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lostbbygorl · 3 years

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REVERSING EACH DAMAGE (LEVI X F!READER):

Mr. Ackerman frequently visited the Magaths home after that afternoon. Isabel would sometimes accompany her elder brother, but Levi came alone most of the time. Levi and Y/N were getting closer and closer, and unknowingly, Y/N had fallen for Mr. Ackerman! She didn’t understand these new feelings at all, but she did know that no matter how difficult they were, she liked them.

One day, Mr. Ackerman decided to bring his aunt, Ms. Katrina de Lancey and her daughter, Amanda with him, much to Y/N’s annoyance. Ms. Katrina was a nosy, snobby elderly woman. She and Y/N had met in Shiganshina previously when Y/N had gone to visit Nifa and cousin Elias. Lady Katrina had tried her hardest to belittle Y/N, and force her to answer her interrogative questions, which Y/N didn’t give her the satisfaction of succeeding with. Never having been denied anything in her life, Lady Katrina was flabbergasted and decided that Y/N was someone she deeply distrusted and disliked.

“ Ms. L/N, meet Amanda, my daughter”, Lady Katrina introduced. Y/N smiled politely at Amanda. Amanda was a very thin girl with her braided brown hair and square glasses. She was dressed in different shades of brown, and she was awkwardly fidgeting with her fingers. She didn’t smile or say a word the entire trip to the Magath’s household, and occasionally whispered to her mother. Never before had Y/N met such a plain, boring girl!

“ Amanda is engaged to my nephew. They’ll be married by next summer”, Lady Katrina said, staring intensely at Y/N for a reaction. Lady Katrina had figured out that Levi was in love with Y/N, and that unlike the first time they met, Y/N now returned Levi’s feelings. To say she was furious would be an understatement! How dare Levi fall for a poor, rude girl whilst engaged to her daughter (who had no desire to marry Levi either)? Levi winced for a fraction of a second and Y/N remained calm even though her mood just got spoiled. Why was she bothered by this news?

“ That’s terrific news, my lady. I congratulate both Amanda and Mr. Levi. I’m sure they’ll be ever so happy together for the rest of their lives. I can’t wait for the invite, Mr. Ackerman”, Y/N murmured.

Suddenly, the door to the fireplace burst open and an apologetic Mrs. Magath made her presence in the room.

“ Y/N, read this quickly!”, she said out of breath, handing a letter to Y/N.

“ A letter, at 9.00 PM? It must be urgent”, Mr. Magath said. Y/N’s hands trembled as she finished reading. She threw the letter at the wall, and an inhuman shriek left her mouth! Lady Katrina held onto Amanda, and Levi rushed to her side.

“ Stupid, selfish, foolish girl!”Y/N screamed.

“ What happened?”, Uncle Magath queried in a concerned voice.

“ It’s that idiot, Sasha! She went to Yarkcel with the Forsters. The group noticed she was missing for a whole day when a letter notified them of her whereabouts' ', Y/n said, fully crying now.

“ And where is Sasha?”, Uncle Magath asked.

“ In Ragako, miles away from Yarkcel, engaged to Mr. Yeager who she plans on eloping with! Sasha has eloped!”, Y/N loudly completed, breaking down in Levi’s arms.

“ Ragako isn’t that far from here! Theo, grab your coat and your horse this instant! You must find our niece”, Mrs. Magath ordered.

“ Don’t need to tell me twice”, he replied getting up.

“ I’ve been ordered to go home immediately”, Y/N sniffled.

“ I’ll arrange a carriage for you, ma’am”, Levi comforted.

“ I’m deeply sorry for this unexpected fiasco. I assure you that your journey back to Trost will be safe and comfortable. It’s the least I can do”

“ Mr. Levi, I can’t thank you enough!”

“ Don’t mention it, ma’am”.

The scenario back at home was incredibly messy! Mrs. L/N was sobbing on the couch out of worry for her youngest daughter, and the L/N sisters clutched onto their mother. Christa was back from Ermich, and Mr. L/N was out searching for Sasha in Ragako. Christa and Y/N shared a look. The entire night, nobody got a wink of sleep. Mikasa tried getting her mother to eat, whilst Ella fanned her. Ella wasn’t entirely shocked at the news of her sister running off. Sasha was a reckless, mindless flirt! She was desperate to snatch a handsome officer, and now she’d been seduced! Y/N had confided about Mr. Yeager’s true nature to Christa only.

“ He’s a notorious womanizer, Christa, and Sasha had to run off with him of all people! God, I swear I’ll behead that man when I see him next!”, Y/N snarled. Christa stroked her back, attempting to calm her down.

“ You’ll do nothing of the sort. Calm down, we’ll see what happens”, Christa soothed.

“ You’re right. I must divert my mind from all this”, Y/N sighed. She then implored Christa about her time in Ermich, which excited her.

“ Oh it was marvelous for the most part. Remember those letters I sent to Mr. Smith? Well, it turns out Marceline isn’t a true friend! She hid them from him. Mr. Smith reached out to me by himself and apologized for leaving me so suddenly. We spent so much time together!”, Christa giggled. Finally, some good news, Y/N thought. The two sisters chattered all night before falling asleep together. In the morning, they awoke to hyper shouting! At once, they ran downstairs to see what the commotion was all about.

There she was, grinning from ear to ear and dressed in a posh whiter gown: Sasha L/N! She was holding hands with a serious looking Mr. Yeager, and Mrs. L/N was stroking her cheeks and talking hyperly to her. As one track minded as ever, Mrs. L/N was just glad that Sasha came back home married! Rita, the maid, served lunch at the table. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Papa and the rest of the sisters didn’t say a word. It was only Mama and Sasha who spoke. Papa interrogated Mr. Yeager. Sasha finally switched her attention from Mrs. L/N to Y/N, who she was seated beside.

“ Isn’t my husband handsome?”Sasha poked. She was under the impression that Y/N loved Mr. Yeager, and that she had stolen away the heart of her much more popular elder sister’s object of affection. Y/N nodded coldly, not wanting to discuss this imprudent match at all! She made no eye contact with Sasha, and was too busy fearing what events would lay out in the future. Mr. Yeager didn’t love Sasha at all, and he was only after money. Y/N internally winced at the heartbreak Sasha would experience should Mr. Yeager not ditch his womanizing ways.

“ Our wedding was intimate, but my god, it was heavenly!”Sasha gushed.

“ I looked like a goddess in my wedding dress, If I do say so myself, and Mr. Yeager was as handsome as ever. Oh, silly me, I call him Zeke now. Anyways, only Uncle Theo and Auntie Magath were present, along with the priest, Mr. Nick, and Mr. Ackerman. Of course, me and Zeke too”. Y/N’s head shot up at this news. What was Mr. Ackerman doing at Sasha’s wedding?

“ What was Mr. Ackerman doing there?", she questioned.

“ Oh, Mr. Ackerman searched for us everywhere before we got discovered in our hiding spot: a quaint little inn on the outskirts of Ragako”, Sasha began.

“ Who do you think paid for the wedding? Mr. Ackerman had us married at a small church the very next day. But you mustn’t tell anyone, promise you won’t!”Sasha instructed.

Later on that afternoon, Y/N cornered Mr. Yeager. She tried so hard to get her anger under control, but she couldn’t.

“ Listen to me, you blasted buffoon from hell”, she started with a look so vicious Mr. Yeager flinched and took a step back.

“ I know of your true nature, and I know of your drama with Isabel Ackerman. I’ve been enlightened about all the lies you spit”, she continued. Subconsciously, Y/N neared Mr. Yeager’s face.

“ If heartbreak of any sort ails Sasha, and I discover that you’re the root cause of it, nobody will ever hear from you again”, Y/N threatened.

“ I’ll expose every dirty secret and lie of yours. Moreover, if word about the little fiasco between you and Isabel gets out, you’ll be met with the same fate. You’re so fond of playing with the adolescent feelings of 15-year-old girls and leading them on, now you must keep your promise to Sasha. Never again will you court or seduce any other young girl, as Sasha is now your wife who you claimed to be so enamoured with back at Ragako. Have a nice life”, she spat before stomping off to her room. Christa sensed Y/N’s disapproval and anger the second she slammed the library door shut and dashed upstairs to her room. Christa entered the room tentatively, horrified upon witnessing the sight of her dear sister sprawled on her bed, weeping into a pillow.

“ Y/N? Y/N? Oh, do answer me, darling. Are you still dismayed about the wedding after threatening Mr. Yeager?”, Christa urged, gently shaking Y/N.

“ Not only that”, Y/N sniffled. She finally sat up and wiped her tears.

“ Remember when I told you that Mr. Ackerman proposed to me? Well, it turns out ages after that little event, I’m hopelessly in love with him”, Y/N tearfully confessed.

“ Mr. Ackerman paid for Sasha’s wedding and all the commissions and all that. I’m not entirely sure, but I think he was behind your rekindling with Mr. Smith too”, she finished.

“ All of that is great. Why do you cry?”, Christa probed.

“ It’s because I have a strong feeling he’s fallen out of love with me! I’m much lower than him in rank socially, and I’ve rejected him once in a horribly rude manner, and now with this whole elopement tosh, I’m from a family ripe with scandal”, Y/N sobbed, her figure shaking so much even the bed creaked.

“ Why would any man of birth as noble as Mr. Ackerman still love me? He’s over me, and I’ve just learned to love him”, she finished, her voice laced with bitter regret and sorrow. Christa pulled her into her chest in a hug.

“ If he truly loves you, he’ll overlook all of this”, she assured.

“ If he didn’t truly love you, he wouldn’t have gone as far as to search for Sasha and secure her marriage. If your hunch is right, as they always are, and he’s urged Mr. Smith to contact me again, then that’s not for my happiness, it’s for yours. Don’t you see, Y/N? He’s doing everything in his power to win you over! He’s fixing all his mistakes”, Christa explained, her expression one that said: “ How does someone of your level of intelligence not realize the things I just enlightened you about?”

Y/N smiled at her sister. She realized how stupid she had sounded 2 minutes ago.

“ Christa, what would I do without you? All you’ve said makes so much sense to me now. I just wish there was a way for me to meet Mr. Ackerman now. He’s the person I most wish to see as of present. And oh how I wish to wed him. But alas, that could never be”, Y/N sighed.

“ Why not?”, Christa inquired.

“ For he’s engaged to another woman against his will. And worse, she seems to be highly uninterested in him, and he has never been interested in her".

#captain levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #aot levi ackerman

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nebris · 4 years

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Paraprosdokians are figures of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected and is frequently humorous. (Sir Winston Churchill loved them.)

1. Where there's a will, I want to be in it. 2. The last thing I want to do is hurt you ...but it's still on my list. 3. Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until you hear them speak. 4. If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong. 5. We never really grow up -- we only learn how to act in public. 6. War does not determine who is right, only who is left. 7. Knowledge, is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. 8. To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research. 9. I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you. 10. In filling out an application, where it says, "In case of an emergency, notify..." I answered "a doctor." 11. Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy. 12. You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice. 13. I used to be indecisive, but now I'm not so sure. 14. To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target. 15. Going to church doesn't make you a Christian, any more than standing in a garage makes you a car. 16. You're never too old to learn something stupid. 17. I'm supposed to respect my elders, but it's getting harder and harder for me to find someone older than me.

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orangeseoks · 4 years

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365 Rain Street EST.1809 // k.th

pt.3

[ unedited ]

As the week had finally passed, the weekend had arrived which meant church. I’d never been as fond of it as mother, but had no other option but to attend since I’m too young to make such decisions on my own according to my mother.

“Remember dear, the purest of white for church.”

“Yes mother,” I return. Tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear and fitting in a nice clip to brighten up my look. A mix of pinks and purples blended nicely with the creamy white, “I say someone is looking rather beautiful today, hm?”

Shifting in my seat I see nothing but my dear friend Jiyoo, “for what reason are you here? And are your parents aware of this?”

“Cheer up you, my parents don’t mind one bit.”

“How shocking,” I retort, straightening out my collar. “It may be the day of christ but there is no need for you to be so.. so, motherly. I find it quite disturbing.”

“Your opinion is not needed, Jiyoo, say and do as one pleases so.” Standing from my chair, I pat down my skirt and adjust the ribbon around my waist. “Your mother suggested for us to take the second carriage, if not then we must walk.”

“I think a nice stroll would be nice, don’t you?” I chime, linking arms with Jiyoo as the two of us walk through the house, stopping shortly to visit the family cat. As the two of us walk along the street we watch the many families with their children and elders as one and on their way to church.

A look of amusement forms on Jiyoo’s face as she watches in pure awe at the families, “imagine having such a family (Y/n). Children to wake you in the early mornings to grant you the sweetest gifts even if that gift is a mere kiss on the temple.”

