Christian Pens: Christian Tales From Assorted Fandoms

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chapel	Magnificent Seven's Josiah and Ensemble in Title: "The Lord's Work" Author: Kat Lee Rating: Soft R/M Summary: Doing the Lord's work always has its rewards. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. Author's Note: It didn't come out as well as I liked. I couldn't write the idea when it first came, and it's been way too long since I last wrote for these boys! I've got to find some inspiration to do more Mag. 7 soon! A total of twelve heads whipped immediately to the dusty ground when the rattling sound started. Horses began to buck while their riders tried to hold them steady. JD and Nathan were thrown; only Vin managed to stay astride his steed with seeming ease. Quickly grabbing his shotgun, the tracker called to his horse while simultaneously firing. The rattling stopped, and the remaining horses eased. "Reckon they'll be all right?" Nathan was quick to assure the others, as well as himself, that his horse would be waiting for him at the post before his room while JD seethed, "I don't care if she is! She knows better'n that! She could've thrown me right on that snake!" "Speakin' of which," Nathan counseled, making a face, "JD, don't look at it." Vin and Buck both shook their heads, knowing that those words would make the Kid look more than anything else. JD quit dusting off his breeches and did exactly that. His brown eyes grew almost as round as his bowler hat as he gawked at the sight before him. "The -- The snake didn't do that, did it?" "Nah," Vin drawled, knowing no other way to tell the Kid but the truth. "You know, the Indians eat fried lizard," Buck spoke as he offered his hand down to JD. "But what fried it?" the Kid puzzled. "Sun," Chris spoke so the others wouldn't have to. "Damn heat," Nathan remarked. "This is the longest drought this area's ever seen." JD was still shuddering as Buck pulled him up behind him. "I wish it would rain." It was bad enough that his hair and skin were sticky with sweat, but now, he had no horse and his stomach was churning. He should have listened to Nathan's advice, but he couldn't tell the others how the sight made him feel. He was supposed to be a man, and they didn't seem to have any trouble with it. Nathan kicked some dirt over the rattlesnake and the blackened lizard it had half swallowed. Then he took Vin's silent offer and mounted Peso behind him. Vin's blue eyes were trained on the sky. "Don't look like we gettin' any relief soon," he murmured. "Josiah's been working on it. So have the Indians," Nathan shook his head, "but they don't seem to be having any luck." JD didn't ponder his statement, but he was quick to complain again, the heat and other upsets having made him irritable, "Don't know why we gotta go after Josiah any way. Shouldn't we be heading out to stop that gang before they can reach town?" "Done told ya, Kid." Buck's mustache bristled. He was as tired, hot, and ornery as the rest of them, but anger would get them nowhere and only slow them down. "Josiah knows 'em. He's rode with them before." "Josiah rode with a gang?" He knew their burly friend hadn't always been a saint, and still wasn't, but he couldn't imagine the Preacher riding with such a ruthless gang. "Sometimes, you gotta take the church to the sinners." JD looked at Nathan in disbelief. "He tried to save the Hendersons?" "Josiah tries to save every one, kid," Chris spoke. "Now let's get to him so we can get this done and get back home." That was one idea with which everybody could agree. They rode on the rest of the way in silence. JD resumed his puzzled gawking when they reached Josiah's second home, the place he went to when he felt like he needed the kind of redemption he could only earn through punishment. "What the Hell's he doing?!" Vin grinned and, unlike the Kid, didn't bother to avert his eyes from the naked, dancing Preacher. Josiah's deep voice rumbled over the desert. The words he spoke were a native tongue, JD knew that much for he sounded just like the Indians in the nearby village, but the Kid still had trouble understanding why the Preacher would choose to be out dancing almost violently underneath the blistering, noon day sun. He was hot enough, but the one glimpse he'd seen of Josiah made him look like he had practically taken a bath in sweat! "Don't that beat all!" Buck whistled. "He's still rain dancing! How long's he been out here now?" "Two weeks," Vin drawled, dismounting. Chris' keen eyes surveyed the sky. "Don't look like his God's answering." "He won't give up. He might not even come with us," Nathan advised, dismounting and starting to walk toward their friend. "Josiah!" "He better come with us after we rode all this way!" Buck finally complained. Then, he had to hold on to his hat as a sudden gust of wind almost blew it off of his head. JD leaned back into the gust, keeping his arms around Buck's waist for balance, and smiled. "Air." He sighed happily. Nathan's broad grin lit up his face. He'd been calling to Josiah, who'd refused to answer him and continued on with his dance and song, but now, he hushed, watched, and waited knowingly. Vin tilted his head back and sniffed. "Won't be long now," he murmured, smiling from ear to ear. Chris scowled, but a wry grin even tugged at the corners of his dry mouth. "What makes you so sure?" His answer came, not in any of his friends' voices, but rather in the roar of thunder filling the sky with sudden, dark clouds. Josiah stopped dancing, smiled, and threw his gray head back. He smiled up at Heaven and was rewarded, at last, with rain pelting his face. "Doing the Lord's work," he called to Chris, "has its rewards." Chris grinned down at the Preacher as Buck, JD, and Vin now whooped, hollered, and danced their joy in the rain. Still smiling, Nathan clasped Josiah's shoulder. "So you gonna ride with us?" The Preacher wanted to say, "Always", but knew he couldn't. He nodded, though, and said what he could, "Until the Lord has other plans for me." He'd learned his lessons the hard way. He'd ridden many dangerous paths in his youth and even in more recent years, but all along, he'd tried to do the Lord's work, rather it meant attempting to save those who didn't want to be saved or putting a bullet in the heart of the unsaveable. He slung an arm around Nathan's shoulders and laughed gaily before calling to his horse. "Let's ride!" There were no more arguments for a while. Every one was simply too happy to finally be cool again. The End	Buffy the Vampire Slayer's Giles/Buffy with Title: "A God Who Cares" Author: Kat Lee Rating: PG-13/T Summary: Giles believes there must be a God who cares. