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arctic-rising · 6 years

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A Dark Descent - Chapter 1: Contact, Part 6

(( Previous << Lore Navigation >> END)) ((Author’s Note: Wow, this took so much longer than I thought it would to get it published. To be fair though, I was a little focused on graduating haha. However! Now that it’s summer I should be able to work on this a lot more frequently.)) ((Warnings for battle violence and vomiting)) ((Pinglist: @ashenbicornwhale @jedicreed-fr @prancingcapricat @serthis-archivist @blight-nymph @guardianitefr ))

Adrenaline kicked under Jack’s scales as he channeled his elemental magic. The swirling energy inside made him feel light and airy- the mana fueling his confidence as he soared into the dark sky. Astra cut past buildings on swift wings, allowing a volley of arrows to draw the attention of the spectral fiend to her. It let out another deafening roar and reached towards her, however the young archer was faster.

Jack edged closer to the disoriented spirit, his heart pounding. Despite the creatures sluggish movements, he didn’t want to take the chance of the spell missing. If this worked, they could make a quick escape unscathed and head back home. If it didn’t, well...

‘Windsinger be with me,’ Jack prayed, and took another deep breath to meditate, calling upon his natural element. He focused his magic; twisting it into a spell. He could feel the mana curling into a tight coil in his ribcage, ready to be released.

The pearlcatcher darted towards the massive ghoul, and the monster swung its head to face him. Dust and shards of bone fell from its jaws, it’s skeleton littered with arrows and clusters of ice. The horrible whispers grew louder again when it moved closer, however the chill of fear wasn’t able to catch Jack this time. His own built up magic combated the ethereal fright, and he roared as he let loose his spell.

The wind around Jack whirled and twisted, picking up and gaining a green hue until it formed a minature whirlwind. The elemental magic slammed into the monster; the creature rearing back as the winds pulled hard enough to snap its skull loose from what remained of its spinal cord. Astra cheered as it fell backwards, its hands clawing at broken ruins in a futile attempt to keep its balance. “Let’s go!” Jack called to Astra. She nodded, and the two of them soaring away from the immeadite danger.

~+~

By the time the two pearlcatchers had escaped from the Ghostlight Ruins, the sun was setting. Buildings and statues casted pitch black shadows, and the Sea of a Thousand Currents glittered in the fading light. Jack took a deep breath, taking a moment to look at the scene before him.

“That could have gone a lot better,” Astra grunted. Jack glanced at her to see her sit down to rifle through her bag before pulling out a red potion. “Thanks for coming with me Jack. I don’t think I want to know what could have happened without you,” she said, popped the cork and downed the drink. A long scrape on her muzzle began to heal, and dark bruises against her hide became lighter.

“Oh, uhm, yeah. You’re welcome,” Jack said. “I uh, I’m glad you let me- huRK-” Jack had to stop mid-sentence and quickly keel over his pearl as black ooze built up in his throat. The liquid splattered onto the pearl and almost immeaditly hardened, the oilslick substance gleaming in the sunlight. Jack was reduced to coughing once the majority of the ooze was out of his system, and he felt Astra pat his back.

“You alright? That was a lot of mucus...” Astra asked. Jack nodded weakly, taking deep breaths. He carefully tilted his pearl in his claws to try to get the black liquid to cover the majority of the sphere so it could harden in a smooth layer.

“I have not fought anything like that before. I don’t, er, I don’t go hunting often,” Jack explained once he got his breath back.

“You what?” Astra asked. Jack cautioned a glance at her and saw her wide eyes and long ears standing straight up in shock. “You’re telling me that you volunteered to go to one of the most dangerous places in Sorienth and you have little to no battle experience?”

“Well-well you, ah, said that you were going there and I-I-I, uh, felt bad because it sounded like you were, uh, going on your own and-and you mentioned that you had not been there before and, well, you bought me that parchment and-and-and-and” Jack rambled, his nerves making his mouth run. He shifted and curled in on himself instictually as Astra stared him, her jaw hanging open.

“You,” Astra pointed a claw at Jack and he snapped his maw shut. “met me a month ago, offered to go with me on an extremely dangerous outing after you barely knew me because I bought you paper.”

Jack nodded meekly.

Astra huffed, smiled, and laughed. “You’re weird. I like you,” She wrapped him in a partial hug, squeezing him between herself and her wing. “Comon, let’s go find an inn and dinner. I could go for some salted crickets...”