Jiyoo smiles at thought and holds me closer to her, “its a shame humanity isn’t of acceptance for all.”

“That was a bit deep, Jiyoo, even for you.” Jiyoo chuckles awkwardly and nods, “my bad. I’ve been studying the art of poetry and the performing arts.”

“Quite sophisticated, very admirable Jiyoo.” I respond giving her a gentle smile. Jiyoo’s cheeks instantly tint as she grows embarrassed at my compliment. A soft giggle leaves my lips, the two of us keeping up our peaceful walk to church.

__________________________________________________________

Church was nearing its end as our priest did his final prayer for the townspeople, “may the lord praise your souls. The many children of god, I hope for only the best in this blissful world, the lord thanks you.”

With that our priest bids his goodbyes and leaves a few side notes and information about the event this evening that will be held at the Lee Manor.

“(Y/n) dear,” my mother coos gaining my attention as I stand abruptly. “Call for Sir Lee please, I wish to converse with him.” I mentally roll my eyes at this, “yes mother. One moment,” with a silent huff I turn away from my annoyance of a mother in search of Sir Lee.

While I look around the inside the church I hear a faint conversation coming from the foyer, peaking my head through the doorway I see of two bodies I recognise and grow somewhat curious.

One is definitely Sir Lee, the other? No idea.

“Pardon the intrusion,” I begin, the thickness of my heel clicking against the glossy wooden floor as I make my way towards the tall males. “Sir Lee,” I greet with a smile. “Mother wishes to converse with you, possibly about tonight's events.”

Sir Lee turns to face me, his face instantly brightening as a kind smile graces his lips. “Ah. Miss (Y/n). many thanks for notifying me. Say, have you met my nephew?”

“Nephew?” I repeat after him, shifting my attention from Sir Lee to the man next to him, “this is my nephew Taehyung.”

Mr Kim, he can’t be.

“Why don’t you say hello, you know its rude not to.” Sir Lee brings up, his voice strained slightly as he directs Mr Kim, I knew that it was only polite to greet a woman let alone anyone at that. But we’ve already met once before.

“O-Oh, I see no need to do so, myself and you nephew can always catch up sometime later. The event perhaps?”

I attempt to get away but remain in my spot as I feel that oh-too familiar burn in the back of head, my mothers presence causing me to tense.

“No need,” Mr Kim adds. Bowing slightly and reaching a hand forward to hold onto mine, bringing it his lips. Softly pecking at my knuckles, despite me wearing gloves that doesn’t stop the tenderness of such a small action to send me into a fit of shivers.

“Its a pleasure to meet you Miss (Y/n), that dress you’re wearing does look breathtaking.”

“Thank you, its a pleasure to meet you also.” Forcing a smile I look over at Sir Lee for some sort of way to escape, “look at that.” Sir Lee smiles, walking around me to the woman at the other end of the room. “The two of you discuss interests, myself and Miss (Y/n)’s mother have matters to sort.”

“Yes Sir,” I reply for the two of us. Tipping my head slightly to bid them goodbye, “thank the lords they’re gone.” Mr Kim breathes out, his usual smile forming on his face. “Sincerest apologies miss, I knew you were not comfortable with that but I must leave a good impression before both your mother and my uncle.”

Nodding, I fold my hands together, fiddling with my thumbs in a way to occupy myself. “Would you like to sit down? I could get us some refreshments?”

“Yes thank you,” Mr Kim nods, taking my hand and walking us into the small room were gatherings were normally held. “Tea?” Mr Kim asks, wandering into a closed off section, “oh no. Just water please, nothing much Mr Kim.”

“I understand,” Mr Kim says, the sound of glasses and many cups filling the empty atmosphere. Stirring and jugs being lifted, it all seemed somewhat calming and homelike. It was peaceful.

Walking back into the room, I watch as Mr Kim takes a seat next to me on the oddly comfortable bench seat, handing me my drink slowly and carefully. “This isn’t water Mr Kim,” I question examining the cup full of warmth.

“I know,” he speaks with a grin. Taking a sip of his drink, wincing at the heat of it. Letting out a soft chuckle, I lower my head, merely staring at the full cup in front of me. Its neatly made image atop the liquid drink, a swan.

“Ahh, whats so funny miss?” Mr Kim whines, leaning towards me with his round eyes boring holes through me. “Nothing Mr Kim, no need to whine.”

Mr Kim laughs, leaning back he sighs, “do you like it?” He asks me, taking yet another sip of his drink. “Like what?” I add oblivious to the question, “the swan silly. Do you like it?”

“O-Oh, yes I do. Its creative, for I wish I had such talent.”

Mr Kim grows silent for a moment before he lets out yet another sigh, “doubt. The sour taste of doubt,” he starts shifting slightly so he’s now facing me. “Doubting ones self is not healthy, belief and hope is what you should follow miss.”

“Mr Kim,” I murmur. Finally taking a sip of my hot drink, “why is it that Sir Lee wishes to court mother? She has no interest in him.”

Mr Kim smiles at this, quickly finishing his drink, “my uncle he truly feels for your mother miss. He only wants to show her the brighter and happier side of life, but..” He pauses, looking down.

“Your mother, she refuses to allow him to, believing that he is of pure scum. Its disgusting and rude-”

“-I know,” I add, cutting Mr Kim off. “I’ve tried many times before to tell mother the truth but she won’t listen.”

Letting out a faint huff, I force a smile, silencing myself with the drink in my hands. “Say, have you visited the park recently? Myself and Namjoon hyung are planning on seeing the views once church has finished.”

Placing my now empty cup beside me, I straighten my posture, turning my head to face Mr Kim.

“I’d love to, but mother will insist on me to ready myself for tonight’s event.”

“I’ll be sure to find someway to have you come, the views there are oh-too beautiful, rumor has it that if you stare into the distance long enough an angel will be by your side and whisper your true love into the ear of the lucky.”

Smiling, I intertwine my fingers together and click my heels together in amusement. “You have some strange beliefs Mr Kim, I envy that.”

Mr Kim laughs gently at this and shifts closer to me, “you’re quite-”

Mr Kim suddenly stops and looks up at something behind me, curious I turn around, “m-mother. Wh-What are you doing here?” Nervous, I swallow the lump in my throat as my mother continues to stare down at me.

“I believe it is time to leave, (Y/n) dear, have you got everything?”

I nod smally, and stand before my mother, checking my appearance quickly. “Good, many thanks for watching over my daughter.”

“Oh no miss, no need, myself and Miss (Y/n) are friends. We were simply conversing about education.”

“Hm, I see. Well, good day.” She spits back sourly, taking my hand in hers and leaving the room. “M-Mother, may I visit the park with Mr Kim. He promises to take care of me, him and his friend.”

“No,” is all she says and with the wave of a hand our vehicle is in front of us. “Mother please, I’ll be home of desired time, I beg of you please.”

“You sound like a poor salesman, dear.” Mother retorts, climbing into the car without looking back at me. Giving up, I bite back at the tears that sting my eyes and follow my mothers lead; entering the car without a single care.

As we drive out of the church grounds, I look back to find Mr Kim running out of the large building and into the car lot, stopping suddenly and watching as we leave.

“Mr Kim,” I whisper, a tear finally hitting my cheek. “Please forgive me.”

#bts #kimtaehyung #btskimtaehyung #btstaehyung #taehyung #btsv #v #oldendays #old #btsold #history #highclass #lowclass #1900sau #btsau #taehyungau #au #btslovestory #fanfic #btsfanfic #btsff #ff

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cakerollk · 5 years

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v. White Truffle

The war between Fallen Angels and humans is a never changing affair in Tierra.

The Fallen Angels invade a nation, and the humans pick up their weapons to strike back. Fighting breeds hatred over time. However, in this endlessly protracted age, there will always be those who, because of selfish interests, betray humanity, attempting to research on controlling Fallen Angels.

If only that were it. However, what’s even worse are the schemes developed to try to awaken the world’s most fundamental and primordial evils.

These treacherous humans spent much time honing dastardly and heretical techniques. The passing eons truly freed them to inflict suffering time and time again.

Black Truffle was a victim of them. She accepted the Guild of Chefs’s appointed mission, and headed to the cult’s rendezvous to destroy their ritual.

However, nobody expected that despite the ritual failing, the projection of chaos still arrived. Even though it was only for a moment, Black Truffle glimpsed the chaos and became contaminated by its evil intent. It was ultimately the God’s Council who brought her back after detecting strange activity. It even cost God’s Council the lives of several people to transport Black Truffle and her pet, due to chaos contamination.

Black Truffle was sent back to the church, but this did not resolve the problems. Seeing Black Truffle’s existence warp into something akin to a Fallen Angel, Donut sought out her little sister. After sacrificing her sight, White Truffle successfully rescued her sister from the hands of chaos.

After some days, with the God’s Council’s aid, White Truffle publicly sold her research patents and received a shocking amount of funding.

Towards the end of this year, the Perigord Research Institute was established. Their main field of study was Fallen Angels and Food Souls, and a portion of its projects touch on the field of occultism.

Perigord Institute created the Truffle Scholarship Foundation. The purpose was to construct an institute for higher learning and nurture talented people, as well as expand their linked research through endorsement. This move greatly promoted Gloriville research on Fallen Angels.

For this reason, in the month that the Truffle Scholarship Foundation was established, renowned Gloriville journalists came to interview White Truffle. Some of White Truffle’s answers became the institute and foundation’s motto, imprinted on the gates.

“Thank you for accepting this interview. Before it ends, personally, I’d also like to ask a question; I’m not sure whether or not that’s proper.”

“Speak.”

“I’d like to ask why you’re doing all this. To clarify, what’s prompting you to push forward with everything?”

“Science…”

“Science?”

“I want science to explain everything, including god.”

“The world does not need god, but it needs science.”

God’s Council- Central Reading Room

An elder, dressed in red, and a youth of extraordinary grace and temperament stood across from one another, standing upright.

“These are White Truffle’s research materials?”

“They’re all in here.”

“An unexpectedly big catch… You’ve done well. Remember to notify us if there’s any news.”

“Everything for the family.”

End of Part 5

#food fantasy #ff white truffle #ff translations #translations

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starmin-marmin · 5 years

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Hi! I’m learning more about the LDS faith and I’d like to ask you a question if that’s ok - how do you know that Joseph Smith didn’t make up the Book of Mormon? He used to tell stories to his family of ancient Americans years before the BoM was published so couldn’t he have spent time figuring out the “story” and then dictated it? I’m really sorry if this offends anyone - that’s not how I meant it at all and I just want to learn! But feel free not to answer if you don’t want to. Thanks!

Okay, Anon, it’s taken me a hot second but I’ve finally finished my research and feel that I can contribute to your question in an actually helpful way now. I apologize in advance for the length. Hopefully Tumblr will keep this cut so I don’t have to bog down everyone’s feeds.

(If it doesn’t, you’re all welcome in advance for the thumb workout.)

First, some brief history in case you aren’t familiar with it. After Joseph experienced the First Vision in the spring of 1820, the heavens were comparatively quiet* to Joseph for three(ish) years, until 1823. On the night of September 21st, he was saying his prayers when the angel Moroni visited him three times, one right after the other, repeating a similar message each time. The following day, Moroni appeared again and repeated himself yet a fourth time, and gave Joseph directions as to where the gold plates were to be found.

Joseph went to this place and found the plates, but Moroni told him he was not allowed to take them. Instead, Joseph was to come back on the same day and receive instruction until he was worthy of taking the plates. This he did for four years and eventually received the plates on September 22nd, 1827.

(If you would like to read more of this in greater detail, it’s in Joseph Smith History 1:27-54, or on the Church’s website here if you don’t have a hard copy of the Pearl of Great Price.)

I had also heard of Joseph telling his family stories of the ancient people who lived in the Americas, but it took me a minute to find an actual source for this. Eventually I came across it in the 19th chapter of Lucy Mack Smith’s history (Joseph’s mother).

She wrote that during these four years, “Joseph would occasionally give us some of the most amusing recitals that could be imagined: he would describe the ancient inhabitants of this continent; their dress, mode of travelling, and the animals upon which they rode; their cities, and their buildings, with every particular; he would describe their warfare, as also their religious worship. This he would do with as much ease, seemingly, as if he had spent his whole life with them.”

(If you would like to read more of Lucy’s experience in greater detail, you can access her history on the Church’s website here. This excerpt is from chapter 19, although her telling of Joseph Jr’s life begins much earlier and extends much longer.)

Now, speaking as someone who is familiar with the Book of Mormon and has studied creative writing in both an academic and recreational setting, I understand how this could seem like a long-term worldbuilding exercise for Joseph. I totally get that, it’s a valid point. I’ve heard many critics of the book and of Joseph bring this up.