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. He bows his head every night, never once forgetting the danger to which his dearest friend is about to open herself. She's come back from the dead twice now for him, but he still can't help feeling nervous when she goes out for patrol. He remembers sending her so often when she was younger and didn't want to go, but now a part of him almost wants to ask her to stay and let some one else do the slaying. He knows that that desire is juvenile and ridiculous. He knows they have both been called for their duties and must fulfill them. He knows that, no matter how many potentials are called by Willow's spell, Buffy is still the first Slayer and, thereby, must face the greatest dangers. He knows that, though she ran from her duty when she was younger, she now would have it no other way. He knows it's selfish of him to want to protect her as desperately as he does. It was selfish of them to call her back from beyond the grave and more selfish still to try to keep her from her destiny. His relationship with her, he thinks, looking back, has almost always been affected by some degree of selfishness. First, he wanted to enforce her duty upon her as his had been done to him. In those times, he rarely thought about just how much danger into which he was placing her. Her calling, after all, was that of the Slayer. It was her place to fight the Vampires so that others could live, her place to die to save innocents if and when it came to that, and yet when it had, he had been ready to do anything he could to keep her alive. Even that had been selfish. He hadn't wanted to face the inevitable guilt that would have come over him had he sent her to an early grave, but it had been more than that, too, he reflects as Buffy leans up on her tip toes and kisses him. It had been so much more. He hadn't wanted to face life without her in it, and he still doesn't. He never will. He grips a little too hard as they kiss good night. He wants to go with her, but he has others to train now. He can not defer their training entirely to Willow and Xander, no matter how much he would like to. He was there for her, and she's already told him that she wants him to be here now for the young Slayers. They need the best Watcher they can get, she tells him, and the best training; he is the first and provides the second, she thinks, with ease. But what she doesn't know, what he won't tell her, is that he wants to do just the opposite. He wants to take her away from this world, to steal her away from her calling, away from both their duties, and run. He doesn't want to lose her again; his heart can barely stand the thought of her dying a third time. Yet he should not have allowed Willow to bring her back. He should have let her stay there. They all should have let her stay in Heaven, in rest, in peace, in safety, but they were greedy. They wanted her. They wanted her friendship, her light shining in the dark world that had threatened to overcome them all in her absence. They could not let go. They could not release her, regardless of how much good it did her to be where she had been and how justly she had deserved to rest. He wants to tell her he's sorry still every time her big, blue eyes look up through his spectacles and into his soul. He wants to grovel at her feet, to beg her forgiveness, and yet, she's already given it to him. Like the young woman always thinking of others before herself whom she has become, Buffy gave him the forgiveness he could not verbally request long ago. She forgave him, but Rupert knows he'll never forgive himself. He'll never forgive himself for calling her back to this life where she has to lay her life on the line every night of their lives. He'll never forgive himself for placing her in as much danger as he still constantly does, and he most certainly will not forgive himself for letting her die not once but twice. He knows he's a wicked man. A part of him feels dirty every time she caresses him, and yet, he can not stop. He can not stop putting her into danger or leaning upon her for all his earthly needs. He can not stop wanting her, aching, every time they part, to feel her caress, to taste her sweet lips, or to just see her again. He can not stop the pride from swelling within him when she looks at him so trustworthy, and yet he also can not help but to wonder how she can still trust him after all he has done and everything he has allowed to happen to her. It's his fault she died. It's his fault that she was brought back, that she was stolen away from the Heaven which she deserves. It's his fault that she's suffered so many heartaches, endured so much punishment, and watched so many innocents die. It's his fault that her life is not better than it is. She tried to tell him all those years ago in the school library. She tried to tell him that she was done with slaying, that she did not care if Vampires ruled the world or who they killed. She tried to turn her back on her job, and Heaven help him, he should have let her. He should have packed up all of his books and returned to England or gone somewhere at least, somewhere far away from her so that she could live her own life, have her own happiness, and not have to endure so much heartache. Not have to endure him and the punishments he enlists upon her. "Giles?" He blinks, realizing at last that she's been talking all this time that he's been lost in his thoughts of self condemnation and guilt. "Stop," Buffy says sternly, and he looks at her, really looks at her for the first time that night. She wraps her arms around him, holds close to him, and gazes up pass his glasses into his soul as she alone possesses the uncanny ability to do with ease. "Stop beating yourself up." "I . . . " He starts to speak in his defense, but she shakes her head. "I know what you're thinking. You think it every night. You need to get some new thoughts, really. Think about me, in the morning, in the shower, just the two of us, hot and sweaty and getting clean and have fun." She grins as he swallows hard, the image her words have painted in both their minds stealing away his breath along with what pride he'd had left. She leans up on her tip toes and hugs him more tightly. "You're not forcing anything on me, Giles. This is the life I want. You're the man I want." She kisses him long and deep before slowly releasing him and turning away. "Bu-Buffy . . . " She turns back with a bold grin as he stammers her name. "It's all right, Giles. I'll be back before sunrise; I just gotta go stake those Vamps." She rolls her eyes just like she used to do at him all those years ago. "Really, you'd think they'd get smarter by now and stop trying to gain force where we Slayers are." Her gaze softens as her eyes meet his again. "I'll be fine, really," she persists. "You're barely have time to miss me." Then she's gone, running off into the night to meet with Faith, Angel, and Spike and leaving Giles' mouth hanging still partially open in a plea which he will not voice. It's the same plea that she didn't want to hear, with which she did not want to argue and so left before she could hear it. They know what she must do. It's the same time she had to do all those years ago, but yet instead of getting easier, watching her go running off into known danger only gets harder with each passing night. Giles touches the cross around his neck, a cross she once wore, and then bows his head just as he did all those years ago. He speaks the same prayer he always has since first sending her into danger, "Dear God, help us. Help us all. Help her. Bring her back alive." He used to wonder why he bothered, but now he knows. Somehow, it seems to work. Somehow, even though he had stopped long ago believing in a God who really cared, God does seem to care, at least for Buffy. He keeps her alive, and every time she dies, He lets them bring her back. He lets her live again for He knows the world needs her. They need her. Most of all, Giles needs her, and along with his prayer for her safety, he says another prayer, a prayer of thanks for lack of condemnation and for second chances that keep coming. He loves Buffy, truly loves her far beyond any love he's ever felt for any one before, and she does seem to love him, too. That love, though he still fears it wrong at times, continues to bless them, and she continues to come home every morning to him. He doesn't know if it's wrong or right. He fears he never will, but when she kisses him like she did scant minutes before, Giles finds still that, no matter how hard he tries to, he no longer cares. He loves her, she loves him, and as long as God keeps her returning to him, he'll keep believing in Him, in a God that does care for His people and wants them to be happy, in a God who still loves despite all the wrongs they've committed, in a God who does love him, who must love him, because He still gives him his Buffy every day. The End	dove	promise	future