Jack blinked at her, confused and surprised. He quickly trotted after Astra, keeping pace with her even as his bruises and cuts stung in protest. He carefully held his pearl with his tail, the tacky mucus already turning an opalescent grey.

~+~

The cool breeze of the Windswept Plateau was a welcome feeling on Jacks scales as he soared home, his bag loaded with trinkets, books, and empty potion bottles. Astra had insisted that they try braving the Ghostlight Ruins again, but this time they weren’t going to run away from the first sign of danger. Even after facing off with one of the more deadly spirits, It was still terrifying in Jack’s humble opinion; he almost got his whiskers torn off by a Tatterwing Carcass.

“You know, you really didn’t have to get that close,” Astra laughs over the wind.

“You would have been bird food if I didn’t distract it! It would have taken your throat out!” Jack protested. Astra twirls in the sky, her wings glinting under the sunlight.

The two of them landed at one of the nearby crossroads that lead to the southern gate of the Kingdom. The bamboo grew taller and taller as they made their way into the Reedcleft Ascent, the winds rattling the plants together to make meaningless melodies.

The streets of the Kingdom of the GuidingWinds were as busy as ever. Dragons of all elements and statuses wove together to form an endless river of scales, feathers, and fur, vibrant, and dull all at once. Jewelry chimed, fabric shifted, metal clanked, and claws clicked on the cobblestone roads as Jack and Astra wove into the crowds. When they reached the outskirts of the Center District, Astra turned to Jack.

“Are you busy in two weeks?”

“Uhm, no, I do not believe so. Why?”

“The royals are throwing a celebration for Princess Kima. She’s going to be an offical adult and my parents are dragging me along because they’re important and it’s expected that I show up because I’m related to them, and I don’t want to go alone,” Astra explained. “Would you like to come with me?”

“I, uh, uh, erm,” Jack stuttered. “I am not a royal, or have high standing. Would I even be allowed inside?”

“We can bring plus ones. I think,” Astra bit her lip. “Look, I’ll ask dad but would you come with me to it? Please?”

Jack sighed. “I, well. Sure- yes, yes I will go with you if I’m allowed.”

Astra grinned. “Okay! I’ll find you when I find out. See you later, Jack!”

He waved goodbye as Astra darted off to the Inner District. Jack huffed and mulled over the recent events in his life, fiddling with his pearl as he made his way home.

The cemetary had remained the same when he left it. The dark iron fence was still slightly crooked, the weeping willow still sagged over his den, and the stone markers atop the graves were still partially sunken in the soft earth. Jack felt the tension leave his muscles when he stepped inside his home and went about making a fire. One thing still bothered him though, a small thought that kept pulling at his attention as he settled down to finally, finally write a letter to his parents.

The warmth from the crackling hearth helped soothe his sore body, the light flickering over his feathered quill and blank parchment. Jack carefully removed his birdskull headdress; the beads and bones clicking quietly as he stared at it.

“Why did I hear that ghost speak, and Astra didn’t?” Jack murmered under his breath.

The mask stared back, shadows dancing along the crown and orange feathers as the firelight played off of the beads.

He sighed and placed it on a nearby shelf. Shaking his head, he picked the quill back up and dipped it into an ink well.

Dearest Mother and Father; It seems that the universe may have more in store for me than the quite life that I had hoped for.

#book 1 - chapter 1: contact - part 6 #WHOOP WHOOP first chapter's done!!!! :D #lore archives

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 3 years

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13th May >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 16:16-20 for Thursday, Sixth Week of Eastertide: ‘Your sorrow will turn to joy’.

Thursday, Sixth Week of Eastertide

Gospel (Except USA)

John 16:16-20

You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn to joy.

Jesus said to his disciples:

‘In a short time you will no longer see me, and then a short time later you will see me again.’

Then some of his disciples said to one another, ‘What does he mean, “In a short time you will no longer see me, and then a short time later you will see me again” and, “I am going to the Father”? What is this “short time”? We do not know what he means.’ Jesus knew that they wanted to question him, so he said, ‘You are asking one another what I meant by saying: In a short time you will no longer see me, and then a short time later you will see me again.

‘I tell you most solemnly, you will be weeping and wailing while the world will rejoice; you will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn to joy.’

Gospel (USA)

John 16:16-20

You will grieve, but your grief will become joy.

