical, not really; heda was clutching for something through the man, a wisdom that would allow her to suffer in peace. and this she could do, if only she knew that god would one day uplift her. 
the clock ticked a sullen sound.

her sorrow, her anguish, gilded with golden arrows. he drinks from it as if it is his lifeblood.
allow me to guide you, he says it gingerly, more a plead than a command. renew yourself. bathe in the water and be born-again. He will see it, see you, and He will reward your faith.
crickets sing their hymnals. the father pulls away in modesty, jaw grinding; after my wife died, and my kids left, i felt-- i was at my rock bottom. i had lost everything. my family, and my home, and-- for a year, i wished only to go with her. i roamed, i mourned. i almost-- i almost lost touch with God. but then;
i turned back to Him. and He brought me to rivenwood. to you. and i think, he reaches for her again, cups her slender jaw with a calloused palm. he brought us together to help one another.
vulnerable. tender. chameleon.
do you trust Him, heda? he asks, breath caught tight in his throat. do you trust me?

hope, so honeyed, mingled with the bitterness upon her tongue. hope, the taste of which was undeserved. heda gazed steadily up at amadeo, and her eyes were filled with the fear of it, the unsurety, and yes, the desire for the golden thing which he held upon roughened palms and offered now.
she wished to be remade, to be held like this again and again; heda's lashes fluttered, the corners of her eyes tightening in the near-painful pleasure of his caress upon her cheekbone.
"i trust god," she managed at last, for what other choice did she have but to trust in him?
amadeo's pain was familiar, and there was such a need in heda to be guided; "i trust you."
the silence that held was — comforting. 
she knew she would need to seek out anselm, but she shoved his eyes so far from her mind, lifting her own delicate paw to cover that of amadeo as he held her face upturned to his.
if god had a plan, then let him be this.

she, a moth; he, a spider. she looks at him as if he holds the key to the universe in his teeth, and he swallows it as he holds her stare.
she is his, whether she knows it now or not.
i'm glad, heda, he dips his muzzle down against her temple, almost daring to kiss the soft weakness of her skull. let me help you. come here.
the creek babbles behind them, waiting eagerly to embrace the desperate maiden; to rid her of all the tragedy which seemed to permeate her, to make her new.
andras can see it now, how she'd look by next spring; flower petals strewn about her billowing nape, ripe with new young which will be born with the mark of the Savior. for she is not shaba, and she will not be treated as such, he decides now; she —
is the Holy Mother.
he guides her down until she is seated with her back turned to the waters. tenderly, intimately, he smooths down the flyaways at her cheeks, dries her eyes, caresses her slender shoulders.
you look heavenly, he murmurs, and his smile is earnest, light peeking through a cracked door. are you ready?

it felt good, also, to be guided; to be arranged and posed and gazed down upon with a reverent affection that sent her heart into a gallop. anselm had never looked at her this way.
and neither had caracal. not like this. with love, always, with reverence, often, with adoration, each day.
this was different. heda tasted amadeo's worship in the air, and the force of it loosed her thin shoulders into a visible shiver at his light touch.
her skin was alive, alive as she did not think it had before, and her slim head bobbed in an earnest nod, offering a soft "yes" before mouth unhinged itself at the roil of sensation beneath her skin.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: cracks my fucking KNUCKLES this is gonna be a doozy >:D cw for the most sacrilegious baptism u are ever going to witness; suggestion/innuendo abound, general delusional fuckery

that utterance was all that was needed.
the father feels the heat beneath her skin, the way it practically melts him; every cell in his body tells him to devour her, and yet he mustn't! he cannot, not yet! but oh, lord, it is clear in his eyes in that moment as his modest veil falters. the tremor of her supple skin, the way her jaw falls open — he could fall to his knees right then and there and worship her as she so deserved, this wondrous godhead who had fallen graciously into his lap.
heda was no concubine. not even a mere wife. she was woman, the woman; such a glorious personification of the Virgin; and he would own her in entire.
he exhales a wonderfully husky breath, peeling away to lower his head between his elbows as he begins.

hear the words of our Lord;

all authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
go therefore and make disciples of all nations,
baptizing them in the name of the Father
and of the Son
and of the Holy Spirit,
and teaching them to obey everything that i have commanded you.
and remember, i am with you always, to the end of the age.