church	X-Men's Nightcrawler with Title: "Fires That Burn" Author: Kat Lee Rating: PG-13/T Summary: Kurt needs a reminder. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. He stands alone in the observation booth and yet with a small group of people. None of them have looked at him today. No one seems to even be aware that he's here. For a change, that's perfectly fine for Kurt, and he's even encouraging them to continue forgetting his presence, having stepped back into the shadows. The darkness wraps around him as does his blue, furry tail. His arms are folded before him, but the blue palms of his three-fingered hands press against his sides which still ache from a fight two days ago. His yellow eyes watch the interaction of the students below while the other X-Men discuss their actions. Their voices float in and out of his ears. He's not listening, not paying them any mind, even while he watches the battle. It seems that all they do any more is fight. He understands their people are in an unspoken war for their survival against the very humans whom they also fight to protect. He knows they're doing good work. He understands that, if not for their constant battles, many more mutants would have died than the thousands who already have. But he's tired. He is, by nature and despite enjoying the occasional swordfight, a man of peace. He loves a God of peace, and he needs more peace in his life. Yet, it seems, that the X-Men have almost completely forgotten their old ways. They have so little time to teach or learn, and even less time to debate peacefully for mutant rights. They're always rushing off to one battle or another, and even when they're not fighting to save their lives, they're fighting here. They're fighting over who's doing what right or wrong or who gets to date Jean Grey or even just practice fighting for the real battles. Jubilee crows below as she knocks her opponent to the stone, cold floor of the Danger Room, but has she really won, Kurt wonders, his tail and ears flicking with the emotions battling inside of his heart and soul. Have any of them won anything truly in a long time? They're barely surviving, running from one battle to the next, never having any down time, time for themselves or to spend with those they love. When was the last time they sat down together to a meal as a family, or went to the movies, or went out partying? When was the last time the children dated, or Ororo took to the skies for pleasure? When did he and Kitty last indulge in fencing just for the pleasure of the sport and not in any way practicing to defend their own lives or save others'? He watches the other X-Men leaning forward, Wolverine grinning around his thick cigar and announcing,"That's my girl," and wonders if he's the only one that feels this way. Surely the others must be tired of fighting. Perhaps not Logan, whom Kurt knows is a warrior through and through, but Ororo, Jean, little Jubilee, Kitty, even Scott? As Jubilee and her partner exit below, another pair of opponents enter, just as intent on fighting each other as the last two. Kurt sighs and shakes his head forlornly as his friends take bets on who will win this match. Doesn't any one else see what they have become, too hardened to even enjoy a sunny Saturday such as today? He debates for a long time rather or not to relinquish the comforts of his own shadows and step forward, to try and pry them away from their battles, but as the third pair enter the Danger Room, he finally does so. "Elf." Logan glances up at him, and for a moment, Kurt feels a shiver run down his blue spine. It's as though the older man knows exactly what he's thinking, but from all the beers they've shared together in the past, Kurt knows that isn't so far from the truth and also isn't a danger. It's good to have some one know him as well as Wolverine does, some one with whom he can have an entire, soul-felt discussion while never speaking a word, but does Logan know what's happening to them all? Maybe it isn't happening to them all. Maybe Kurt's just tired. Maybe the others are going out when he's not seeing them, but honestly, there were three fights last night, four the day before, and an alliance with the Avengers, Spiderman, and Doctor Strange to save the entire galaxy the day before that. He can't be the only one weary of all the fighting. He can't be the only one here who's soul is so exhausted that if he has to fight some one again, ever, it will be too soon. "When'd you get here?" Logan asks, turning immediately back to the fight below. Kurt looks at him, puzzled, and then he realizes Wolverine hadn't even smelled him. He really hadn't known he was there, and yet, though Kurt seems to have just arrived to his friends gathered, nobody wonders about the lack of his brimstone which accompanies every teleportation he makes or the fact that the door did not open. He's been here a while, and yet no one knows. They are exhausted; they must be! "Mein fruends," Kurt speaks, "I vas zinking ve might forego ze rest o' ze training today and go to Harry's or perhaps see the new Pirate movie zat's just come out." The tip of his tail twitches. Part of him thinks he does not dare look at them with hope in his yellow eyes, and yet, he does nonetheless. Rogue swings a clothed arm around his thin shoulders. "Be honest, Kurt," she drawls, grinning. "Y'all just don't want me to kick yoah fuzzy tail, do ya?" "Nein. Nein," Kurt repeats, shaking his head. His tail whips; he shrugs. "I just zink ve could all use the break." Kitty and Ororo are both looking at him intently. Scott opens his mouth to speak in response to Kurt's suggestion. Kurt knows instantly that the X-Men's leader will denounce any reason not to train further for the next apocalypse, but a siren blazes through the mansion, cutting him off before he can speak. Kurt sighs. His head and tail both fall. In that moment, even his blue fur seems flat, but nonetheless, he turns and rushes with the others to the War Room where they find Psylocke, Professor X, and Jean Grey already waiting for them while the computer plays a reel of news footage. Kurt looks at the screen, still too tired, he thinks to care, but one sight at what's playing sparks something within him which he'd began to think was dead. The Professor is relaying the events, but Kurt barely hears him. His entire focus is on the two young mutants, the oldest of whom can