Jesus said to his disciples: “A little while and you will no longer see me, and again a little while later and you will see me.” So some of his disciples said to one another, “What does this mean that he is saying to us, ‘A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me,’ and ‘Because I am going to the Father’?” So they said, “What is this ‘little while’ of which he speaks? We do not know what he means.” Jesus knew that they wanted to ask him, so he said to them, “Are you discussing with one another what I said, ‘A little while and you will not see me, and again a little while and you will see me’? Amen, amen, I say to you, you will weep and mourn, while the world rejoices; you will grieve, but your grief will become joy.”

Reflections (7)

(i) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

There is a married couple who feature in today’s first reading, Aquila and Priscilla. They were a Jewish Christian couple who had recently come from Rome to Corinth, and when Paul come to preach the gospel for the first time in Corinth, he stayed in their accommodation. They were tentmakers like himself. Paul’s letters reveal that this married couple hosted a church in their house in Ephesus and later in Rome. They provided the space for believers in these two cities to gather for prayer, for Eucharist, for sharing together. They were clearly an important presence in the early church. They were generous in sharing their resources with other believers and were clearly a great support to Paul. Paul says of them in his letter to the Romans, ‘they work with me in Christ Jesus, and… risked their necks for my life’. Even the great apostle to the Gentiles needed the support of believers like Aquila and Priscilla. In the gospel reading we find Jesus supporting his disciples. He is speaking in the setting of the last supper. Knowing that he is facing into his own death, which will impact gravely on his disciples, he says to them, ‘you will be weeping and wailing’. Yet, at this moment when he is at his most vulnerable, he seeks to support and encourage his disciples, saying to them, ‘your sorrow will turn to joy’, and ‘you will see me again’. What Jesus does for his disciples in the gospel reading, the married couple do for Paul in the first reading. We have here an image of what the church is called to be. We are to be a community of believers who support one another in the faith and encourage one another when times are difficult. The ministry of encouragement and building up of each other is a vital ministry in the church, especially in these difficult times, and it is a ministry in which we all share, whether we are male or female, young or old, single or married. It is a ministry that the Holy Spirit will always be moving us to undertake. He is the great consoler and comforter, and he inspires and empowers us to be a consoling and comforting presence to one another.

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

We heard a few days ago in the first reading that when Paul went to Philippi and preached the gospel he was offered hospitality by one of the women who responded to Paul’s preaching, Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth. According to today’s first reading, when Paul entered Corinth he received hospitality from a Jewish Christian married couple, Aquila and Priscilla. Paul would have understood that it was the Lord who was supporting him in and through these people who offered him hospitality when he was most in need of it. Paul experienced the presence of the risen Lord at the heart of his life and work. In the gospel reading, Jesus tells his disciples that in a short time they will no longer see him, and then in a short time later they will see him again. Jesus will be taken from them in death, but he will return to them when he is raised from the dead and, having returned, he will remain with them as they engage in the work of witnessing to him. He will be with them above all in and through the members of the faith community. This was Paul’s experience; Paul experienced the Lord’s presence, especially in and through those who supported him and stood by him. This can be our experience too. The risen Lord stands at the heart of our day to day life. He journeys with us as he journeyed with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. He comes to us in and through the members of his body. He comes to bring us hope when we are downhearted, to give us strength in our weakness, to bring us joy in our sorrow. This is the good news of Easter which we are celebrating at this time.

And/Or

(iiI) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

In this morning’s first reading we have Luke’s account of the beginning of Paul’s mission in the city of Corinth. Some years later when writing to the church in Corinth he told them, ‘I came to you in weakness and in fear, and in much trembling’. He clearly found the prospect of preaching the gospel in the city of Corinth very daunting. Luke in this morning’s reading states that shortly after arriving in Corinth Paul met a Jewish Christian married couple, Aquila and Priscilla, who had arrived in Corinth before him, who were tentmakers like himself, and who offered him hospitality. Together they preached the gospel in Corinth. At a moment of great weakness and vulnerability Paul found support from this married couple. It brings home to us how we all need each other’s support as we try to live out our baptismal calling as best we can. Those who are not married need the support of those who are married and vice versa, each of us bringing our own experience of life to the other. Even the great Paul knew how dependant he was on others, how dependant he was on the Lord who came to him through others. None of us is any different from Paul in that respect.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