O Lord, i present to you heda redhawk, who brings herself forth to receive the sacrament of baptism. beloved of God, you stand before Us, and i ask you, therefor, before Him, to reject evil; to profess your faith in Our Lord; and confess to the faith of the church. do you, dear heda, renounce sin and the power of evil in your life and in the world?
will you be a faithful follower, and through worship and service, seek to advance His will here and upon the world?
do you promise to obey, to be an example of His grace and character, to be a devoted disciple, to accept your purpose as His child as long as you shall live?
and if she is to answer yes, to tell him that she does and that she will, he will proceed.
he raises a paw, caressing, anointing; his touch roves from her forehead to her shoulders and to her breast; if she will allow, he brushes her eyes closed for her. heda, child of the covenant, i baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
one strong arm wraps around her waist, her pulse hammering against his own. he watches as her head disappears beneath the current and diligently he pulls her up again, the very same way he had done to tens of his followers before; but this time, it is different.
in baptism, you are sealed by the Spirit and marked as a daughter of Christ forever. in the name of our Lord, you are now received into His council, His family. joyfully, we receive you.
where normally he would by now have released a Child from his embrace, he cannot seem to remove himself from her. he stands frozen, awestruck, a guttural whine of pure, primal want released from under his breath.

:O! <3

amadeo was consumed by all all-righteous fervency which swept heda with its beautiful anticipation. if there was ever a moment in which she had truly felt pure, truly felt new, it was this one.
he spoke with such wisdom that she felt as though this flowered bower was indeed a sanctuary inhabited only by he, by she, and by god. rapturous, hanging upon each movement offered by the holy man.
yes, the first time, heda redhawk ready to receive the sacrament of baptism;
yes, and she felt the leap of faith inside her as fierce and as radiant as it had been that first day she knew that the living word moved within her.
yes, yes to obedience, yes to herself subsumed in sacred service to the god who had never forsaken her, never left her side, and heda knew it now.
forehead; shoulders; breastbone; she quaked again at the intimacy of that gesture and shut her eyes again.
a pair of heartbeats galloping as he lowered her beneath the water, and pulled her up through the blessed deluge to him again;
we receive you.
but heda knew the look in his eye, sensed that beyond the zealotry which bound them with bloom-fragrant bonds, there was more to the way he held her so easily in the crook of his arm, and gazed down into her face with such an all-knowing intensity that she could not look away for any reason.
"i receive you."

i receive you
the elder eagle nearly snapped in that moment, nearly fell away to the desire which raged in a visceral and primal way he had never felt for any female before. this was different for him as it was for her; so, so different; she submitted wholly to him so readily, his reverence slicing through her like a hot knife through butter. it was delicious, this burning, and if he could he would capture this energy in a jar and preserve its righteousness for all eternity.
amadeo, andras, prophet, god-mouth.
i receive you
you are radiant, discepola, oh, he cannot control himself! his desires are unleashed innocently in the form of tiny peppered love-bites to the lobe of her ear, her jaw, her shoulder. look at yourself, heda. look at how He made you, he reaches for her hand and guides it down the length of her torso, over her thighs. i receive you.
how disgustingly sinful it would be to ravish her here, hair still soaked with droplets of holy water, and yet he cannot stop himself from considering it with a breathy sigh.

innocently, while the silver fire rushed through the wicker framing of her chest. too often heda counted the men she had been with, castigating herself for each act of failure and desperation which had sullied her after caracal.
but in this moment there was an accompanying comprehension, that only amadeo held the surety of experience behind his action.
enraptured, frightened; she went rigid in shock as his hand covered her own and she felt the controlled tick of his teeth upon her skin.
a moment more; she might have —
heda broke the humming serenity of the hot moment with a single, chaste backward step, one so reluctant that it could not called deliberate at all.
"and what — what does god say to you about —"
about us
about me.
her eyes asked that amadeo pull the stuttering cord from her mouth and translate the words into something coherent, for this close to him, her waist still wrapped in the strength of his arm, she was anything but.

she removes herself just enough to make room for divinity between their chests, and amadeo is almost grateful for this. it was intelligent on her behalf, and grants him a brief moment of clarity from the ravenous hunger which tore through his conscious mind.
and she looks at him with such piety, even still! his tongue wets his lips as he draws away from her beating pulse, the gunmetal of his eyes flecked with blue-flame in the dusk.
He tells me that you have faced much tragedy and pain in your life, his tone is even, chaste. as have i. and i believe He called me here to be with you, to help you see your true potential. as a woman, as a mother, as; wife; he mouths the sacred word, the syllables falling silently, breathlessly from his tongue.
you deserve to be cherished, and to be guided, and to not live with guilt or shame plaguing you. you deserve the children that He has gifted you; you deserve all of the children that you could ever want. because their grief and their troubles are not your fault. i-- i see you with your boys, and you are a wonderful mother, heda. you deserve a man who sees this within you.
his countenance is pleading, whittled down to something truly vulnerable as if he were an acolyte kneeling in the pew. i have been drawn to you from the moment that i met you, and i have-- always felt it was God telling me that you were meant for me.