not possibly be more than five, trapped inside a church while the Friends of Humanity burn it. The fire seems to flicker in Kurt's yellow orbs, but at the same time, he understands the message he is being sent and bows his head. What they do, even if it does require constantly running from one fight to the next, does make a difference. They're doing what is right for their people, for God's children, and that is the most important thing, no matter how exhausted they are. Zank you, Father, he prays, his long, pointed tail swishing with his silent anger. He reopens his eyes and looks back at the screen. Righteous fire burns within him as the physical fire begins to crumple the church. They will save those children and the House of God, and the Friends of Humanity will pay -- perhaps with their lives at some of their hands, though not Kurt's, and surely, in the end with their souls burning in Hell's eternal fires. I vill always do your vork. Aloud, Kurt speaks, his voice firm despite the emotions raging with him, "Let's go." Several of the others nod. "I'm ready to kill me some mutie haters," Wolverine growls, and Kurt notices he's bitten his cigar in two. A gentle breeze floats through the room. All eyes turn to Ororo, who's blue eyes look only into Kurt's yellow orbs for a moment. "When we return, I suggest a night out on the town for us all." "I think that wise," Charles speaks his agreement before Scott can complain about their training being interrupted. "We can all use some rest." "Yeah," Kitty rolls her eyes as Lockheed coos. "If the bad guys will let us." Kurt knows, somehow, in his heart, that they will. Tonight, the X-Men will party and relax together as the family they are, but today, they must save lives again. They turn and head out as the team they also are. Kurt's still smiling as they take off, because he knows this day is saved. The Lord is on their side, and the Friends of Humanity, and the Devil, so full of hatred, prejudice, and violence, that they follow, do not stand a chance. The End	Jesus	Original Dragon Characters with Title: "Give Him Your Show" Author: Kat Lee Dedicated To and with Humble Thanks Always To: Our All Mighty Father, God! Thank You for loving us so much and always forgiving us when we ask for it! Rating: PG/K+ Summary: If you give the Lord your show, you'll never really mess up. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. The baby dragon could barely keep himself calm as he bounced around the paws of his elder. He was so nervous and excited, both at the same time, that he just couldn't be still. "What's the matter, young one?" the elder asked. His voice was deep and gravelly and sounded, the baby thought, as though the mountains themselves were talking. "I can't believe the play's tomorrow!" "It is," the elder replied. "Time flies even faster than we can." "I know, Grandpa. You've said that many times." "It is no less true, rather said once or a thousand." The little dragon giggled. "More like a million!" "Is that so?" the elder queried. He wrapped an ancient, thinning wing around the youngster and pulled him close against his side. The baby giggled. "Yes!" "Even so, it is still no less true. Tell me, Barnard, are you ready for tomorrow's play?" The little dragon finally stilled. His head, wings, and tail lowered. "What's wrong now, child?" his grandfather asked in true concern. "Your beautiful, little, blue face is as long as my beard is gray." Barnard giggled. "You're funny, Grandpa!" Grandfather Dragon smiled, but his eyes remained full of concern for his grandchild. "something still troubles you, Barnard. Is it the play?" "Yes." Barnard curled his tail around his rear end. He didn't know why dragons curled their tails up close to them so often, but it did seem to bring a small sense of reassurance. "Why? Do you not think you're ready?" "No." Barnard pouted. Even his tail could bring him so little comfort now as he admitted shyly, "I don't think I'm ready." "What? You not ready? But you've practiced every day for the last thirty sunrises!" "I know." "You know your words, your songs, your part." "Yes!" Still, Barnard continued to pout. "You know your role well, so what is wrong, little Barnard?" "I'm scared," he admitted, and then he began to bluster. "I know dragons aren't supposed to be scared, Grandpa, but I am! What if I mess up?" His grandfather's laughter was deep enough to fill the longest valley Barnard had ever seen, but he wasn't laughing at him. Barnard looked up at him curiously. "First of all, Barnard, whoever told you that dragons aren't scared is very, very wrong." "It's okay for us to get scared?" "Yes, of course, dear one." His grandfather's wings hugged him close to his mighty, scaly body. "Why, even I have been scared before!" "You've been scared?!" Grandfather Dragon nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "Every time a human draws near or one of our family goes to close to the hairless things, I feel fear. I'm afraid, little one, for you and for our family and, yes, even for me. The humans are terrible beasts. They take what they want and will hurt anything and anybody to get what they want." "What do they want, Grandpa?" "Gold," the old dragon replied without hesitation. He snorted; Barnard watched a puff of smoke ring its way up into the early morning air. "And they think we dragons have plenty of it." He harrumphed. "That's a tale for another time, though, Barnard," he spoke sternly, knowing his grandson was not yet old enough to know the full horrors of humans and what they had done to their kind and family. He hugged him tightly, once again thanking God that he still had him. "Let's go back to your play. Why are you so afraid about it, Barnard?" The little dragon immediately became nervous again just thinking about putting on the play in front of all of his family and friends, their families, their families' friends, and all the neighboring dragons, too. His tail, with its three new and tiny spikes, slashed through the air. He bounced slightly as he shifted worriedly from one blue paw to the next. "You're afraid you're going to mess up," his grandfather remembered for him. "Yes," Barnard spoke shyly. The old dragon wound his long body down and around his grandson so that he could peer directly into his young, blue face. "Well, let me ask you this, Barnard: What does it matter if you mess up?" The baby dragon clearly wasn't expecting such a question. "Well . . . Well, I don't want to look stupid!" he exclaimed. "I'm an old dragon, Barnard," his grandfather told him. "My memory isn't what it used to be. Help me to remember. Why are we doing this play again?" "To help that other clan of dragons, of course, Grandpa!" the baby cried and giggled. "How could you forget?!" "Ah, well, like I said, little Barnard, my memory just isn't what it used to be." The old dragon smiled slyly as he wrapped a massive, blue paw around the little one and pulled him closer against his scaly body. His tail struck the ground playfully, but one of the spikes on the end of his long tail crushed a rock underneath it. Neither dragon noticed. "So what happened to these other dragons?" "They were attacked." The elder could feel the little one shivering in his paws. "By those horrible human monsters you always warn us about." "And how is the play going to help them?" Barnard's grandfather