The words of Jesus often have an enigmatic quality to them. Their meaning is not always immediately obvious. Those who listen to him sometimes have to struggle to understand what he is saying. We often have the same experience ourselves when we read the gospels. The words of Jesus set us on a journey of discovery. We gather with other believers to ponder them with a view to drawing out their meaning. We find something similar happening in this morning’s gospel reading. Jesus says something and the disciples say to one another, ‘What does he mean?’ The words of Jesus that so mystified the disciples were, ‘In a short time you will no longer see me, and then a short time later you will see me again’. These words were spoken on the evening before Jesus was crucified. In a short time the disciples would no longer see Jesus because he would be put to death. Yet, God would vindicate his Son, bringing him through death into a new life. In a short time after his death, his disciples would see him again as risen Lord. Their sorrow at Jesus’ death, their weeping and wailing, would give way to joy. Loss and sorrow will not have the last word. God will bring new life out of Jesus’ death, new life not just for Jesus but for all who believe in him. This remains the hopeful message of the gospel today and of the Easter season. Loss and sorrow do not have the last word. We believe in a God who through Jesus is always at work bringing new life out of death, turning sorrow to joy.

And/Or

(v) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

Today’s gospel reading gives us an insight into the confusion of the disciples on the night of the Last Supper. They cannot really grasp what Jesus is saying. ‘What does he mean?’ they ask. Jesus had spoken about two ‘short times’. In a short time the disciples will no longer see him and then in a short time they will see him. In the light of what subsequently happened, we understand that the first short time refers to the time between the last supper and Jesus’ death on the cross, ‘in a short time you will no longer see me’, and the second short time refers to the short time between the death of Jesus and his resurrection, ‘then a short time later you will see me again’. Jesus is really speaking about two different kinds of seeing here. After Jesus has been crucified, his disciples will no longer see him in the way they have seen him during the course of his earthly ministry. Yet, after he rises from the dead, they will see him in a different way, with different eyes, with the eyes of faith. That is how we see Jesus today. We see him with the eyes of faith. We recognize him in his Word, in the Eucharist, in each other, in our own hearts. The Lord who was present to his disciples on the night of the last supper was telling them and all of us that he would be present to them in a different way as a result of his death and resurrection and the coming of the Holy Spirit. The Lord is present to us today and it is the eyes of faith which allows to see him, to recognize him.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

When we are sorrowful or feeling low, it can be difficult to imagine a time when things will be better. We wonder if we will always be like this. We might even speak of not being able to see a light at the end of the tunnel. We are in a dark tunnel and it seems endless. In today’s gospel reading, on the night of the last supper, Jesus tells his disciples, ‘I tell you most solemnly, you will be weeping and wailing’. They would indeed weep and wail when Jesus would be taken from them and put to death on a Roman cross. In the wake of Jesus’ crucifixion, perhaps his disciples could only see bleak darkness without end. Yet, having spoken the hard truth to his disciples about the darkness that lies ahead, Jesus immediately says to them, ‘your sorrow will turn into joy’. Golgotha would give way to Easter Sunday morning, when their hearts would rejoice. We are in the season of Easter. Indeed, every day is an Easter day for us, regardless of the time of year, because the Lord is always risen. The risen Lord is always a light in our darkness. We don’t need to look for a light at the end of the tunnel; there is always a light in the tunnel, the light of the risen Lord. Jesus once said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life’. The light of the risen Lord often comes to us through others. Paul makes this discovery in today’s first reading. He arrives in Corinth for the first time, a bustling, overpowering city, and he meets a Jewish Christian couple who immediately offer him hospitality. The Lord will not abandon us in our hour of need; he will touch our lives in one way or another. We just need an expectant and aware faith to notice his coming to us.

And/Or

(vii) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

We have all experienced the sorrow associated with the loss of a loved one, the sorrow of bereavement. When we are in the throes of grief, it can be difficult to see any further than our grief. We find it hard to imagine any other condition. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is speaking to his disciples on the night before his death, in the setting of the last supper. He is aware that they are already troubled and distressed at what is unfolding and he tells them that very soon, in a short while, they will be ‘weeping and wailing’, they will be ‘sorrowful’. His immanent death would bring them deep sorrow. Yet, Jesus goes on to say, ‘your sorrow will turn into joy’. In a further short while, they will see him again, when he rises from the dead, and they will rejoice. ‘Your sorrow will turn into joy’. When we find ourselves engulfed by sorrow, we need to remind ourselves of those words of Jesus. Death and the sorrow associated with death will not have the last word. The resurrection of Jesus shows that life is stronger than death and that sorrow will eventually give way to joy. Because the risen Lord is with us at all times, life, his life, is always present in the midst of death, and a deeper joy is always possible for us even in times of sorrow. As Jesus says elsewhere in this gospel of John, those who follow him, the light of the world, will never walk in darkness, because the light of his presence, the light of life, is always shining even in our darkness.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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sylvanasses-blog · 7 years