rapt once more, each word of his own held between trembling hands;
woman
mother
wife.
clear as day she heard it! surely this was of god, this leaping and harmonious glissade between them. amadeo's words overwhelmed heda in a glorious way; she truly had to listen with great effort, great effort as her mind skipped about in shock and surprise, want and worry.
i'm not ruined? she wanted to ask, tremulous and soft-eyed, searching his face for any hint that he was lying, that he only said it for his own reasons. no one had ever communicated the sense of ruination to heda; it was her own mind, and her own mind said she deserved nothing.
meant for me.
the tears came but they were silent and ones of awe rather than pain;
quite overcome, she allowed herself to touch amadeo, only the hardness of his shoulder. his body was a contrast to the gentle sound of his voice, though she did not give herself more time to contemplate further.
"if god has said it —"and heda hated how weak her voice felt! "then we should obey."
her eyes conveyed a not-quite-sense of readiness, one that wanted to be more but not — there were things to do. to say.
but her chest swelled with anticipation. would amadeo guide her through the waiting? she wanted to be — better, for him.

>:D

but he was not.
at one time, he might have been, but this certainly was no longer the case now; the line between andras and amadeo blurred, and with every passing moment he grew more and more okay with it. it was the chorus of angels which sang harmonious in his ears whenever he looked at her; it was the golden lips of his devotion that whispered in his ear!
only she knew his gentleness. only she knew his sincerity. shaba had never even seen this mercy from him — and to him, this could only mean one thing.
he sweeps away the tears which darkened her lovely face, a smile unfurling until it reaches his eyes. sei così bella, he murmurs, reaching now to cup the back of her neck. i would be the most blessed man in the world if you would be my wife, heda.
but he notices it, her apprehension, and suddenly he remembers the scowling, cold face of anselm. surely that is where her mind wandered now. he wonders if he should comment on it, and if he were a worse man perhaps he would have; but the holy creature which he held now in his arms was worth the cost of his conscience. his gaze is soft, averting from hers as if he were giving her silent permission to do as was needed.
as long as he got her in the end — and, if he were lucky, in name, for now.

marriage.
it dropped her belly and clenched her heart; she stared at him with wavering shock, as if each small comprehension built into a larger one.
had she ever been so intensely desired before?
the newness of it so overwrought heda that it was almost as if she had only lifted the veil; the veil upon how deep her own desires could run.
and so heda did not say yes one way or another; they communed in silent holiness that there was more to be done before the purity of her promise could not be compromised.
unable to do more than gently touch his shoulder, heda turned and was away on timorous steps, looking back twice to see his muscular figure silhouetted against his shrine, his eyes devout upon her.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: gross, implied sexual activity (god there are so many mature warnings on this i'm so sorry to any onlookers i fucking hate this man)

purity, such a fleeting notion.
the breaking of a hymen could come about at any moment, and so, physically, why did it matter who she had lain with before when her spirit yearned for his? when, under the eyes of their lord, she was Virgin anew; bathed in golden light and draped in silk, the curves of her body formed in the image of a saint? and, even still, it was clear to him that her carnal desires had never truly been woken, been tested, by anyone other than him as he did now, focusing intently on the way her palm flexes against the steel line of his shoulder.
he smiles at her with the secure notion that she will come to him when she is ready, when the cuckoo has been removed from the nest.
he mourns her as she parts from him, watching almost tenderly the slender curve of her back and the loveliness of her long legs, the pluming curve of her tail. he stays exactly as she leaves him for a time, savoring the downy-soft scent of her which lingers upon his chest.
as the sun fully sinks behind the horizon and he is sure that he is alone, he resigns to the fact that his own touch will have to do; the pathetic, lonely ritual of mumbling a sacred name high-pitched under one's breath, and when he is released from heaven's clutches, he gazes down at the stained earth, the clouded water. shuddering, shell-shocked and stiff-limbed, his gaze travels skyward until he can see clearly the star of the north. the prayer that is muttered is scarcely enough to create sound, only communicated in labored breath:
bring her to me, Lord God. bring her to her creator.