again prompted. "Well," the little dragon's tail swished as he thought hard about just how the play was going to help the other dragons, "we want to give them something to cheer them up, you know, help them forget about how badly they were hurt and how many of them were killed and how badly their clan was destroyed." His grandfather closed his eyes for a moment; his mighty tail lay quietly against the ground. He had a pain in his heart. He hated that his little grandson should already know such horrible words as "kill" and "destroy", but the humans had left them no choice. They couldn't hide the truths of the world in which they lived from their children or even their grandchildren. The young ones had to know why they couldn't go wandering off without an adult. They had to know how dangerous the two-legged, human creatures were and why they could never be seen by one. He opened his eyes again as Barnard gently grasped one of his old, leathery wings in his front paws. "What's wrong, Grandpa? Your wing was moving funny." "Arthritis," the old dragon replied, shrugging. He wouldn't let his grandbaby know that he had indeed been shivering from the horrors that he could not help remembering every time he thought of the human race. "So, this play of yours, Barnard -- " "Of ours, Grandfather!" the little dragon immediately corrected his elder, laughing again. "Come on! You know better! This play is ours! You've been helping me and the others learn our parts since Day One!" "That's true." The old dragon smiled again. "But this play, grandson, it's to help cheer up the other dragons, the ones who have suffered so cruelly at the humans' hands." "Yes." "So, really, what harm would happen if you did mess up?" "Well, I . . . " The little dragon made a face as he thought really hard again. It had seemed so important that he not mess up, and yet now that his grandfather asked him about it, he could think of no good reason why it should matter so much. "I don't want to be laughed at," he said finally. "But if they laugh at you, Barnard, then at least they're laughing, right?" "Yes. I guess so." Barnard's small wings shifted uncomfortably. He still didn't like the idea of being laughed at. "Besides, don't you know that those other dragons are going to be too upset from everything that's happened to them to notice if you slip up?" "I . . . I guess you're right." "Grandson, look up at the sky." The sun was beginning to set pass the first distant hills. "Who do you think makes the sun look so beautiful every day?" "I . . . " Barnard's tail swished again. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I never thought about it." "The same one who made you and me, Barnard, made the sun. He sets it on its travel every day. It looks just the way He wants it to. Have you ever seen it look ugly?" "No. There have been days I haven't seen it at all, but I've never seen it look ugly." The young dragon shook his blue, leathery head in thought. "Have you ever seen it rise in the west or set in the east?" "No!" Barnard laughed so hard that he rolled over onto his scaly back. "That would just be funny, Grandpa!" he cried, still laughing. "Everybody knows the sun rises in the east and sets in the west!" "Yes." His grandfather nodded thoughtfully. "But why, Barnard?" His mighty tail swished again. The little dragon stopped laughing and sat up. He looked thoughtfully back at his grandfather. "Because the Maker makes it do that way." His grandfather smiled. "Precisely," his deep, rumbling voice announced. "The sun lets the Maker have His way with it every day. That's why it never messes up." The baby dragon frowned again. "So what are you saying?" he asked. "That I should let the Maker tell me what to do?" "You know what to do already, Barnard. Just leave the rest up to the Maker. Give your show to the Maker. Give your life to the Maker, and He'll never let you mess up too badly." "But I could still mess up?" "But not badly," the old dragon stressed. "If you messed up, it would be for a reason, and something grand would come from it." "Like what?" the youngster puzzled. "Like a caterpillar, Barnard, and a butterfly. Remember when I showed you that caterpillar last Fall?" "Yes." "And we met him again this Spring as a butterfly?" "Yes." "Well, some animals might think that the Maker made a mistake when He made the caterpillar. They might think that that's why the caterpillar doesn't stay a caterpillar and becomes a butterfly instead." "But He didn't make a mistake, did He?" "No." The elder shook his head. "The Maker never makes a mistake, Barnard, so if you give your all to the Maker, if you let Him have his way with you and with your show, -- " "Our show." The baby blue dragon's little tail swished. " -- our show," his grandfather agreed, "you won't mess up. You might do something that you think is a mess up, but in the end, you'll see that the Maker had His reasons for letting you do whatever it is and that what you did, what you thought was a mess up, happened for a reason, for one of His reasons. Anything that comes from Him, Barnard, is always beautiful." "So what you're saying, Grandpa, is that if I do give the Maker my show and I give him me and I mess up, something beautiful is going to come from that mess up?" His grandfather beamed with pride and love upon the little dragon. "Yes," he rumbled happily. "Then," the baby dragon said, peering out at the setting sun, "I do. I give the Maker my show and me." "You're both going to be beautiful," his grandfather cooed, pulling him back against him in a hug. "I'm proud of you, Barnard, and I love you!" "I love you, too, Grandpa!" The little dragon was very happy that night and even happier the next day when the show did prove to be a success. He didn't mess up, and instead, by following his Maker's lead in his heart, he helped to make everybody around him happy. The End	redeemed	love
Bible	flood	Charmed's Piper Halliwell/X-Men's Nightcrawler with Title: "Demon In Church" Author: Kat Lee Rating: PG/K+ Summary: There's a Demon in Piper's church, or what might have happened if Piper had found the courage to enter her church back in Season One. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. She took a deep breath and finally turned the knob on her fifth trip back to the church. She'd kept coming ever since that first initial encounter after she'd become a Witch when lightning had almost struck her. Piper shook inside as she froze with her hand on the knob. Her eyes were shut tightly as she waited for lightning, thunder . . . something, anything bad, but nothing happened. Slowly, she cracked one brown eye open, then the next. Still, nothing had happened, and the church where she had spent some of her happiest childhood memories lay open before her. "Hello?" she called, peering around, but the Father wasn't to be seen. The church appeared empty, but yet, it didn't feel that way. It never had. She had always been able to feel a strong and welcoming presence within this hallowed halls for as long as she could remember. She gulped as she wondered again, fearfully, if the hallowed halls would burn her to a crisp on the spot if she stepped into them. She'd read so many books about Vampires being burned by crosses and churches, and she was no better than a Vampire. Okay, she admitted to herself, so she didn't suck blood, and she used her