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// Famous First Lines Bold what applies to your character. (fr. ryan maria courick)

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month, // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

two roads diverged in a yellow wood, // whose woods these are i think i know // let us twain walk aside from the rest; // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely // it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun ? // o my luve is like a red, red rose // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done;

out of the night that covers me, // it was many and many a year ago, // you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island, // remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveller from an antique land

‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller // nobody heard him, the dead man,

that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night;// where the mind is without fear and the head is held high // when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if starry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love,

had we but world enough and time, // my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were steadfast as thou art– // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach ! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break // she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not all a dream. // he clasps the crag with crooked hands.

tagging: beloved mutuals who want to do this

#the good father #this has been in my drafts for like 2 months i finally did it

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luna-orlha · 7 years

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Title: Road Crosses Fandom: Sherlock Genre: Action, Adventure Ship: Sherlock & OFC, SIblings broship Characters: Sherlock Holmes, OFC (Lucy Holmes), Mycroft Holmes, very very brief mentions of 007 Word count: 2591 Triggers(s): ... injuries? Rating: T Additional Tags: Lucy is a master of disguise, Sherlock gets himself into trouble Summary: Sherlock goes undercover after Reichenbach and Lucy decides that she'll shadow him in order to protect her brother. (007 tags along and Sherlock doesn't know better) Notes: I apparently wrote this a long time ago and never posted it. I found this while cleaning my drive and figured why not. Also, HEY! This is my 50th story on Ao3. Haha! Anyway, this writing style of mine is old and I wonder why I fell out of it. There are some snippets in my drive of this fandom that has great dialogue. I love this one particularly.

“She’s sleeping beside a dog.” “Yes. John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can see that.” “Since when she had a dog?” “Since yesterday. Animals are good therapy. She did always love dogs.” Mycroft answered from the doorway. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream down the hallways.” “And cats.” Sherlock added, ignoring Mycroft’s jab. “She used to bring home cats.” “There was snuffle-face.” John said, remembering of the brown and white stray she brought back into the apartment. “Then you experimented on it.”

And this one too!

John parried her easily, accidentally knocking her into the wall. She slumped against the wall. “Oh god. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you okay?” He hurried over. Lucy got up and threw a punch at him which he quickly dodged. “John, she’s still trying to kill you. I don’t think you should go close.” “Yes. Thank you Sherlock. Can see that.”

Lastly.. this is part of a series: Indestructible Holmes siblings

Ao3

Bogota, Colombia

“Sherlock! Wake up!” Sherlock’s head rolled limply in her head. “Come on!” She reached over and slapped him hard. Lucy was risking everything to pull him out of Colombia and that didn’t even begin and end with her cover. Everything would be futile he wasn’t alive. The man groaned, the large red handprint on his face would leave a bruise but it had broken him out of the shock that he was going into. Lucy slipped back into her cover as he became more conscious.

“Who are you?” He half moaned.

“Sstay down you idiot!” She put on a lisp accent, pushing him down to the seat. Still focusing on the bumpy road ahead, she shot him a concerned look when he did not press his questions on. “Cwot would be very disspleassed with me if I let anything happen to you.”

The van behind had been following them for the last 5 minutes. Lucy swore vehemently, muttering a hang on to the semi-conscious Sherlock, swerving the four wheel drive down an alley. A perfect tight swerve into an alley that could barely fit, she didn’t think there were going to be any drivers as good as her. She swerved down another lane, twisting and turning to throw their pursuers away. The car was going into a ditch somewhere tomorrow.

Pity.

She liked it very much. Free from the pursuers momentarily, she fumbled the dashboard and threw Sherlock a bottle of beer. He raised an eyebrow at her. There wasn’t time to explain. She spun the car into another alley, this time with another car waiting. Flinging Sherlock’s door open, she helped him into the other car and slid into it. Her hand reached to the backseats while still driving down the roads, this time in a less hectic pace.