However, since you’re asking for my opinion, I will say that this argument doesn’t hold a lot of weight with me. Joseph was largely illiterate, and had never even read the Bible all the way through. He wasn’t an eloquent speaker or even a proficient writer later in life, so I doubt he was a grand storyteller at 17. Joseph himself even wrote** “It required the exertions of all that were able to render any assistance for the support of the Family therefore we were deprived of the bennifit of an education suffice it to say I was mearly instructid in reading writing and the ground rules of Arithmatic which const[it]uted my whole literary acquirements.”

(If you’d like to read more about documents in Joseph’s handwriting and even check some of them out, they are available on The Joseph Smith Papers website here.)

We could logic this out for years (people have literally been doing it for almost 200 already), but what it boils down to is whether or not you think Joseph Smith made this book up.

All I can tell you for sure, Anon, is that you need to read it yourself. Read as much as you’d like - I don’t think you have to read the whole thing, to be honest. Just read as much as you need to decide how you feel about it, and then pray. If God commanded ancient prophets to write it and then helped Joseph Smith translate it, then surely He’ll give you an impression as to its validity.

Personally, I think The Book of Mormon is truly given from God. I’ve read it a handful of times and I know that it makes me happy. I’ve studied Joseph’s life over the years and I don’t feel that there’s anything in his character to indicate that he would fabricate this. But please, do not take my word for it.

Some other sources I would recommend to you is the introduction to the Book of Mormon (available online here) as well as the talk, “Safety for the Soul” from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland (available online here).

Hopefully this helped and wasn’t so long that it totally confused you, Anon. Thanks for reaching out to me and please don’t hesitate to do so again. This was a lot of fun to research and I learned some good stuff along the way.

I hope you find what you’re looking for.

As usual, please notify me of any historical inaccuracies or discrepancies in my statements. I ain’t no Church historian.

*Joseph may have been continuing in prayer and receiving spiritual promptings during this time, but I have not read anything particular about this period in my studies. He does say that during this time he was busy being a teenager and he speaks of these years in his history as a time when he tried to make friends and occasionally did stupid things to do so - pretty typical teenager behavior in my opinion.

**Spelling errors in this quote are original to Joseph Smith’s statement, but are more likely due to the fact that there was no standardized spelling in the US until about 1828, long after Joseph’s formal education had ended.

#tumblrstake #the book of mormon #mormon #again i'm so sorry for the length but i just had so many great sources #i am a well-read disaster

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krystynasierbien · 5 years

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Whenever particularly sozzled, Claudia Lawrence liked to play the same Elton John track, Your Song, repeatedly at the Nag’s Head pub, Heworth, York, to amused groans from all those present until eventually someone intervened to prise the next pound coin destined for the jukebox from her hand. Usually only to play and wail along to Motorcycle Emptiness and a maximum of two other songs on repeat for an hour or two instead. When I first heard the terrible news she had disappeared, via Facebook, I revisited such memories I had of Claudia and her friends in hopes they’d stick in my mind longer, become clearer, perhaps even reveal something that might help investigators piece together what happened. Leaving my bar job at the Nag’s the September before she disappeared, I missed six potentially vital months of goings on that could plausibly have nothing to do with finding out what happened to Claudia had she been abducted by a stranger or by someone totally unconnected to the Nag’s Head crowd. However my frame of reference, obviously, is the pub. Some insist police have been looking in the wrong place all this time. That any and all arrests made have been empty gestures intended solely to save face on the police’s behalf. While it’s true no-one arrested has ever been charged with Claudia’s murder, despite repeated requests for trial being submitted to the Crown Prosecution Service, all those who were are either regulars at the Nag’s Head pub or closely associated with someone who is. And of course to this day, a decade later, no crime scene or body has ever been found.