powers for good. But she was a Witch, even if she hadn't asked to be one. That meant, according to God and the Bible, that she was wicked, right? She had never done anything to hurt anybody and had instead sacrificed so much to save innocents, risking her life and those she loved time and again. Yet, she was supposed to believe that she was the evil one? Still gripping the doorknob as though it was a lifeline, Piper picked up a booted foot, started to step into the church, and stopped again. What if the Bible was right? What if she was evil? What if God wanted her dead? What if she stepped into the Lord's house, where she'd spent such happy times as an innocent child, and was killed on the spot? She'd never see her sisters again! She gulped again, still shaking inside. They needed her! Piper started to turn away, but a deep, welcoming voice called to her from somewhere within the sanctuary. "Do not fear, child. Come in. You are velcome here." She turned back around and peered into the church. The shadows were too thick for her to be able to see anything; the light of candles did little to help at this hour. She took another step as she wondered about the person to whom the German-accented voice belonged. None of the Priests or nuns she remembered had a German accent. She stepped closer again. "It's okay, child. Ve are all children of ze one God and velcome here." Was she? Was she really? She took one more step closer and finally saw the first sign of who was speaking to her. Bright, yellow eyes glowed at the alter. Anger immediately flushed Piper's being. She had been so worried about coming to her church, and yet, there was a Demon already here?! She entered with no more hesitation and rose her hands to the ready. She didn't want to fight in the Lord's house, but the Demon had no right to be on holy ground. She'd gladly vanquish this one, although she'd still prefer to lead it outside to do so. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Piper's breaths quickened. The creature was another kind of Demon, stranger and different than any of the many evils she and her sisters had fought since becoming Witches. He was covered, from what she could see, from the top of his head to the ends of his feet with blue fur! He wore a Priest's clothing, but a pointed, blue tail swished out behind him from underneath the robe's black hem. What had he done, Piper immediately wondered, fearful for her Priest, to get the clothes he now wore?! "Leo," she whispered urgently as she walked boldly further into the church. "Leo!" she hissed again when there was no answer. The Demon smiled at her. Piper's hands were still at the ready. She started to freeze him just as a familiar voice called to her. "Piper! What a pleasant surprise, my dear! How long has it been?" "Father, don't come any closer! There's a Demon in our church!" She did not realize that she had referred to the steeple as being their church, only that the Priest she had loved for years was in danger and the Demon before her was soiling the Lord's house. The Demon looked suddenly pained while, at the same time, her Priest smiled. "My dear, Kurt is no Demon. I know he appears a little . . . different . . . " "Different?! He has a forked tail!" "Very well. So he fits the stereotypical Devil appearance in which so many misguided people believe, but, my dear, have you forgotten that the Devil is actually a pretty being? He was the loveliest of all Angels before he fell. He even thought his beauty could outshine our Lord's majesty." The Priest had reached now, where Piper stood immediately before the blue-furred creature called Kurt, her hands still raised and her dark eyes full of mistrust. "I know Kurt very well, Piper. I've known him for years." The Priest clasped the shoulder of the being he called Kurt. Piper's eyes almost jumped out of her head at the sight. "We're old friends." He smiled at Piper. Piper's eyes darted between the two. She felt like demanding what had happened to her Priest and investigating to see if another Demon might have overtaken his body. But they were in church, where no Demon was supposed to go, and her old friend was smiling at her as though he'd never stopped. She was in church, she suddenly remembered, and she wasn't going up in smoke! "It's been a long time, Piper. Do you no longer trust my judgment?" "O-Of course, I do, Father. It's just -- " "I know." He patted Kurt's shoulder as his tail twitched again, then sighed deeply. "It is hard to overlook the way we are taught to perceive differences in others, but I assure you, my dear, that Kurt is no more evil than you or I. He is what is known as a mutant." "A mutant?" she repeated, doubt creasing her forehead. "I thought they didn't exist." She wanted to do a Phoebe and roll her eyes at her own self. How could she say such a thing, she silently reprimanded herself, when, in the last several months since her grandmother's passing, she'd seen and done countless things she'd thought impossible?! And how could she judge Kurt based on his appearance when she herself was supposed to be an evil Witch? Her Priest was rambling on about mutants, the reality of their existence, and how there were just as many good mutants as evil ones, but Piper was too lost in her own reverie to hear anything more than his last few sentences on the subject. "There are mutants who would gladly kill us, Piper, and any other human they come across, but Kurt is not one of them. He is one of a group of mutants, of heroes, who have gathered together to protect the whole world, no matter how much people like us, normal humans, hurt them." Normal humans, she thought. Yeah, right. How she wished she could be normal! But that would never happen again. There was no way to stop her birthright now that Phoebe had read the spell to return their powers and their grandmother was dead, taking the secret of how to stop them from being Witches to her grave. Oh, Grams, if you could only be here now! If you could have just told us -- "Piper?" The Father reached out and gently touched her shoulder. "Are you all right, my dear? I know this is a lot to take in . . . " "I've taken in a lot recently, Father," Piper admitted with a heavy sigh. She reached out and offered her hand to Kurt, meeting his eyes with her own without distrust in them for the first time. "I'm sorry. There is Good and Evil in everything, and I should remember not to judge a book by its cover, as the old saying goes." Her smile was tremulous, and again, she found herself thinking more than she spoke aloud. Could there actually be truth to that theory, that there was Good and Evil in everything? Could there be a good Demon somewhere? If there was, she'd surely never met one. "No harm done, fraulein." Kurt smiled as he took her hand. His gentle squeeze was warm and reassuring, but a chill raced through Piper as she realized that the man only had three fingers. She started to ask about it but stopped herself. It was rude to mention a handicap that had not been brought up for discussion. His lacking finger and thumb might be due to his mutancy or to some kind of horrible accident. "Piper, I've been meaning to talk with you for a while," her Priest again spoke, "ever since your grandmother's death . . . " His eyes peered solemnly into hers in an earnest exploration. "I know you've been troubled, my child, and