“Put it on. Dissguisse and pouw the beew on youwsself.” Lucy didn’t need to explain further. Wherever they were going, there was no way Sherlock was going to be able to walk straight. It was less apparent and far less obtrusive pretending to be drunk and reeking of liquor. The hastily bound bandage had down a good job in slowing the blood flow to an ooze, she observed with another side-glance. He was far too quiet in this situation, had he seen through her disguise? She had eluded him even at point black in London before, there was no reason for her ability to disguise to slip up.

Sherlock groaned as he shrugged the clothes off. He was somewhat unhappy that Mycroft had sent someone to shadow him and apparently haul his ass out of there yet in the back of his head, he was very relieved. He didn’t remember how the man had done it but it was clear that he was no slouch. His mind was blanking out, unable to deduce the man that was driving. He did however agree that the man was a very good driver and had clearly a contingency plan. He stifled another moan of pain as the man pulled him out of the car to their apparent destination. Sloshing the beer over his shoulders, he beamed widely as he could, leaning heavily onto the man to guide him to where they were going. A building with four stories and clearly no lift. “Please tell me we’re not going to the four floor,” he muttered. He didn’t think he was going to be able to climb all the way up and his rescuer didn’t have the physique to carry him up.

“No. Jusst the ssecond,” the man lisped. His lisp was terrible, how did was he even a shadow? A man with such terrible lisp would stand out like finger. Sherlock shook his head, focusing his thoughts on deducing the man in order to dull the burning pain in his abdomen. Small sized, local accent with lisp. One more flight of stairs. Blond hair, blue eyes. The man probably wasn’t in this line because of his ability to blend in. His physique indicated flexibility rather than strength.

A man was waiting for them when they reached the second landing. Sherlock had assumed his mind was blanking out due to his inability to deduce the man, but it wasn’t. The man that was waiting for them, a doctor, was perfectly deduced. He turned back to his rescuer.

“Who are you?”

The man only smiled and nodded to the doctor. “Ssafe hewe. Leave you in hiss handss.” The latter was directed more to the doctor than him.

Sherlock watch the man turn to leave and after a moment, he asked the doctor. “Who is he?”

“No one. None of us know his or her real name.”

“Her?”

The doctor nodded, his attention focused on stitching Sherlock’s wound. “He dressed very convincingly as a female. If it weren’t for his adam’s apple, I might have assumed it was a girl dressed as a man.” Sherlock nodded and with the strenuous week’s events he found himself extremely tired. “Sleep. I’ll wake you.” And though his mind rejected the thought of sleeping in an unfamiliar and uncertain whether it was secure place, his body drifted off.

It’s been done. 35 Catherine C Road. 16-23-42-01-32 – Senka

Will you be following him? – MH

If not me then who? Someone needs to keep him out of trouble. – Senka

Says the one who gets into trouble all the time – MH

:( Meanie. See you soon. XOXO – Senka

Stay safe – MH

Mycroft sighed and pinched his nose bridge. His sister and brother were going to be the death of him. Sherlock had no idea what she had risked for him but he couldn’t know that Lucy was shadowing him. Though he knew she was good at her job, he still couldn’t help but worry. This was the most dangerous thing that he had ever let her interfere and it was not his choice. If Sherlock slipped up or if her cover was blown, he would be losing the one if not both of his most important people. The thought festered like a dark pit in his stomach and there was nothing the almighty Mycroft could do except hold his breath.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Kaunas, Lithuania

She snuck along the rooftops. Sherlock didn’t know she was shadowing him, watching his back as he limped across the bitumen. He was injured but not fatally. She would not risk exposure to assist him when he was perfectly able to do so.

A pursuer.

Her dagger left her hands, burying deep into the man’s neck even before Sherlock saw him. The pursuers would know someone is watching for him now. But she would leave it for another day. At least Sherlock was as home free as he could be.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Karagandy, Kazakhstan

Blasted Sherlock. She swore. He had to fall terribly sick. She slipped into the room, carrying a small haversack. This time, she hadn’t bothered to disguise herself. He was sick and a familiar face would help him feel better. She placed the cool towel on his head and set about making a tiny gruel for him to stomach.

“Lucy?” he whispered through his dry cracked lips. She hovered over him, checking him once over. “Lucy is it really you and not some hallucination?” He pulled her close, savouring her natural smell and body heat. “Oh god it’s really you.”