I’m unsure how many arrests have been made since 2009. Apparently the official number is nine. Of the six people discussed in the media I know all of the suspects except Shane Ruane, David Robinson and Paul Harris. I’ve been reluctant to add to conjecture about people who were it not for Claudia’s disappearance would be described as some of her nearest and dearest and therefore people she could be judged by and precisely because of it are some of the natural suspects. I’m going to focus on her friend’s ‘misdemeanours’ a little though because I think they might help contextualise the many ghosts of Claudia’s. I remember the day I found out she went missing well.... Already mulling over the death of a guy I knew, aged just 22, on March 18th, which just so happened to be the last day anyone ever heard from Claudia, I felt sick. We were never close, and I hadn’t spent a significant amount of time with him specifically for a couple of years, but I was nonetheless saddened to learn that such a vibrant spirit had succumbed to the troubles I’d heard rumours he’d been struggling with and fighting for a while. The last time I bumped into them both was during the same night out in December 2008. A question mark hung over Claudia’s fate that didn’t his but I feared she had met a grizzly one. “He died as he lived” his younger brother told me at a club in York a couple of weeks after he passed away when I expressed my condolences. I wish that he hadn’t because I couldn’t help but think snarky to the point of venomous thoughts in response, knowing full well they were misplaced and unfair, especially towards him and especially so soon, even if unuttered. The last time I saw him was at the funeral service a week later sat with the rest of his family and his girlfriend. The anguish in his eyes distant and strained. He’d been forced to anticipate this ending for his elder brother long before he actually died. I lit a candle for Claudia and Ed in the church foyer that morning thinking it only a matter of weeks, if that, until inevitably she’d be found, whatever the outcome. How wrong I was. Bittersweet giggles rippled through the church as speakers reminisced about Ed’s many hilarious, often inebriated antics — some I was present for, many I was not — brightening the eerily dim light. Any niggling sense of guilt felt by his nearest and dearest through to us well-wishers from his past temporarily stemmed as we simply remembered Ed being Ed, according to them. A male friend who’d had several drunken fights with him in clubs over the years inquired gingerly about the service when he visited a month or so after the funeral. Turns out he’d never heard This Woman’s Work before — the song that played as Ed’s coffin disappeared behind the curtain — and after doing so it became an instant favourite, playing it four times in a row before I gently insisted he didn’t a fifth. “Remember the dead for who they were!” he chuckled without a hint of malice or irony before changing the subject and playlist completely. I knew in his own weird way he’d been touched by Ed’s death too of course. But had he actually learnt anything? The last time I bumped into Claudia was over Christmas in 2008. Not at the Nag’s Head like usual but in York city centre outside a late night bar deceptively named Dusk — probably its least busy trading hours — at around 1am. I’d bumped into Ed earlier that evening. I have no idea if they knew each other but I wouldn’t be surprised if they did. Claudia wasn’t at the Nag’s Head that night but she definitely was with a couple of her male friends I knew from there, as well as a few people I didn’t know at all. Surely it’s just as plausible that she spent more time than usual in Acomb prior to disappearing, as North Yorkshire Police had confirmed from her mobile phone data early on in the investigation, because she wanted to socialise away from certain people or situations at the Nag’s as it is that she did so to meet up with someone romantically who either lived in Acomb or for whatever reason regularly frequented pubs in the area. A Facebook exchange I saw between two people I know who knew Claudia said that she last visited the pub on Sunday, March 14th, 2009. Media and police reports purport that she failed to meet her friend Suzy for a drink on the Thursday evening. Suzy was made aware Claudia had missed work by a mutual friend after which time the alarm was raised with her father, who then rang the university. The police weren’t notified until Friday morning by Claudia’s dad Peter after according to Neil Root’s book he visited her house with her friend George on the Thursday evening with his spare key thinking that she may have suffered a medical emergency at her home. If I suspected there’d been a medical emergency I’d prefer to check the house with one of her female friends. Perhaps George had medical training Jen and Suzy didn’t, or they weren’t available at the time, or Peter for whatever reason wanted to check the house with George, or George insisted on going with him. Finding Claudia’s house empty, with no obvious sign of disturbance, her slippers had been left by the front door like usual, as if she’d left for work on Thursday morning, used breakfast dishes resting in the sink, electric toothbrush left out on the side. Gone was her rucksack, chef whites, mobile phone and hair straighteners. Left behind were Claudia’s bankcards, her passport, and most of her worldly possessions. Suzy last met up with Claudia the previous Friday. Knowing broadly the regularity with which they all drank at the Nag’s, that Claudia’s last Sunday was spent in part at the pub on a busier, livelier, racing weekend — I think it was Cheltenham — where not only were more locals present than usual but also randoms and visitors from further afield means increased likelihood an incident or conversation had occurred that preceded her disappearance and probable murder in the eyes of the culprit. An Express article — note I refer to numerous Express articles throughout, the newspaper that pushed the story Claudia was romantically involved with a policeman when she first disappeared, decide for yourself why that might be— quoting a colleague claims Claudia told them on March 18th that she’d been out in town on a date on the Sunday evening, presumably after she’d been to the Nag’s in the afternoon, drinking until 4am, narrowing her possible location to a select few bars and clubs in York city centre on which they were surely caught on CCTV. Was this person someone Claudia already knew, or someone she had met at the Nag’s that day? Claudia last attended work on March 18th 2009. She is seen on CCTV first leaving the university, then posting a letter in a postbox outside Melrosegate post office. What could this mean about the letter? She may have made use of the university facilities to print out a form or document on break or after work; I’m pretty sure she didn’t own a computer, so that would make sense. She doesn’t buy a stamp from the post office meaning either the letter was free post or that she had a stamp with her. If she really had walked to work that morning from her own address with the letter in her bag, why didn’t she post it then? Upon returning home from work after being given a lift by a colleague driving past her on Melrosegate — I’d be interested to know if this person had given Claudia lifts before or if March 18th was the day they found out where she lived — she left the house once more, chatting to an acquaintance then returning home within fifteen minutes. Her most vocal critics didn’t seem to know her well. Those who didn’t frequent the pub lock-ins yet spoke with authority as if they were covert orgy sessions, not-quite-suburban York’s answer to Eyes Wide Shut, the exaggerated sentiment of which really has echoed throughout media coverage of her murder inquiry since, tabloid and otherwise, always baffled me — that being said, I didn’t know many of the alleged ‘facts’ back then — because all that ever seemed to happen at them centred around the same eight to twelve drunk people singing joyously if out of tune along to the pub jukebox, spilling drinks on themselves, dancing, and being ‘handsy’ to the extent some social circles just are more ‘handsy’ with each other generally. For usually no longer than a couple of hours after last orders in the main bar at their local boozer most Friday and Saturday nights for a few years. The pub I used to work at remains ‘cloaked in mystery’ whenever talk about Claudia’s whereabouts is raised claim investigators and journalists interviewed in the 2013 Donal McIntyre documentary. Locals to this day apparently remain suspicious of both. Threatening journalists attempting to report on Claudia’s disappearance has been common according to one startled Sky news reporter, who says he’s never experienced as much resistance fact finding a murder inquiry as he has done with Claudia’s. Though I detect from his reference to ‘market town’ in the video edit that he’s referring to people he had encountered in Malton. Evening Press journalist Nicola Fifield recounts similar experiences in reference to the lock-ins at the Nag’s Head pub. McIntyre’s doc ultimately concludes that Claudia most likely met her demise or at the very least with the culprit the evening of March 18th 2009. Either at her home or elsewhere. Indeed my own questions as a civilian to people I knew from the Nag’s, people who knew I knew Claudia too, whenever I’ve bumped into them since have been met with a resounding “We don’t know” no matter how I phrased things. When I inquired for information about what was going on at the pub and with Claudia around the time she disappeared, the potentially vital six months that I missed, the answer was the same: “We don’t know.” Interviewees in the documentary describe an overarching climate of fear compounded by anger at police tactics that helped drive a wedge between investigators, the media, and the people who knew Claudia best, leading to an oft repeated ‘wall of silence’ that still managed to throw around far too often anonymously sourced hearsay with abandon while there was a market for it. One Yorkshire radio journalist opines with relish in the documentary that locals simply didn’t like a light being shone back on their lives. Whenever I agreed to work the lock-ins I was always one of the last to leave the pub, closing down the bar and so forth. While it’s possible that people hid around corners and then returned once I’d left, obviously I never witnessed any of this. For the majority of the time pub chef Ray lived in one of the B&B rooms so if anything sordid regularly went on in any of them he would no doubt have had an inkling about it, Jim and George too, and the police, surely, would already be aware. Eyes Wide Shut vibes aside, the infidelities I sensed were going on didn’t involve Claudia at all but as far as I suspected most probably did take place in the B&B rooms. Occasions when certain perhaps emotionally inappropriate relationships became physically inappropriate too were always extremely blatant. Everyone in the bar in so far as the lock-in crowd were concerned were aware and accepting at them and discreet about any night before occurrences during regular drinking hours. So, I can say with a degree of certainty that adultery amongst the group was far from constant. But it did happen. However I don’t think I saw Claudia being blatant with anybody, married or otherwise, the entire time I knew her, although I did George, Pete, Jen, Suzy, and many others. I’ve read someone say, anonymously of course, that Claudia would regularly invite men back to her house from the pub lock-ins but if she did so I didn’t notice, unless of course she asked by text, in which case how could I have. What I did notice is that some of the men, Alistair Cooper springs to mind, disclaimer I liked Alistair least out of their gang, another friend and perhaps lover according to some who was one of the four men arrested on suspicion of Claudia’s murder in 2015; whose son worked behind the bar during university breaks, seemed to me to be amongst the most uncouthe men towards Claudia, despite himself being married, who’d often also tut along with her critics behind her back. Usually to passive silence from her other friends if they were within earshot. Did any of them ever tell Claudia about this? I really don’t know. I just know that I didn’t. Alistair was respected by Claudia and her pals though and in many senses was one of them. Although I wouldn’t put it past him, though he wasn’t the nastiest piece of work there, to overreact had Claudia ever decided to get her own back on him in some way. This made his absence from initial appeals for information and the Neil Root book all the more conspicuous to me, although in fairness he tended to avoid group photos and events when I knew them all too. Alistair used to wear a sandy coloured mid-length mac coat. The description of a man seen standing outside Claudia’s house between 6.45 and 6.55am on March 19th could therefore potentially be him. I remember the coat because of its distinctiveness from his usual attire. If he is responsible and Claudia’s murder was not premeditated, it’s plausible that he loitered in a catatonic state after whatever happened happened, presumably inside Claudia’s house, outside it. Had she been killed on March 18th and Alistair isn’t involved it’s possible that her abductor sent him a text, if not from from her phone then from someone else’s claiming to be her--or perhaps she had two phones--asking him to meet her at her house at that time in the morning, or someone deliberately either bore false witness or even broadly matched his description and deliberately wore a coat similar to his. If he was involved, and he and whoever he was in cahoots with muddied the waters just enough, perhaps his choice of coat and the dithering that would on one hand imply Claudia’s murder hadn’t been premeditated was being worn specifically because any witness descriptions would point vividly to him. George’s admission in the local paper he’d been aware of three married men connected to the pub that Claudia had entered relationships with during the time I knew them all shocked me, made me re-evaluate a lot of the assumptions I held back then, whilst retaining skepticism on the basis that he didn’t have to say that, and that he said so at least in part in response to accusations being levelled against him ... Something about an Evening Press article I read where George reportedly gave someone a Heimlich manoeuvre on a bus, and another about Pete Ruane’s I think relative Terry Ruane, a taxi driver, being a ‘witness’ at a wedding of two strangers in a York registry office, one of whom happens to either be or share a name with a London BNP candidate, is interesting. Co-Landlord George and his friend Steve Sammons, who had for not too long lived in Cyprus but would visit the pub I’d say every four to six weeks over at least a six month period — I think I enquired once or twice about why he was back and forth from Cyprus so much, the reasons he gave varied — themselves first met at international school in Bahrain. I could be misremembering his circumstances or the Express article I read could be misquoting him, I think Neil Root’s book restates them as having regularly socialised with Claudia and her friends at the pub only before he first moved to Cyprus. Indeed Claudia’s friends and family have complained about mistruths, inaccuracies, and ‘jealous rumours’ in the past but writing as fact that he spent time with her at the Nag’s only before he first moved to Cyprus seems obviously and totally untrue to me, and in my opinion also anyone else who knew and spent any time with them back then. Though I was never privvy to this information because I never explicitly asked them George and Steve might have known Claudia longest out of the Nag’s Head crowd. She did seem particularly familiar with them anecdotally and had twice visited Steve and another friend in Cyprus. Suzy and Claudia were also close but really even their friendship was relatively new. They met I think a year or so before I did them so they’d have known each other for around two and a half years when Claudia first went missing. On the rare occasion Claudia stood up Suzy I noticed that Suzy would always text or try call her but she would never make the thirty second walk down the road to knock on her door and see if she was at home. Jen became close with them both — a drinking duo up to then — after she’d been working there on and off for about three years. She had agreed to work a few hours behind the bar again not too long before I got the job in 2007. The three of them would meet regularly enough to say that the Nag’s formed the centre of all their social lives at that point in time. Occasionally, they’d meet at the pub then catch a taxi to town, or vice versa, and I remember Claudia sometimes visited friends at pubs in Acomb. She mentioned more than once to me at least two of her ex boyfriends, who she was in ongoing contact with in 2007/8 when I knew her. One of whom she used to meet up with from time to time and, at one point, I’m fairly certain, she was considering getting back together with on a long distance basis. Jen was the heart and soul of the Nag’s, more so than most people who drank there. Even the old boys who’d frequented the place for decades. She was on friendly terms with the broadest cross set of people who called the Nag’s their local as far as I observed. Everyone’s friend and/or adopted daughter bar the odd transient bar sleaze, Jen knew the job better than both landlords, and was often relied on as such. Which I think that she relished. Jen was mature minded for her age too — Claudia was definitely the baby of their group despite being ten years Jen’s senior — so it didn’t surprise me that she tended to date older guys. While I knew her, she became involved first with a surly and unthinking builder in his thirties called Simon, who I think broke her heart a little, then eventually Pete Ruane, who was also one of Claudia’s friends, possibly at the tail end of a marriage with children, hence perhaps there’s a custody/divorce settlement element to any refrain to fully co-operating with police, and in his forties at the time. Ruane, a builder, and his brother Shane (who I’m pretty sure didn’t frequent the pub while I worked there because I don’t recognise him) were among those arrested on suspicion of Claudia’s murder in 2015 who were then later released without charge due to lack of evidence. As far as I heard Jen remains in a relationship with Pete today and works in an executive administrative role at his building firm. Dan Whitehand, Claudia’s ex-boyfriend, and the most obvious suspect, was in my eyes to the point of suspiciously convinced, but who knows, that Claudia’s abductor and probable killer had some connection to Cyprus, saying so in a number of interviews, citing an array of ‘shady characters’ he knew Claudia remained in contact with and had met whilst holidaying with him in Cyprus in 2006 and 2007. North Yorkshire police spent a week there questioning various people she knew and spent time with on the island, including a guy who had been transporting vans to Italy when she went missing, which I think is where the human trafficking and fake passport line of enquiry originated. Character witnesses in Cyprus were much more gracious about Claudia than some of her friends asked back home. Dan, Suzy and Jen expressed the most true to life observations about the unique and warm but complex person I and many others unapologetically remember Claudia to be. Claudia’s dad Peter Lawrence expressed his support for the progress police made after their review of the investigation with a new team in 2013 — the same year that the Neil Root book and Donal McIntyre’s documentary were released — which found previously missed clues and produced hitherto ‘unprocessable’ evidence that still ultimately went nowhere. Family and friends alike were critical of the mismanaged trajectory of the investigation and narrative underpinning it up to then, but there was also a distinct sense that police mistakes were providing fuel and cover for those with something to hide. Peter believes that his daughter was abducted on her journey to work and that ‘all roads lead back to the Nag’s Head pub’: which he attributes to ‘intuition.’ According to Neil Root’s book, Claudia’s mother Joan and sister Ali suspect that a jealous woman or someone Claudia had either rejected before or never been on good terms with rather than a current or former lover is responsible for her disappearance. Later, Joan entertained the possibility that serial killer Christopher Halliwell might be responsible for her daughter’s disappearance, although police I think quickly ruled him out. Peter and Joan have been estranged since their divorce in 1999, reuniting I think just once for a Crimewatch appeal. Their estrangement is quite pronounced in the Donal McIntyre doc; Peter makes no appearance at all, and Joan making the point that she “can’t get her head round” why police weren’t called until forty eight hours after Claudia first disappeared I think highlights that it was Peter, and his network, responsible for those first few decisions, rather than Joan and hers…. There is a particularly ‘candid’ Daily Mail article quoting an anonymous source claiming to be a close friend and confidante of eight years from June 2009, meaning this person knew her when she still lived in Malton. They describe Claudia as easily led. I agree with this much, adding that she was extremely childlike when excessively drunk, usually in a fun rather than bizarre way that was safe because the people around her genuinely seemed to have her back and making sure she got home okay entailed walking with her thirty seconds down the road, four doors down from the Nags. Where I disagree is the gold digger implication. She really wasn’t like that at all. She had her house, which either her family helped pay for or she secured herself with inheritance money and savings. Working behind the bar at the Nags when I did means I witnessed first-hand the social aftermath of what I believed back then to only be news about Claudia’s extramarital relationship with Lee Horwell, which played itself out in a voyeuristic manner Claudia herself either wasn’t fully aware was happening or she wasn’t openly fazed by. She didn’t stay away from the pub until the gossip had died down. Not even on the first day people found out. While this did seem a little off to me I still admired her reserve because it wasn’t Claudia who had cheated on her spouse after all: Lee did. Had Claudia gone missing even half a decade later her treatment by some elements of the media would have been more restrained where it should and much less so where they didn’t, but perhaps should have, tread. I’m also 100% certain that Claudia didn’t tell me about the affair with Lee herself. Rather, Suzy and Jen took me to a side to explain-discreetly-the situation one lazy Sunday day shift back in 2007. By which time I had read between the lines from what I’d managed to glean from the whispers circulating the pub over the preceding days anyway. So it was more like confirmation. Everybody knew. Not once did I hear Suzy or Jen gossiping at the bar or anywhere else about Claudia. It really was only ever some of the men who indulged, and so openly, in that kind of thing. I won’t recount fully what Reddit account union_jane writes in the thread but what prompted me to tweet with their story in mind is a memory of the male regulars joking about a ‘DVDDDDD!’ for a while in the early days. Always without context but always with wry smiles. I assumed that it was middle age pub humour or the Peter Kay impression of the month, and, in fairness, it could easily have just been a coincidence. Even if it wasn’t Claudia’s disappearance could have nothing to do with this particular aspect of her life, perhaps it had nothing to do with her at all, despite being in the right ballpark, a possible crime of so called ‘passion.’ Perhaps some marriages/relationships are open marriages/relationships. Perhaps some aren’t. Perhaps some participants are/were well known locally thus had more to lose reputationally and so despite their innocence were unwilling to cooperate with police investigations fully early on when it really mattered. Nowhere does the Reddit user explicitly write that man X was on the tape, nor that the men who are were either masked or mostly out of shot and thus unidentifiable in a way that Claudia apparently wasn’t. Which could be significant. The author of the Reddit post says that her friend’s mother told her the police know all about this. If such a DVD indeed exists then multiple men could have been identifiable thus incriminated by its discovery. X (could be Lee, could be someone else) is likely to have told at least some of them about his now ex wife finding the DVD in his car. And who did she tell? Most of the regulars I think could have best been described as Claudia’s jovial drinking buddies. Their relationships seemed to me at least to extend about as far as the pub doors, like so many forged via the local boozer tend to. Not that they weren’t friendly towards one another within those doors of course. But there was gossip too, like at most local pubs. Obviously much of it had nothing to do with Claudia however that which did tended to revolve around her romantic life. Snide comments about her rumoured preference for married and monied older men spouting predominantly but not exclusively from the mouths of people I barely if ever saw her speak to would abound where I saw only chatting perhaps towards the flirtier end of the spectrum, judging from the man’s demeanour as opposed to Claudia’s in most instances, that I genuinely doubted went any further. Mainly because she always implied to me that her romantic life beyond Lee, which I also didn’t notice at the time, involved men she had met and knew outside of the Nags, and I believed her. Another rumour I’d hear was that a few of the regular’s wives refused to drink at the pub specifically because Claudia would drink there. Lee seemed genuinely depressed after their split. Depressed about Claudia, depressed about the breakdown of his marriage, and he was open about his feelings. There was a bit of a scene outside the family home when his wife first found out and a few of the neighbours drank at the pub, so word spread that way too. Lee would still chat with the drinking group immediately after the break up though. He would still frequent the lock-ins — presumably in between attending the doomed marriage counselling sessions detailed in a 2009 Daily Mail article quoting his now ex-wife — keeping a polite distance from Claudia all the while. There was never any visible tension between the two of them from what I could discern although I did on occasion catch him giving her puppy dog eyes across the bar. And I’m pretty sure that sometimes, Claudia noticed. Their friendship, perhaps more, seemed to heal naturally over time regardless as they began to speak again. I always regarded Lee as a sweet, ultimately timid person, a heart on sleeve kind of guy, and for better or worse I think that Claudia did too. That she remained friends with most of her exes, as sister Ali said, is certainly worth bearing in mind. If the culprit really is one or more of the regulars, Lee would be the last person I’d have guessed was involved. Though at 5ft6, he does match the broad description of the left handed smoker seen arguing with a woman on Melrosegate bridge at 5.35am on March 19th, who has never been identified. It struck me that the man Claudia had an affair with two years prior, the affair that even I, as in not just Claudia’s immediate circle, and the pub community knew about, broadly matched the description of the man seen on Melrosegate bridge. Then again, I’d have said the same about lab technician Michael Snelling, who was arrested in 2014, had his work place and his and his elderly mother’s properties in York and North Shields searched by forensic investigators the same year, the first time was back in 2009, as well as the biology department at University of York where he once worked as a lab technician, but obviously police found reason to conduct a more thorough search five years later, and to this day I think he remains one of the main but never charged suspects. So who knows. His conditional bail was removed later that year and far as I heard he has long since left York. Towards the outlier of their drinking group, Geordie Mick — as most people knew him — was a quiet but cheery man. Mild mannered, if not a little bit odd, a loner sometimes, and more of a casual Sunday lunchtime and early weekday evening drinker. Never sinking more than three pints of bitter in one sitting. Barely if ever joining in with the weekend after hours lock-in crowd. When I worked at the Nag’s he’d give Claudia a lift to the University of York canteen I’d say at least once a month because he also worked at the Heslington site and Claudia didn’t always want or was able to drive there herself after a particularly heavy night at the pub. For a while, around one Sunday every six weeks or thereabouts when I suppose technically George’s visitors were in town they would all congregate at the Nag’s, drinking until late, and Claudia usually had to start work early the next day. Which is where Snelling offered to help. I do remember thinking that she and Snelling, who socialised most over Sunday lunch time when I knew them, were particularly at ease with each other while Claudia generally was quite reserved in her body language. Who would most likely have given Claudia Lawrence a lift to work while her car was being fixed? I and no doubt many others would have said Michael Snelling, among others. If the light coloured Ford Focus seen braking abruptly outside Claudia’s house at 5.42am on March 19th 2009— leaving an appropriate amount of time to drive leisurely from Claudia’s home to the university for her to be dropped off, change into her chef whites and then begin her 6am shift on time — is in fact Snelling, though I believe his car was light blue, it’s worth pointing out he’d have had to loop round on himself to be driving in the direction the car is in the video, if he drove directly from his home that is. Police surely already know from CCTV and witness statements the route Snelling took to pick up Claudia and/or their regular meeting point, at roundabout what time, and if anything was different or suspicious that morning. The quickest route that corresponds with the video images on Heworth Road would be, regardless of which way he had driven to get to that point, to drive straight up Heworth Road, towards the stray, round the roundabout, and then back onto Heworth Road. For this to be true, there would be video evidence of the car driving in the opposite direction a few seconds earlier, in which case police are holding that footage back. I want to say that a car braking outside Claudia’s house that’s already facing towards the university is more likely to be a taxi driver. However, though not a driver myself, I have noticed that instead of embarking on awkward turns to change direction in a car, particularly on busy roads and side streets, which admittedly wasn’t the case at quarter to six in the morning on March 19th 2009 on Heworth Road, non-taxi drivers will opt to drive up adjacent street/s then back round on themselves so as to be facing the right direction on the road leading towards their destination when they first collect their passenger. If Snelling is the driver of the Ford Focus presumably he drove from his home. The most intuitive route I can think of from Burnholme that corresponds with the CCTV footage, if indeed he did not drive up one side of Heworth Road and straight back down the other, would probably be along Hempland Lane. Either follow Hempland Lane round and take a left on Stockton Lane, then another at the top of Heworth Road. Or, more direct, from Hempland Lane turn left onto Hempland/Oakland Avenue (as opposed to turning left onto Heworth Village where there’s the Walnut Tree pub and Clockhouse dentist’s, ergo more obvious indication of the presence of CCTV) then right onto residential Forest Way, Lime or Chestnut Avenue, left again onto Stockton Lane and once more to Heworth Road. Note that this route drives nearby if not potentially directly past the houses of many Nag’s Head locals. Including a few whose homes were searched in relation to the murder inquiry. Note also the police released two sets of CCTV footage of the light coloured Ford Focus on the NYP website. The footage from the vantage point of the main road to me appears darker than it does in Lime Court, also the timestamp seems to have been edited out of the latter. The vehicle is less decisively silver looking in colour for this reason. It looks smaller in size, narrower and blunter in shape than the images captured from the main road, some would argue to the point of being a different car altogether; an illusion resultant of the camera angle and distance from the main road in Lime Court perhaps, or discrepancies in the editing and uploading process between news sources, but if not, could it instead be a message from which only the guilty parties can glean a very specific meaning? That it was supposed to be her day off, if media reporting is accurate, increases the chance that her abductor knew Claudia through work, either as a colleague, security or grounds personnel, student, a complete stranger, or someone localised enough to Claudia they knew about specific and last minute changes to her weekly routine. Which they also had a broad knowledge of. Why would Snelling or anybody else have turned up at 5.42am on March 19th to pick Claudia up if she hadn’t made arrangements for them to do so? Why wouldn’t anyone else on that street speak up if they knew anything about it? Total coincidence? Perhaps. This is why the days and hours leading up to Claudia’s disappearance are so vital. Given the car braking abruptly outside Claudia’s home, if not to collect someone stood waiting there, is it possible the driver witnessed something, perhaps even ran someone over? Never coming forward to confirm their identity and explain their subsequent movements and reason for braking surely means that short of being the abductor or an accomplice they are covering for someone they know, perhaps a family relation, were bribed, or are dead. If I told a taxi driver I needed to be at Goodricke College/Roger Kirk Centre in time to begin my 6am shift, 5.42am would be around the time I’d expect the taxi to arrive, if not a little bit later. Claudia had set off by foot, in her own vehicle or had been collected around that time to make the journey to work tens if not hundreds of mornings before. In a hurry, a car driving past Claudia’s house at 5.42am could potentially have time to catch up with her walking to work while she’s still on the main road, before she turns off onto the university campus. The first and perhaps only set of cameras along Melrosegate that film Claudia posting a letter on the afternoon of the 18th but not at all the next morning or indeed ever again are mounted outside the post office. Which is a minimum five minute driving distance to Goodricke College where I think Claudia was supposed to work that day, and ten minutes paced walking distance to the Roger Kirk Centre cafe where she usually worked. The latest time she could have reached that point on her journey without risking being late would be between 5.45 and 5.50am. That leaves the Ford Focus specifically no more than three to eight minutes to catch up to her before the very latest plausible time she could have reached Melrosegate Post Office, had she been expecting a lift the rest of the journey to Goodricke College that morning. The timing doesn’t sit well, increasing the probability that if involved in any way at all and if Claudia really did leave her house to walk to work that route the morning of March 19th, the driver of the Ford Focus is most likely an accomplice rather than the abductor. At the same time, such a narrow window of opportunity might help explain why there are so few detailed and corroborating witness accounts besides the early hour.