have not seen you attend any of our services." "I-I've been busy," she said, dropping her hands to her sides. And troubled's putting it mildly. "I think I know." He looked to Kurt. "Will you excuse us, Father Wagner?" Piper's mouth almost dropped open. He was a Priest! "Ja. Of course." They started to part ways when a huge, crashing sound reverberated throughout the church from outside. "Merciful Jesus!" the Priest exclaimed and started running for the doors. Father Wagner disappeared in a thick, cloud of black smoke that left Piper coughing and gagging for a moment. She rubbed her eyes, desperately trying to clear them, and felt, rather than saw, her Priest grasp her arms. "I'm sorry, my dear. Father Wagner forgets himself. That cloud of brimstone comes with his mutant ability to teleport, which is to say that he can disappear from one place to appear in another." Piper's mind whirled as well as her senses. How did her Priest know all of this and take it so calmly?! She let him lead her outside, and only in the bright light of day did her eyes and nose stop stinging from the atrocious brimstone. "Father, help them!" her Priest cried out and then started praying fervently in the holy tongue amongst the crying and wailing of many other people while Piper was still removing the water from her eyes. Then, at last, she saw what he was crying about and froze everybody. "Oh God!" she breathed for an entire bus loaded full of children had just hit the back end of a semi. The big truck had turned to keep from hitting the children but evidently hadn't made it entirely out of the way. Both vehicles were now smoking, and there was no way to get to every one in time. "Leo! LEO!" They had to do something! They had to help! She couldn't let so many innocents die! "LEO!" Her White Lighter wasn't answering. How was she to save so many so quickly?! She couldn't! There was no way! She glanced to Kurt, who stood frozen with his mouth open, shining fangs fully on display and blue tail caught in mid-twitch. There was no human way! She threw her hands at him, unfreezing him. "We have to save them!" "Ja!" He didn't hesitate. He either didn't notice that she had everybody else still frozen, or he didn't care to take the time to ask. He simply teleported again, leaving her in a second plume of dark, stinking smoke, and reappeared on the bus. He grabbed two children and teleported back to her side. "Keep zem safe." He was gone again before she could speak. Piper shook her head, still coughing and dabbing at her eyes. There was no way he could rescue everybody, even with his teleporting ability, nor could she keep them all frozen for long! She raced to the truck, leaving her Priest frozen next to the still children. The two worked quickly, Piper removing the drivers while Kurt saved the children. When everybody was clear, the two heroes stood side by side, bent over and gasping for air. Piper looked up at Kurt, who was shaking slightly from the exhaustion of teleporting so many so quickly. "You are a hero," she breathed in admiration. And now that she wasn't looking at him like a Demon, she could also admit that he was kind of cute, too. "So are you," he said, smiling at her. "May I ask you somezing before you . . . before you release zem?" "I have the time around them frozen," she explained. He nodded as though it was just an every day occurrence for him. "Go ahead and ask me," she encouraged, wondering what on Earth he could ask her. "Vhy vere you scared to come into ze church earlier? Vas it because of me?" She shook her head quickly. "No. I'm not a mutant, Kurt." "I know," he said, his yellow eyes glancing at the pentagram she wore. "You're a Witch." "And you don't hate me?" "Do you hate me, fraulein," he questioned in return, his tail giving a weak whisp, "because I am a mutant?" "No, but I -- I kind of did when I thought you were a Demon." "Many make zat mistake, just as many mistake ze powers zat zey are given as being from ze Devil. Satan has no power, fraulein, ozer zan zat vhich God gives him. Our powers, both my mutantcy and your Witchcraft, do not come from ze Devil. Zey come from ze All Mighty." "But -- " she started in confusion. "All good zings do. He gives us zis powers so zat ve can help ozers, so zat ve can save lives as ve have here today. Ze Devil caused ze wreck, but because ve vere here, because God gave us zis powers, no one vill die because of it. He vill gain no more souls here today." "What about Exodus 22:18: "Thou shall not suffer a Witch to live"?" Kurt's tail whisked. The people around them unfroze and began to look around each other in confusion. "Is zat vhy you vere so afraid to enter God's house again?" "Yes," she answered honestly, not realizing that her Priest was coming up behind her. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "Ack, leibling!" Kurt cried, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, reassuring hug. "So much has been lost in translation," he explained, his tail swishing fervently with his emotions. "So much of ze Bible is not ze vay our God intended it and has hurt so many!" She clung to him, no longer caring that he looked like a Demon or that she barely knew him. Her tears finally started to run freely down her face. "Then what did he mean? He doesn't want me dead?" Kurt moved his arms from around her waist to clasp her face. His yellow orbs peered into her despairing, brown eyes. "Nein," he spoke firmly. "Our God does not vant any one dead or to suffer. Ze Bible vas first vritten in Hebrew. Ze original scripture did not use ze vord "Vitch"; it vas not even known to ze people at zat time. Ze original vord, to describe zat vhich God vanted dead, vas m'khashepah, vhich meant a person vho did use magic, ja, but used magic to kill, to do evil. You, leibling, are a good Vitch. He does not vant you dead!" "Piper, I'm so sorry," her Priest cut in, placing a hand on her back. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about." She turned away from Kurt's embrace so that she could look up at the Priest who had originally baptized her so many years ago through her tears. "You knew?" she asked in disbelief. He nodded. "Yes. I knew your mother very, very well. I helped her at times, and she asked me to be there for you if you ever needed me." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I failed. I should have persisted in talking with you." "You tried," she admitted, remembering all the times he had called her and she hadn't answered. "I didn't try hard enough," he said firmly, speaking over the buzzing chaos of the ones they had rescued that day, "but Father Wagner is correct. You are not evil. The powers you were given did not come from the Devil. They come from God. The differences you both have come from God. We are all His disciples, all blessed with different ways, different abilities, to use for Him to do good, to save lives, to save souls." "I am good," she breathed shakily. Both Priests tightly hugged Piper. "Ja!" Kurt cried happily, his blue tail whisking with his joy. "Vou are good! Look around you, sister! Look at all zese lives ve have saved today, and I am quite sure that you've already saved many more than these and vill continue to do so!" She grinned. "You're right," she admitted. "That is wonderful, and, Piper, I expect to see you in church Sunday if you're not busy saving the world, but for now, Kurt, perhaps you should get her out of here?" Piper's Priest said as a news van arrived, brakes screeching. "I'll let them know this was another of God's miracles." "It is, brother; it most assuredly is!" Wrapping his arms around Piper, and wishing he could stay in San Francisco for a while longer, Kurt took them from the scene. The End	lion	salvation	hope