Sherlock wept uncontrollably and she patted him awkwardly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

“I kept dreaming the Moriarty caught you or killed you or he was torturing you somewhere.” He was blabbering. He had been stuck out by himself all alone for so long and Mycroft could only help him so much. Sherlock could never bear to ask him about Lucy. The years of their estranged relationship taking toll on him. Did she think he was dead as well? Was she weeping over his grave? Did Mycroft let her know the truth? Was she safe? Those questions plagued him at night. Dreams of Moriarty torturing her, the broken John standing over his grave, Molly watching as he left that night, Mycroft watching him as he walked into the airport. Then he dreamt that one of them had died, that he failed them and they had died. “Why didn’t you contact me earlier? Why?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t.” She wiped his grimy face with a clean towel and pressed him back into the bed. “They were watching you too closely. You’ve no idea what I’m risking to be here.” She laid a hand on his too warm face and kissed him. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Sherlock watched her as she busied about the stove. It had been far too long since he had seen that view. The day she left he had been busy throwing one of his ridiculous tantrums and never got to say good bye. She came back several times in-between her missions but it was never quite the same. It felt like she had been torn from his side. He watched her until his eyes drooped heavy from exhaustion and sleep overtook him.

It was evening when he woke up again. It was all a fever dream. A dream that is his sister was alive and well who came to take care of him. Sherlock laid his hand on his eyes. Taking down Moriarty’s web was far more taxing that imaginable. He wondered once again how his sister had been able to do all of it in the last four years. Had she suffered in silence?

Sherlock pulled himself up, pushing the thoughts of his sister and his irate brother aside. There was a set of clean clothes on the broken side table with an envelope.

My associate will find you three past dusk. Be ready. Food on the stove. You’ll need it.

It wasn’t signed off, but he knew who it was from. Mycroft favoured large loopy cursives and Lucy favoured tight cursives that were slanted terribly, almost messy yet somehow equally elegant. This was undoubtedly from Lucy. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and stumbled towards the stove. It was rice gruel with chunks of carrots, mushrooms and chicken. He shook his head thinking that perhaps it hadn’t been a fevered dream.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Leipzig, Germany

“You’re a bloody ass!” Lucy ducked again, feeling the whiz of the bullet fly pass her wig. This time she was in the cover of the same man Sherlock had met earlier just that she chose to change the accent. She wouldn’t fool Sherlock if she tried to take on another role. Her height was far too noticeable for a man as observant as him.

“You’re my sister’s operative, aren’t you?” Sherlock chuckled. The pain was definitely making him weird. He had been lying in a pool of blood when the blond man swerved the van beside him, blocking off the gunfire momentarily and dragged him into the van without much care for the pain shooting through him. They had far more important things than to worry about his pain, far more like getting away. It was the second time the man had came to save him but it was his fourth time seeing the man. The man was good at disguises, Sherlock grudgingly admitted that. “Your accent changed.”

“Yes.” Lucy wasn’t afraid that he’d recognized her. She had placed on well-made silicon mask to hide her true face. Though why he recognized her as her operative and not Mycroft’s was bothering her and so she asked.

Sherlock folded his other hand over his bleeding side. His leg would probably need stitches too, judging by the amount of blood seeping through his hastily made bandage. “Mycroft wouldn’t have sent the same operative to shadow him. He may or may not send a local agent to shadow me instead of risking cover. My sister, on the other hand, probably values your ability to adapt and instead of sending someone that might be half assed, she chose to send someone good.”

Lucy was impressed. Not by his very wrong deduction but the fact he managed to deduce and say all that with a bleeding side, a broken leg and probably a concussion. Well, that was Sherlock alright. He never did things half-assed. She smirked and Sherlock took that as an affirmative.

“How is she?” He asked. Since that envelope, he had not gotten any news. He could have asked Mycroft but his pride wouldn’t let him.

“You could have asked your brother for your sister’s number.”

“I could contact her through the phone?” Sherlock couldn’t dare to hope. Most undercover agents were rarely that easily contactable. Even for him, Mycroft could never contact him. He would wait for Sherlock to contact him in order to tell him news. For two people constantly on the move, working behind the scenes, he had doubted he would be able to contact her. All the running and pretences will whittling him down. Two years ago, he would have been excited for all his adrenaline rush, now he just wanted a day to sit down, have a cup of English tea and not worry for pursuers or giving his cover away.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Don’t sleep now. You have a concussion.” Lucy reached out and shook him. He wasn’t waking. She hoped it was from exhaustion. Muttering an apology, she dug her finger into his leg wound. The pain jolted him awake. “Stay with me until we reach the hospital.”

“We’re going to the hospital?” He murmured.

“Yes.”

“Why? It’s not safe.”