It could be that after Claudia’s text exchange with her friend from Malton on the evening of March 18th someone visited Claudia’s home and they made arrangements face to face. Perhaps Snelling, perhaps someone else who either just so happened to own or have ready access to a light coloured Ford Focus or was driving one that morning specifically because they knew Snelling’s was a similar model and colour. It could also be, in fact I’m pretty sure it is the case that police aren’t releasing vital information about calls and arrangements Claudia made and read that day/night. Maybe the braking car, albeit if not a coincidence and totally irrelevant to the investigation, ergo a complete red herring, though it does remain suspicious no one ever came forward, was a way to evidentially imply Claudia’s abduction took place on the Thursday morning rather than the Wednesday night, or that the abductor was the driver of that car. I suppose the question now is, what can be proved? Did Claudia leave the house on Wednesday night after her phone conversation with her parents? Did someone visit her? When she first disappeared I think there was access to the Nag’s Head car park from the alleyway at the back of her house, crude though it was, and lined with nettles. A year or two after she disappeared a dilapidated fence was rebuilt and shrubbery planted as part of a renovation. North Yorkshire Police say the Vauxhall Astra they were keen to identify the driver of was parked for at least 30 minutes. Given the direction of traffic and direction the van is parked in, the limited parking space and room to manouevre, the CCTV at the other end of Heworth Road and in Limes Court that films the Ford Focus the next morning, this much is clear: If there isn’t footage of the Astra driving towards that end of Heworth Road and/or past Limes Court’s cameras, that means 1. The van had previously been parked in the Nag’s head car park or turned around in it. Did they enter the pub in between? 2. The van had turned around in the courtyard area outside the Nags Head, right in front of the windows 3. The van made that turn at the traffic lights at the Costcutters end of Heworth Road and did a 180 before coming into far view of the main road camera at the other end of Heworth Road 4. The van was parked in the driveway or garage of a house on Heworth Road. If parked further out in grassy areas perhaps bus CCTV would have caught it. Owner/renter of the car could live at the address, or could be a friend etc Why is it that the alleyway at the back of Claudia’s home wasn’t meticulously forensically searched until 2013, five years after she disappeared? Early on investigators believed Claudia had been abducted on her way to work, primarily due to witness testimonies. I remember George say that the CCTV camera in the rear car park at the Nag’s hadn’t worked for months prior to Claudia’s disappearance. This was back in 2011, the summer before I moved to Germany, when I visited the pub to say hello to a few people and enjoy Sunday lunch. I’ve tried to recall if it was also the case and at least semi-common knowledge the cameras were often faulty or switched off when I worked there too. On reflection I think they were. Sometimes in a bid to minimise energy bills. A few of the regulars deemed it a security issue and had conversations about it at the bar and I remember thinking “well, if they were switched on there’d be proof that you regularly drink-drive home.” If Claudia left her house voluntarily via the front door that night she’d have either got into a car or would have been seen walking towards the Stray end of Heworth Road on Lime Court’s cameras, but not if walking towards the other end. She would, however, have walked past the bar windows of the Nag’s and surely would’ve been seen by someone inside, depending on the time. Assumedly the police have done all they can to ascertain exactly who was at the pub on March 18th, their comings and goings that evening, who had vehicles and who didn’t, because if Claudia was abducted from her house that night the only way she’d have been bundled into a van or car without reasonable risk of being seen, unless at night, indeed from a risk perspective it would make more sense to do it then, and logistically if Claudia was either dead or under their control at her home, they could have waited until the pub closed to move her, unless she was expecting someone, perhaps a totally innocent someone, perhaps not, was in that car park and the surrounding space, or via a back garden on Heworth Road/Place or East Parade. Which, I think, is what first brought buy-to-let home owner and Railway carriage cleaner Richard Cartwright, who died of a heart attack a month after Claudia disappeared, to the attention of investigators. He’s seen walking into the alleyway and back out again a minute later multiple times in the days and weeks leading up to Claudia’s disappearance, but he’s far from the only person filmed doing so. I don’t know if the clips police released were deemed to be him or not or even if he was posthumously ruled out of the investigation. Cartwright rented out houses on Heworth Road and East Parade to students, both St John and Uni of presumably because they are located in proximity to both campuses. I saw his photograph in the local paper and I don’t recognise him from the Nag’s when I worked there. According to media reports he did not know Claudia to talk to or even by sight but I’d be surprised if he didn’t know at least one or two of the suspects. It is possible one or more of Cartwright’s properties were empty when she vanished, but is less likely to have been the case if it was term time. If there had been, for example, a spate of burglaries in the area in the weeks leading up to Claudia’s disappearance, which according to a Websleuths commenter is true, it’s certainly plausible that Cartwright was being the diligent landlord, checking the back gates of his properties at ‘opportune’ times in the morning and evening for broken locks and other signifiers of recent theft, hence his numerous video evidenced strolls into the alleyway running between the back gardens on Heworth Road and East Parade in the days and weeks leading up to her disappearance. Claudia’s disappearance could potentially also be the result of a burglary gone wrong then in which case. Given her missing work bag and the lack of a crime scene at her home, any burglary she may have accidentally or purposefully disturbed must have taken place early that morning and most probably was about to take place at a neighbour’s house. Otherwise, Lime Court is student halls accommodation. Police searched the buildings and I think there were rumours that the alleyway behind Claudia’s house was used as a drop off point. According to another commenter on the Claudia Lawrence Websleuths page they spoke with a former bar man at the Nags and he told them police told him they had recently questioned members of staff at a large company in York. Not about their direct involvement in Claudia’s murder but in covering up for the suspects in presumably a professional capacity. If this is not untrue and white collar then think accounting, insurance, auditing; obscuring incriminating purchases or unexplained cash deposits and expenditures. Non white collar scenarios I can think of are such that obliviousness to what the workers involved were doing is less believable and would have had to have taken place much closer to the fact. That could be a large building company, security firm, taxi or bus company, postal or courier service, factory workers, or similar. The two male members of staff I remember from the pub are Alistair Cooper’s son and David, who’d worked at the Nags for around ten years when I started working there and dealt with the early morning beer deliveries. I would be surprised if he didn’t see Claudia making her way to work from time to time. Dave when I knew him was just recently married to a nurse called Tina who he’d drink with at the pub after finishing his day shift, and they lived a minute away at the top of Heworth Road. The driver of the white Vauxhall Astra caught on bus CCTV that police were keen to identify but never did happens to be parked outside their house. I’m pretty sure neither of them could drive when I knew them, but Tina was taking lessons. A few details about the pub: Co-landlord Simon ‘George’ Forman tended to work most evenings; counterpart Jim Melson — who walked with a limp, as did long serving barman Dave — being in charge of the morning/Sunday lunch side of the business. Which included B&B duties. Breakfast and Sunday lunch were served by Jim and cooked by chef Ray who lived in one of the B&B rooms. People rarely stayed in the vacant ones and the money problems this contributed towards sparked mostly passive aggressive tensions between the two landlords, who I think were co-franchising from a brewery, though I have no idea which one. George was a heavy drinker, but no more so than anyone else he hung out with, including Claudia, while Jim was tee-total I think for health reasons, he had a young daughter after all. If nothing else, the weekend lock-ins were a revenue stream George not unlike many landlords had fashioned into a social circle via a semi-selective shooing policy come last orders, which I think pissed some people off. Rarely sober enough to drive home after a weekend evening shift George, as well as some of the more intermittent members of the group who lived further afield thus visited the Nags less frequently, would often stay over in the spare rooms at the weekend. I don’t remember seeing money change hands or processing card payments for these rooms but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, perhaps at mates rates. George also used to joke about the tension the lock-ins caused in his marriage. I think his wife had set a curfew of sorts that he would regularly break at the weekend. As far as I heard, George left the pub around two years after Claudia disappeared and was divorced soon-after. Due to the nature of her disappearance, I imagine that Claudia’s phone records were a first port of call for investigators trying to find out what happened. I do wonder about co-ordination between police and the media at this time: As in, was Lee’s number still a regular, perhaps incriminating feature in Claudia’s phone and text records when she disappeared, this is two years after their split and she had been in several relationships since — hence why the police questioned him, or did interviews with witnesses reveal details about the affair itself and he was brought in for questioning for that reason? Because writing about it definitely set the tone for reporting to come. I hope that Claudia ran away, whatever implications that may have on her character because of the limbo her loved ones have been trapped in ever since, because then at least she’d be alive, wherever she is, and had chosen to disappear when she did. Which is preferable to having to accept the much more likely and depressing scenario favoured by the police, the media and local community that Claudia was subject to great harm and most likely murdered at the hands of another person or persons she probably knew, intimately well perhaps, but who for whatever reason has so far managed to evade justice and is therefore most likely still at large. I hope that Claudia ran away somewhere warm and idyllic by the sea, wherein each passing year has been happier and more fulfilling than the last for her. Maybe one of the ‘rogue’s gallery’ of men she reportedly socialised with, if they’re innocent, actually just sorted her out with a fake passport so that she couldn’t be traced and for whatever reason Claudia just upped and left everything and everyone behind of her own volition. It doesn’t matter and actually it’s none of your business if so, you evil little bitch.