God's Not Dead	ark	Redeemed	Already There	I Need A Miracle	Whom Shall I Fear
Power in the Blood	apple	preach	X-Men's Professor X with Title: "Needed Reality" Author: Kat Lee Rating: R/M Summary: He knows He'll be there for him the entire way. Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. His dreams are the same every night and also different. He dreams not of the future but of the reasons why the future must come true, of the mutant children who so desperately need his plan for the future, of a world where homo sapien and homo superior can coexist peacefully together, to come true. The faces are different every night, but always the message is clear. Always, he knows they need his dream to come true to solve their problems, erase their fears, and ease their pains. Always, he knows they need him, and he yearns to reach out and touch them. Yet, always, too, he awakes without a single name or location, and so though he wants desperately to find them, still, he can not. Charles twists and turns, sweat breaking out all over his body. His legs do not entangle in his sheets only because he's already kicked them from his bed. His whole body writhes. His hands clench his mattress, and he calls out to the children he sees, though never hearing or knowing their names. He sees a red-haired body with tears streaming down his long face. He watches in horror as the child twists his hands, hurting himself until fire springs from his fingertips. He hears his parents' cries as he sets fire to his own home and to them within it. They were bad people, horrible people. They hurt him so badly, and yet as he watches his mother's face smolder slowly into ashes, he hurts even more and weeps all the more loudly. Charles screams, and the scene changes. He is now on the streets of Cairo. Ahead of him is a child of maybe four years of age. Her long, white hair should set her easily apart in any crowd, but yet she moves with ease this crowd of people too busy with their own problems to notice a starving orphan. He watches, calling to her but with his voice going unheard, as she directs the very wind itself into helping her slide billfolds, jewelry, and other riches right out of the people's pockets. He shudders, sensing a great and familiar evil presence nearby, and again, his dreams shift. A boy whose back wears bloody marks hops around, catching flies with his tongue for his dinner. He does not particularly care for the taste of the insects, but he knows that they are the only meal he'll have all night. Charles cries upon seeing the boy's ribs, and once more, the scene changes, bringing him, this time, to another lad having to hunt his dinner. The nightmare for this child, though, is far too painful. He's been beaten by his father like the amphibian boy. Worse has been done to him, too, and worst still is yet to come. Charles knows, with one look at the boy's body, that he is about to collapse from starvation, but at last, he catches the only food he's come to accept that he will have, the rabbit, which he'd thought so cute, that his father had thrown into the locked basement with him. He can not bare the pain. He writhes so violently that he almost falls out of bed, but another vision catches his mind. This one is of a girl who is actually happy to know that she is a mutant. She stares at her reflection in her mirror as she brushes her long, green hair and turns to a news cast where the humans are speaking of the mutant terror. She grins, knowing that, very soon, the humans who have tormented her will know that terror first hand. Another girl child screams, yanking Charles' mind halfway across the nation to Boston where she has just been abadoned by her parents and left in a straight jacket in an insane asylum. She is a child of beauty and of riches. She had thought she was a child who would be spoiled and loved for all eternity, but she has just found out, all too painfully, that that is far from the truth. She is a monster now, and her parents, rich, prestigious, and concerned with their reputations as they are, want nothing more to do with her. An orphan who can see only red cries alone in Alaska for the parents and baby brother who have been forever lost to him. A familiar girl screams with yet another nightmare far closer by as she sees a friend die within her mind. A growing boy in Russia wonders what will happen when the terrified mutants come for him and rather or not he'll be able not to protect himself but rather to protect his loving parents and cherished sisters from the bigotted Americans' fearful hatred. An Irish lad screams as his wife is killed and he wonders if her murder had anything to do with his mutancy. Lives flash before Charles, rushing pass him faster than a gushing wind in a tornado. He tries desperately to hold on to an image, to any one image so that he might be able to somehow reach through his telepathic dreams and help the child he sees, but he can hold to none of them. He screams with their pain. His heart hurts as theirs do. His limbs flail about in his desperate attempts to somehow protect and help them, and eventually he does fall from his bed. This morning, however, as Charles returns to consciousness, one location finally remains clear in his mind: Anchorage, Alaska. He gets up immediately and starts to dress. He knows what he must do, but as he dons his cross, Charles pauses and looks at his own reflection in his own mirror. He thinks of the man who first bore the cross, of God's son who died so that all could be free from sin, and what He must think of the horrors visited upon Charles' kind. Jesus did not die, Charles knows, so that more suffering could continue. He did not die so that babies could be beaten, teenagers forced to rip into living animals for food with their own mouths, and children have to fight just to live. He, too, cries for the children as Charles cries, and so as he humbly bows his head and prayers, "Father, help me," Charles knows that his prayer will be answered. His dreams will become reality for God will take the down trodden and lift them up. He will protect the innocents and make their enemies their foot stools. He will make Kings and Queens, in their own rights, of every tormented child Charles has foreseen this past night. Having finished his prayer, Charles picks up his phone, dials the airport, and orders a single ticket for the very next flight to Alaska. He knows what he must do. He knows at least one thing about the future. No, he thinks, smiling and correcting himself, there are two things certain about his future, about the future for all mutant kind. His dream of peaceful coexistence will become a reality, and the Father will be with him every step of the long journey ahead, carrying him when he can not carry himself and making the seeming impossible the reality they all need. The End	revelation	Your Love Never Fails

Comments

The Lord's Work

[blackjackalee.livejournal.com]

Great visualization! Interesting story!!