“You have a grade three concussion. Your right tibia is broken, you probably need ten stitches on your right thigh and you have a gun wound on your side. You need to go to the hospital. There is no underground doctor here that is capable of that.”

She jerked the handbrakes, allowing the car slide into a tight-fitting alley and pulled out a black mobile phone. “Eugenio. Incoming. Three on tails. I’m heading to the hospital.”

Sherlock marvelled at the efficiency of his work. He had previously seen his driving skills but he never knew the full extent of it. Barking commands on the phone, formulating plans and pathways and all while aggressively driving to shake the tails off. He lost track of time between the burning pain running through him and holding back the nausea. There was an almost audible relief when the van finally came to a stop and he was loaded onto a stretcher. The man was rapidly firing in German to the nurses. Just as they wheeled him away, the man pressed a paper into Sherlock’s hand.

A number.

Sherlock hesitated for a long time. Was he putting her at risk by texting her? He gave himself an insufferable sigh and pressed the send button.

Hello – SH

It was many hours later when he received a text.

Good god! Moving to Melbourne finally. Heard this news from Mattie. You know right? :) - Senka

It was a code. A simple enough code. Senka was probably her codename.

"Good to hear from you :) - Senka"

She knew he’d recognize he and it also told him that the phone she had was easily comprisable. He had to be careful with what he typed. Still, it was better than nothing. Sherlock felt his eyes wet and quickly deduced it must have been all the tension and exhaustion building up that was causing him to be excessively emotional.

Emoticons are only used by people who do not have sufficient linguistic skills – SH

terrible as ever I see. – Senka

#fanfiction #Sherlock Holmes #mycroft holmes

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konmarkimageswords · 7 years

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Do not stand at my grave and weep Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft star-shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004) is an American poet who remains known today for a single poem -a sonnet of just twelve lines- but it just may be the most popular poem in the English language. Do not stand at my grave and weep is a consoling Holocaust poem and elegy with an interesting genesis, since it was written by a Baltimore housewife who lacked a formal education and had quite possibly never written poetry before, and certainly none of note. When her sonnet was named Britain's most popular poem in a 1996 poll, despite not being one of the critics' nominations, an unlettered orphan girl had seemingly surpassed all England's ivory towerists in the public's estimation. Although the poem's origin was disputed for some time (it had been attributed to Native American and other sources), Frye's authorship was confirmed in 1998 after investigative research by Abigail Van Buren.

http://www.thehypertexts.com/Mary%20Elizabeth%20Frye%20Poet%20Poetry%20Picture%20Bio.htm

https://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=FR&GSpartial=1&GSbyrel=all&GSst=22&GScntry=4&GSsr=8881&GRid=40647533&

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

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21st May >> Fr.Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on John 16:16-20 for Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter: ‘Your sorrow will turn to joy’.

Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

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

John 16:16-20

You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn to joy

Jesus said to his disciples:

‘In a short time you will no longer see me,

and then a short time later you will see me again.’

‘I tell you most solemnly,

you will be weeping and wailing

while the world will rejoice;

you will be sorrowful,

but your sorrow will turn to joy.’

Gospel (USA)

John 16:16-20

You will grieve, but your grief will become joy.

Reflections (4)

(i) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

We heard a few days ago in the first reading that when Paul went to Philippi and preached the gospel he was offered hospitality by one of the women who responded to Paul’s preaching, Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth. According to this morning’s first reading, when Paul entered Corinth he received hospitality from a Jewish Christian married couple, Aquila and Priscilla. Paul would have understood that it was the Lord who was supporting him in and through these people who offered him hospitality when he was most in need of it. Paul experienced the presence of the risen Lord at the heart of his life and work. In the gospel reading, Jesus tells his disciples that in a short time they will no longer see him, and then in a short time later they will see him again. Jesus will be taken from them in death, but he will return to them when he is raised from the dead and, having returned, he will remain with them as they engage in the work of witnessing to him. He will be with them above all in and through the members of the faith community. This was Paul’s experience; Paul experienced the Lord’s presence, especially in and through those who stood by him. This can be our experience too. The risen Lord stands at the heart of our day to day life. He journeys with us as he journeyed with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. He comes to us in and through the members of his body. He comes to bring us hope when we are downhearted, to give us strength in our weakness, to bring us joy in our sorrow. This is the good news of Easter which we are celebrating at this time.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, Sixth Week of Easter

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

Email: [email protected] or [email protected]

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

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

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

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