#Claudia lawrence

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scimitarshighest-blog · 5 years

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House Do’Urden

Words: “Watching For Foe and Friend”

Coat of Arms: A six legged spider atop a morning star and shortsword. Seat: Holdfast Lord: Vacant; Lady Regent Vierna Do’Urden Region: Crownlands/The Narrow Sea Title: Lord of Holdfast Overlord: House Targaryen (Formerly), House Baratheon (Formerly), House Lannister (House Targaryen once again in TV)

Ancestral Weapon(s): Ōños (Valyrian Steel Scimitar), Tooth and Fang (Valyrian Twin Longswords)(Lost), Tongue-Splitter (Dragon-Horned Whip)(Lost)

Founded: >1 AC Founder: Maltere Do’Urden I

History

House Do’Urden is a noble house in Westeros of Valyrian descent, originally serving as a servant house under House Targaryen. Formed when a landed knight Maltere Do’Urden established his holdings on an island that was practically within The Narrow Sea itself. The purpose of this was to ensure that House Targaryen would be notified of any potential invasions from East, South, or North, by way of navy or dragon, for the Targaryens still feared the potential of being assaulted by Valyrian families who remained in the Freehold following Aenar’s flight to Dragonstone.

The Do’Urden family has remained on Holdfast without interruption for the centuries following the house’s establishment, although they are often referred to with terms of derision, as they only officially became a family that could govern and make laws over Holdfast in the last century, due to actions and valor on the part of its leader’s then-paramour Zaknafein during the War of The Ninepenny Kings. Through this, Zaknafein and Malladra Do’Urden were given the title of Lord and Lady, and House Do’Urden became a lordly house proper.

During Robert’s Rebellion, The Do’Urdens remained loyal to the Targaryens until the war was declared over. This would have little impact on the war as a whole, however, as House Do’Urden’s primary threat is through its naval prowess. Due to how far out of the way it is, being further east than even Dragonstone, House Do’Urden was allowed to re-declare allegiance to the throne.

While the house as a whole was not particularly involved in Greyjoy’s rebellion, given that they are localized on opposite sides of the continent, it did lose several key members, including Nalfein (The first heir), Maya, and Briza Do’Urden. This rebellion would leave a particularly bad taste in the mouth of the house for Greyjoys, and Northmen in general.

In The War of The Five Kings, House Do’Urden would betray the throne to serve under Stannis Baratheon’s banner. This would prove their folly, as during the siege on King’s Landing, most of The Do’Urden’s standing military and ships would fall, as well as the then-heir Dinin Do’Urden, Zaknafein Do’Urden, and Malladra Do’Urden. With the death of Zaknafein, three of the house’s ancestral weapons were lost, their whereabouts are currently unknown.

Around this time Drizzt Do’Urden, the would-be Lord of Holdfast, disappeared mysteriously before he could be declared lord. It is the statemeny of The Crown that Drizzt was kidnapped by Stannis Baratheon and taken north as a ransom, in order to strong-arm the interim leader of the house, Drizzt’s elder sister Vierna Do’Urden, to sending her forces to The King of The Narrow Sea.

While it is true that Drizzt fled to the North, it was of his own doing, although none seem to know the reason, he approaches The Wall.

Culture

Do’Urdens are descended from Valyria, and resultantly bear many of the same prominent features, such as white hair and violet eyes, that Targaryens possess. This, in the past, has caused other to mistake Do’Urden family members for their lieges, which has been used to fool enemies into kidnapping one of the lesser nobles, rather than the family of the crown.

As-is tradition for their overlords, Do’Urdens are all taught High Valyrian as children, in tandem with common tongue. It’s also not uncommon to be taught the trade languages as well, due to a Do’Urden being expected to interact with sailors of many kinds when they stop off at the island, on their way to or from Westeros.

Not quick to abandon the ways of Valyria, Do’Urden still observes the religion of Valyria, even following pressure to convert to The Church of The Seven. However, due to their lack of nobility, Do’Urdens have no illusions of purity and are known to rarely commit incest outside of cousins at least being twice removed. The sigil of the house was selected by Malladra to represent not only their strength of arms, but also the poison that they sow into their enemies, slowly defeating a foe from within for the sake of themselves, rather than their liege.

#Truth Is Not As Solid and Universal As Any of Us Would Like It To Be (AU)#A Little World Building Never Hurts (Headcanon)#A Game of Thrones Is of Little Interest to A Ranger (Westeros AU)

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dailybiblelessons · 6 years

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Tuesday: Reflection on the Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 10 Roman Catholic Proper 15

Complementary Hebrew Scripture Lesson from the Minor Prophets: Amos 9:1-4

I saw the LORD standing beside the altar, and he said: Strike the capitals until the thresholds shake, and shatter them on the heads of all the people; and those who are left I will kill with the sword; not one of them shall flee away, not one of them shall escape.

Though they dig into Sheol, from there shall my hand take them; though they climb up to heaven, from there I will bring them down. Though they hide themselves on the top of Carmel, from there I will search out and take them; and though they hide from my sight at the bottom of the sea, there I will command the sea-serpent, and it shall bite them. And though they go into captivity in front of their enemies, there I will command the sword, and it shall kill them; and I will fix my eyes on them for harm and not for good.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture Lesson from the Former Prophets: 2 Samuel 3:12-16

Abner sent messengers to David at Hebron, saying, “To whom does the land belong? Make your covenant with me, and I will give you my support to bring all Israel over to you.” He said, “Good; I will make a covenant with you. But one thing I require of you: you shall never appear in my presence unless you bring Saul's daughter Michal when you come to see me.” Then David sent messengers to Saul's son Ishbaal, saying, “Give me my wife Michal, to whom I became engaged at the price of one hundred foreskins of the Philistines.” Ishbaal sent and took her from her husband Paltiel the son of Laish. But her husband went with her, weeping as he walked behind her all the way to Bahurim. Then Abner said to him, “Go back home!” So he went back.

Complementary Psalm 142

With my voice I cry to the Lord; with my voice I make supplication to the Lord. I pour out my complaint before him; I tell my trouble before him. When my spirit is faint, you know my way. In the path where I walk they have hidden a trap for me. Look on my right hand and see— there is no one who takes notice of me; no refuge remains to me; no one cares for me.

I cry to you, O Lord; I say, “You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living.” Give heed to my cry, for I am brought very low.

Save me from my persecutors, for they are too strong for me. Bring me out of prison, so that I may give thanks to your name. The righteous will surround me, for you will deal bountifully with me.

Semi-continuous Psalm 68:24-35

Your solemn processions are seen, O God, the processions of my God, my King, into the sanctuary— the singers in front, the musicians last, between them girls playing tambourines: “Bless God in the great congregation, the LORD, O you who are of Israel's fountain!” There is Benjamin, the least of them, in the lead, the princes of Judah in a body, the princes of Zebulun, the princes of Naphtali.

Summon your might, O God; show your strength, O God, as you have done for us before. Because of your temple at Jerusalem kings bear gifts to you. Rebuke the wild animals that live among the reeds, the herd of bulls with the calves of the peoples. Trample under foot those who lust after tribute; scatter the peoples who delight in war. Let bronze be brought from Egypt; let Ethiopia hasten to stretch out its hands to God.

Sing to God, O kingdoms of the earth; sing praises to the Lord, Selah O rider in the heavens, the ancient heavens; listen, he sends out his voice, his mighty voice. Ascribe power to God, whose majesty is over Israel; and whose power is in the skies. Awesome is God in his sanctuary, the God of Israel; he gives power and strength to his people.

Blessed be God!

New Testament Lesson: Acts 23:12-35

In the morning the Jews joined in a conspiracy and bound themselves by an oath neither to eat nor drink until they had killed Paul. There were more than forty who joined in this conspiracy. They went to the chief priests and elders and said, “We have strictly bound ourselves by an oath to taste no food until we have killed Paul. Now then, you and the council must notify the tribune to bring him down to you, on the pretext that you want to make a more thorough examination of his case. And we are ready to do away with him before he arrives.”

Now the son of Paul's sister heard about the ambush; so he went and gained entrance to the barracks and told Paul. Paul called one of the centurions and said, “Take this young man to the tribune, for he has something to report to him.” So he took him, brought him to the tribune, and said, “The prisoner Paul called me and asked me to bring this young man to you; he has something to tell you.” The tribune took him by the hand, drew him aside privately, and asked, “What is it that you have to report to me?” He answered, “The Jews have agreed to ask you to bring Paul down to the council tomorrow, as though they were going to inquire more thoroughly into his case. But do not be persuaded by them, for more than forty of their men are lying in ambush for him. They have bound themselves by an oath neither to eat nor drink until they kill him. They are ready now and are waiting for your consent.” So the tribune dismissed the young man, ordering him, “Tell no one that you have informed me of this.”

Then he summoned two of the centurions and said, “Get ready to leave by nine o'clock tonight for Caesarea with two hundred soldiers, seventy horsemen, and two hundred spearmen. Also provide mounts for Paul to ride, and take him safely to Felix the governor.” He wrote a letter to this effect:

“Claudius Lysias to his Excellency the governor Felix, greetings. This man was seized by the Jews and was about to be killed by them, but when I had learned that he was a Roman citizen, I came with the guard and rescued him. Since I wanted to know the charge for which they accused him, I had him brought to their council. I found that he was accused concerning questions of their law, but was charged with nothing deserving death or imprisonment. When I was informed that there would be a plot against the man, I sent him to you at once, ordering his accusers also to state before you what they have against him.”

So the soldiers, according to their instructions, took Paul and brought him during the night to Antipatris. The next day they let the horsemen go on with him, while they returned to the barracks. When they came to Caesarea and delivered the letter to the governor, they presented Paul also before him. On reading the letter, he asked what province he belonged to, and when he learned that he was from Cilicia, he said, “I will give you a hearing when your accusers arrive.” Then he ordered that he be kept under guard in Herod's headquarters.

Year B Ordinary 15, RCL Proper 10, Catholic Proper 15 Tuesday

Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from The New Revised Standard Version, (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Image credit: Paul with Roman Soldiers, via Bible Fun for Kids. This is a public domain image.

#B Ordinary 15 Tuesday #Paul #ambush #conspiracy #tribune #David #Michal #Abner #destruction #sword #captivity

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furashuban · 7 years

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An Outhouse Phantom

my first submission to @lapidot-week . this was a challenging fic to write and i hope you guys enjoy.

Day 3 Prompt: Haunting/Ghost Hunting

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12524416

Summary: Two paranormal investigators are asked to go and inspect an abandoned barn that is greatly rumored to be haunted by a vicious entity.

Words: 6.1k

a little angst and gore warning on this one (hopefully that’s allowed). so for that, i’m gonna heavily apologize if i took some parts a bit too far .

Reported findings of odd and ghost like activities were being rumored by random teenagers and elders, telling stories that they were wandering around an open field in the middle of dusk for dalliance or curiosity. They would bump into this structure sooner or later. It was an empty red barn, possibly abandoned for decades, and they let their curiousness make them wander even more. But some would come back to tell that accounts of what happened, while some would never came back as told.

They enlightened the play-by-play as evident as they can. One goes in and saunters further to discover the artifacts of a pilot, and then the activity occurs from there. The sound of repeated footsteps and grumbling would be heard behind the trespassers. As an outcome, they emulated anxiety and a feeling that they were being observed. Soon items and boxes would clatter to the ground on their own. Sometimes, plane engines would start up autonomously and jumps scare the driven trespassers. Then finally someone, or something, would begin to actually grasp their limbs. And if possible, it managed to reach their souls.

“It looked at me. Spoke to me. It wanted me dead grinned like a mad reaper.” Some added vaguely.

It was never clarified for sure whether it was human, animal, dead or alive. But it aggressively distressed its bolted victims and it was swift as wind. Of course, not everyone would come to believe the accounts. Indeed it was too superstitious to be true. Heck, even a little too cliché to be real at all. An abandoned shelter? In the middle of the field in late hours? And a beast is said to repose in the location? It was right out of a fictional horror story.

And yet it wouldn’t be so false if it traumatized the story tellers so drastically.

October 31. Halloween Night.

The accounts were suddenly getting out of hand all over town. And to many, it was certainly getting bothersome. It was time for someone, or two people for this matter, to put an end to the stories spread by strangers on the sidewalk and determine whether the barn haunting is a reality or a hoax…

Paranormal investigators ‘Lapis and Peridot Warren’ were the best and only certified experts of their jobs in town. For a while, they were involved in numerous but infamous cases of hauntings, and even dispelling ethereal encounters. The Beach City Lighthouse Haunting and the Dead Man’s Mouth Haunting were two out of a hundred cases they have solved. But these couple was a fitting couple, an obsessed and artistic who bunch who understood each other when no one else did.

In Halloween morning, a hasty priest from a nearby church rushed to their outlying home and entreated them to finally explore the countryside. He conveyed along some evidence to their house’s workplace, most of them obviously being recorded videos and photographs by the barn’s trespassers to prove them cognizance of the haunting. It was all there. The repetitive footsteps, the collided items, even glimpses of the entity haunting the outhouse. But all that was grasped was glimmering yellow eyes with a large silhouette.

“This must be helpful, right?” he enquired cogency of the proofs. “Please, I’ve already been approached about this absurd occurrence for a few days now, and there’s no one else I can confront to sanction this request other than you two.”

The couple only had to do was just confirm that they will accept their trip.

“So what do ya say, Lapis?” Peridot asks in the other side of the workspace. “Should we solve this case or does this look like wind-up to you?”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Lapis answers. “I’m going to be honest, Peridot, a lot of the actions in the clips we saw looked sort of fake. And so do the images. They seem kind of edited or something like that.”

“I have the same idea too. We really can’t accept this offer right away…You do remember the last time someone walked up to us and claimed that they had seen some kind of ghost haunting, right?”

There was this one time. A bunch of arbitrary visitors claimed to have seen a ‘possessed demonic’ child trying to ransack the boardwalk. And after confronting the family and already preparing a full-proof exorcism, it turns out the child named Onion was just a rather audacious juvenile who lacked the desire to speak. This caused the two investigators to be mortified and promised to be careful next time.

“Okay sure, we haven’t been getting a lot of demands lately, let alone successful ones.” Lapis says. “But then again, a lot of our cases have been proven right before, despite skeptics saying that we’re crazy.” She took some time to ponder as she gazed down and concerted. “…I say we should give this one a go. The priest mentioned that our only task was to settle the barn haunting to be real or not. Once we find that out, that will be the end of it and we can still do our jobs right.”

Peridot nodded. “I guess we’re skipping trick-or-treating for this then.” She settles. “I’ll inform our client about it and tell Greg that we need a ride.”

The scrutinizing couple did not begin to think about what they could be up against once they prepared for the barn’s excursion…But to be prepared, they owned and packed their various essentials; holy water, crucifix, and technological advancements to track down their entities. And all were put into two solid suitcases. The priest offered a little more information of the barn’s whereabouts before leaving. “Just know that dusk is when the hauntings presumably happen.” He notifies. He even provided a hand-drawn map that located the predicted area. Also added was a scripture on the down left side; Proverbs 4:6 – Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you.

Six to seven o’clock in the evening. Greg Demayo, a close friend of theirs, drove them in his van to the rural area of their ocean-side town and navigated cautiously. The hand-drawn map was at use find to where the possible location might be…But it took them yearning minutes to get themselves lost for a while. And ironically, going astray got them to where they were.

At that juncture, they decided to stop at an open field and perceive the setting to be empty and calm. “This could be the place, right?” Lapis asks. Peridot guaranteed while contemplating. Nothing but winds and leaves were blanketing the locale. Nonetheless, it would not take long for all three of them to realize that there was a wide-open barn just a few inches away to pinpoint.

The atmosphere adapted stouter and rousing. “Dang, that must be the most upsetting piece of architecture I’ve ever seen.” Greg commented. “I don’t think it would have killed them to fix the place a little before leaving it out here in the open.”

The first thing to describe the barn in front of them was…well, a barn. It was red and white, large, and what people normally pictured what a barn would be like. But there were a few aspects that made it so eerily unalike. The roof was dented gravely and left with a vast hovel on it. Then there was the alley way doors which were half way opened unprecedentedly. A good first impression for the investigators. And it was time for work.

Lapis, Peridot and Greg drove closer to the edifice and got out. They unloaded their equipment and left them by the unsettling entrance. Far along and almost right off the while assuring the equipment, there was an unnerved chilling sensation after the autumn squalls blew. Worrying sounds were already being perceived inside the barn. “Hmm…Is that weeping in there?” Lapis considers.

“Are you sure you two can solve this case on your own?” Greg enquired. “I don’t think I could last a whole hour in this busted up barn.”

“We’ll be fine. Thanks for taking us here, Greg.” Lapis answers.

“It’s going to be a short task. Why don’t you come along and help us here?” Peridot offers.

“Well I’d love to but I promised Steven that I’d join him for trick or treating.” He replies. “Speaking of which…I got to find a way out of here. Just try to call me if you guys need to go back to Beach City.”

They said their farewells and safe travels, and Greg retreated back to the van. The vehicle left off and drove back to pavement, auxiliary to town. Then Lapis and Peridot were left alone and looked at each other, nodding with poised expressions. They were assured for this task. They were always assured for any of their tasks.

“Well here goes nothing.” The petite investigator utters curious. Peridot did the honors of gradually pushing the alleyway doors even more and snuck in afterwards. She peeks as she saunters while breathing inaudibly.

A startling moonlight peered through the dents and traveled inside the barn to partly illuminate the setting. With the help of Peridot’s flashlight that she brought out instantly, it revealed the true circumstance of the interior. The old owner must have been a hoarder since packages of priceless items were stacked or displaced. There was an old photo hung on the center corner which showed a couple who could have owned the barn before. Then the floors were perceived as made of birch wood and poorly gutted. Peridot noticed a bit of scratch marks and reddish stains marked on the bases. Maybe this was enough the proof that there was something in here already?

The two stepped foot even more until they reached half of the sector. This time they were standing upright and assertive rather than prowling. Two flashlights revealing the space, skulked around the walls and floors, were close-fitting it to be not so lavishly menacing.

“Hmm…It’s just messy here.” Peridot remarks. “Actually, if this place might not be haunted, we could try to acquire this property for our own.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Lapis asks.

“Well, you do have a lot of artworks in our house. We could use this place as like a studio. Or maybe even a vacation home for just the two of us, unless we can find a way to clean up this mess though.”

But the conversation stops abruptly as Lapis and Peridot perceive a disquieting holler that made their eyes widen…It was indistinct and seemed like the growl of a forest animal. And at the same time, it was a human-like outcry. One thing for sure was that they both sensed it to be coming from only one, unknown entity.

“aaughhh…”

“…You heard that, right…?” Peridot whispers. Lapis nods.

Without warning, a cumbersome object violently soars across the room and nearly hits behind the couple.

*CRASH!*

They tensely turn around and shine their flashlights at where they heard a deafening noise. It was simply a busted up engine, and it seemed to have already been blown up before. Peridot and Lapis held their hands tightly and looked at the other direction to track down who would have thrown such a weighty element. There was no one.

“…I guess we’re about to deal with a poltergeist.” Lapis assumes.

“…Perhaps. But if someone managed to take physical pictures of this thing, we could just be dealing with a basic demon.” Peridot adds. “Come on Lapis, let’s assemble the equipment before we miss anything else.”

The petite sleuth also happened to be a technician; hence a lot of the ‘ghost tracking gear’ was designed by her. Out of the luggage’s they brought with them was a very sensitive studio microphone, and 6 cameras attached to tripods. Two of them were thermal cameras, four were night vision cameras, and another two were cameras would take a picture automatically if sensors detected heat signatures. Lapis stabled most of them in different points of the floor they were standing on. All were turned on to record. One was reserved for when they could get up to the barn’s extra floor.

*Growl…*

But noises and sanities seemed to noticeably follow Lapis more than her partner.

Other equipment had to be armed to by person. Hence Peridot furnished the UV lights and sound detector to her body while configuring them for a second. The last thing in her luggage was her trusty tape recorder, where most of her and Lapis’ journeys are documented.

She installs a new tape inside and presses the record button. “Log Date; 7 11 3. This is Peridot Warren, and with me currently is my wife and investigating partner Lapis Warren. Today we were urged by a client to examine an abandoned outhouse in the middle of the countryside, largely rumored to be haunted. As cases of hauntings in this location are only told in stories, we were qualified to gather as much evidence as possible to prove that there could be an entity roaming these parts, needless to say that this more of a like side quest instead of a serious mission to us.”

She begins to amble and use a radiation detector around the cluttered corners. “We’ve already found out that there is indeed something here. A minute ago I spotted these scratch marks on the floor boards, and me and Lapis were nearly hit by a tossed apparatus. All we must do now is just track it down perceptibly.” She continues to talk. “We don’t know how long we intend on being here, but we’ve come prepared to spend the night if we have to. My only hopes so far are that we dissipate this creature, still keep our titles as the best the paranormal investigators in town, and that Lapis will be safe tonight.”

She moseys to her blue haired wife who was standing by a now steady camera. “This is Peridot, signing out for now.” She concludes and presses the stop button. “Okay, looks like I’m not picking up anything down here. Let’s go and…what’s wrong?

Lapis was looking behind her with a disturbed expression and arms folded chillingly. “I think whatever is in here wants to grasp me more than you, Peri…”

“Nah, that can’t be. We’ve only just been acquainted with this thing now. Maybe anxiety is just getting the best of you.” Peridot replies.

But the blue haired girl was sure that debauched occurrences can happen if either of them would not cautious. “Let’s just be careful here.”

They discovered a ladder foremost to the second floor and scaled it nippily. The sector was a lot weaker to stand on and hazardously reeking. Indeed they should be careful. They prowled with tools at range and eyes wide open. Peridot’s sound detector was not working at all, neither was the radiation detector either. Lapis was behind her with more cameras on her grasp. They stopped so they could plant one of them in half the room they were on.

The heat perceiving camera was placed. All of a sudden, it flashes on its own and snaps a photo shockingly quick, startling them yet again.

*CLICK*

A conveying printer connected to the camera’s sensors was already printing an image of what it caught by the equipment downstairs.

“…We can get that later. Right now I’m picking up something…” Peridot says pressured. She pointed the radiation detector to the shadowy room where their camera faced. It was beeping like feeble sirens and exposure was off the roof. And moreover, there were footsteps heard in the direction. Therefore both of them swiftly amble towards the area.

Lapis grabbed her flashlight and shined a light again. “Where is it?”

The detector stopped buzzing and the footsteps faded. “It ran off. It must be playing games with us then.” Peridot says. “Where are we now?”

The exceled lights uncovered them to be by a corner, and what looked like to be a lounging spot or a really sad living room. A green couch and a CRT television on the floor were professed, as well as a box of VHS’. They shawled the minute to inspect the room like what a detective would normally do.

They see the VHS’ to be comprising the show Camp Pining Hearts. “We’re taking that home.” Peridot says. Then they beheld the couch and TV. The couch smelled like crap, that’s guaranteed. And what do you know…more blood stains and graze marks. As for the TV, it looked mid-conditioned but quite unsure if it even was. They stared at it for two moments, only to see it turn on by its own and play loud static.

“What in the…” they both utter but pause again. The radiation detector was back at it again as it was picking up a reading downstairs. “Quickly! Let’s go!”

Hurrying down the ladder, they follow the appraisals and hunt down the entity. They did not even make it half way to the room, however, as a heap of packages flew over and blocked their view and their way. *CRASH!* yet again.>

Lapis heard a recurrent stomping partial from where they were standing. And it did now sound so passive. Peridot struggled to get the loot out of their way and hassled more to catch this entity. She groaned and jolted her way out, and proceeded to the equipment.

Alas, it vanished again, and the printer was discovered to be crushed. “Oh damn no. Where’s the photo…?” Peridot panicked and tried finding out if the picture it had produced was still fine. Recognizing later, she finds it outside and nearly crumpled. And the winds conveniently blow it inside for Peridot to grasp and examine.

“Okay…Hmm…” she squints. “It…turns out we’re faced with a human apparition then?” Lapis also takes a peak and observes in awe.

The hazy and rutted photograph revealed the top floor’s living room with an unfamiliar phantom sprawling in it. The physique gave this impression…A tall, suntanned woman standing blandly in the open. Hair was outsized and white, and covering half her face. Her size was likewise large, actually quite brawny as recognized through her bare arms. The last aspect is the eyes, shining a frightening absorbent yellow, and surprisingly what seemed to be the only thing glowing orange was her nose.

“Who is this…?” Peridot inquires. “This was not what I was expecting at all.” She also thinks to herself ‘how did this buff and petrifying lady die?’

“Me too.” Lapis says “But hey, we finally have clear evidence to give to our client.”

“I wouldn’t say clear…” Peridot explicates. “This just looks like one of the proofs we saw this morning. We need more than just this image of whoever this is.” She paced around front and back while deciding what undertake next.

“Okay. We should split up for this one.” She announces. “I’ll be examining the living room upstairs and find out how the TV turned on. You on the other hand should find our phantom down here.”

Lapis instantly did NOT feel comfortable with that plan. She was covertly afraid of the entity but she could not wholly express why. And she was used to being close to Peridot whenever they were in a task; otherwise bad things happen to either of them.

“Wait, Peridot, let’s not do that.” Lapis expresses. “We never separate. And this barn is getting on my nerves quickly. I could feel the entity lurking up on us and I think it’s angry with us for being here.”

The blonde notices the obvious worries of Lapis. Her expression mimics hers and bites her lip. “I know we shouldn’t detach. But we have to finish this task soon. Whoever we’re with right now keeps compromising our tactics.”

Her wife looks away and sighed wearily. “Okay then.”

Peridot crept and grasps the side of Lapis’ face. She softly kisses her cheek and looks onto her blue eyes while consolingly grinning. “It’s fine. I’ll be above you anyway and watch over you. You’ll be safe, I promise.” She tries to comfort. Lapis grins back and holds her partner’s own grasp to feel more comforted.

After Peridot dashed up the ladder once more, she began to look over. All her detectors were at use at the same time so she could hunt down the tall woman further. Also at the same time, she had her gaze down at Lapis every minute so she could keep her two obligations active. Lapis can also overhear her speaking to her tape recorder and explaining the recent activity they have witnessed. Then and there, she thought that one of the cameras could have picked up something by now. So she chose one of them hoven by the portrait’s corner and facing the equipment, which was a thermal camera. She makes it stop recording for a brief moment and watches the 1 minute film it created with its temperature filter.

“Let’s see what we got…” she utters. The footage rewinds and she prudently observes any uncanny motion. Everything looked to be in place for a while. Most of the items were all just shades of blue and purple. But as the clip advanced, the unusual exploit is finally seen. The snapped apparition literally flashes out of nowhere like she fell from the roof and ensnared their equipment. The heat signature was heavily read and yellow. This was either be a powerful or very frustrated ghost.

The figure grabbed the printer and crushed it with its bare hands. But it seemed to have just left the photo to fly off outside. Then it flashed again to the corner, where it most likely pushed the packages to block their way. The figure returns to the gear and damages the microphone, and crossly retreats to the other crook. There was hope with this one. The uncanny movements of the apparition had just given them their second proof. But Peridot wouldn’t be so happy to realize that her technology was ambushed by a ghost.

Lapis saves the footage into the memory drive attached to the camera. She takes it out in case the apparition destroys the camera too, and so she could showcase it to Peridot. As she walks back to the gear to aquire some holy water, she halts. The footsteps were back. And something was behind again.

“heh heh heh heh….” She hears a coarse laughter.

The blue haired woman felt her shoulder caressed smoothly and sensed a hand inch to her neck. She gasps and turns back edgily once more, only this time she believed she saw an actual silhouette pass by her. Her eyes prolonged out of dread and felt herself quivering. She needed to call Peridot right now but she could not get herself to do it. She turns back to the equipment and tries to step another foot. But as soon as she ensues, her face was grappled and clasped mildly by an unseen being. The laughter is heard again only it was more intense this time. Lapis did not have the ability to struggle and run away. She did not even know if Peridot could see her, or if she was just hallucinating. But as she was contemplating and panicking, she sees the faint face of the apparition they have been hunting. An undeniably scary woman was staring at her with a grin so appalling. It petrified Lapis to her uppermost limits. No ghost has ever been so dangerously close and visible to her before.

“…Where do you think you’re going…?” The physique speaks. Her voice was rough and neurotic.

Lapis’ torso is clenched and she was forcefully thrown within the rubbish and bends of the barn. The white haired spirit fades and proceeds to afflict her recent victim more.

On the other side of the precinct, Peridot stops speaking to her tape recorder when she hears more clutter downstairs. And she was already given sign that there was danger before she could use any of her devices to confirm ghost emission.

“PERIDOT! HELP ME!”

The blonde gasps heavily. “LAPIS!!!”

Her tape recorder, including her detectors was dropped to the ground and broke into scrap. The outcry of Lapis was so lurid that it was even picked up by the recorder before plummeting. Its smashed condition caused it to somewhat still work, and only repeatedly play “Peridot! Help me!”

Peridot stood upright and turned her head all over the place to anxiously find where her partner was. “Lapis, where are you?!” she exclaims. All that was retorted was a fleeting shriek of woe and suffocation. She then strides around the room like she was lost in a dense forest. Or in this case, she was looking for someone in a dense forest. Her panting could quickly be perceived as she tried scouting through the hoarded artifacts and skulked every corner. She cried out Lapis’ name with too many times to count. Their side quest had escalated WAY too quickly than any other task they had in the past and there has never been a time where She was untraceable from her.

Yet she did not have to completely weep or collapse just yet. Peridot stops prowling around the barn when she hears someone grunting within her radius. She gradually turns to find a familiar form stood up upright and banally. It was Lapis. But Peri did not feel relieved to see her. She looked at her with a calmed expression that turned into a confused one. Where did the blood around her mouth come from? Why was she looking at her funny? Why was she standing there like nothing even happened to her? This could not be some kind of messed up joke since both of them were professionals.

Peridot inquired her condition. “Why were you screaming for my help…?”

Lapis stops grunting and rather chuckles instead. “…You have to learn to keep you promises…” she says and chortles again. But her voice was incredibly altered. It sounded like two voices, jagged and serene, were trying to mash together into one voice. And it scared Peridot real good. “…I’ve had a hell of a night trying to figure out which one should I take. But right now, I’m realizing how much fun I’ve been having…”

The petite detains backwards and her attained fear was seen through her pupils. “You’re not my Lapis…” she says aggressive.

“It’s not going to matter who this is sooner or later.” She replies. “You two have made a big mistake coming in here and trying to find me. And now you’re going to wish you would have minded your own business after I’m done with you and this body…”

“Wait, what are you going to do with her?!” Peridot asks angered. “Tell me your name right now, spirit! That way I can use it to expel your soul out of her’s!”

The spirit now scheming Lapis takes an unnerving step forward. “Now that’s the thing; you’re never going to take me out. No one has ever succeeded in that…”

Now she was inching a lot closer. By her own instinct, Peridot grabbed a flask of holy water out of her pockets and faced it to the entity. It wasn’t the best idea, but she had to do something. “Step back now…” she says.

The grin on Lapis’ face fades away as she looks at the carafe and steps back. “…Hey, you put that crap out of my face.” She demanded. An unusual reaction for Peridot to see and listen. Was she vulnerable to something as basic as liquids blessed from vicars? Maybe trying to cast her out was not going to be as hard as initially thought.

“I suppose you don’t like this stuff.” Peridot utters and opens the cap of the water ampule. This time she was the one the taking a step forward. “I’m going to say this once…Get out of my wife or I’m going to spread your poison like it’s a garden sprinkler!”

The apparition became perceptibly angry and did not hesitate to use Lapis’ body against Peridot right away. She becomes swift, and slaps the carafe out of her short hands and onto the wall. “You’re a real nuisance, aren’t you?” she asks. And this time, the facets of Lapis’ voice was heard no more and it was only the coarseness of the spirit’s actual voice. “I am NOT LEAVING THIS FORM!”

She strikes Peridot right in the stomach with her wife’s own fist and watches her fly to the equipment. The blonde groans in agony, feeling the sensation as if the strength of a tank missile just embattled her physically and mentally. She barely had the ability to stand up again, let alone remembering that it was a spirit that punched her and not actually Lapis. But she could not help it. This thing had just possessed her completely.

She coughed up blood that now became part of her guise and the floorboard stains. But then there came the tears that leaked down her barred eyes. She must have been feeling pain that Lapis had to endure while being possessed. If only she had known how to defend her a lot more. She failed to keep her oath in protecting her most important person at all cost during investigations, and she hated everything including herself for that.

The possessed Lapis was leisurely creeping to her again since she knew her pain was not taking her anywhere. Yet Peridot sojourns lasting her abdominal strike and reached for one of her suitcases. It opens, and she feebly grabs another holy water ampule to use against her ghostly opponent. But the more she moved, the more she had to sorely whimper. Then she knew she was going to receive more discomfort, as she felt a bare foot gently stomp through her thick hair.

“I’m impressed.” The spirit speaks. “When I choose to slay you two immediately, you somehow manage to stay alive…” Her other victim’s head was being pressed to the ground more. “…Everyone who comes to this dump instantly sees me as a monster. But I never did anything wrong…No one knows what death is like, you lose your identity. That’s why I decided to become the monster anyway.”

Peridot only comprehended a little bit of her story as her mind had to be focused in hopefully getting out of this. The spirit continued to speak anyway. “Since you and ‘Lapis’ are going to die here anyway, I might as well tell you who I really am.” She says and bends down to the petite. “…I am Jasper.”

The bottle of holy water that was unnoticeably still in Peridot’s grip had its cap open with only her fingers. With one immediate act, she shrieks loudly and squelches a heap of liquid above her to drizzle the blue haired girl’s figure. Jasper stops placing her feet at her face and annexations begin to trigger the spirit. Peridot overhears her screaming and wildly reverting to Lapis’ voice. It was a disturbing thing to listen to, but it was also a sign that she could free her from control.

The pain Peridot received was only trivial now, hence she stances with her only weapon and confronts the bent and aggrieved Lapis. Another heap of holy water was spread across her body, and more screeches was heard. Lapis’ body sauntered towards the boxes and hid itself from plain sight.

She could not begin to process what she had heard, saw, or witnessed in general for those brief and horrific moments of encountering a possessed version of her love. She wiped the remaining tears off her face and wondered if the apparition had stop control over her body. “…L-Lapis…?” she dimly calls out.

The shouting stopped. Indeed, the entity was casted out by mere drips of water and Lapis’ body was free. She popped out of the scrap limply and unconsciously, landing on the floor and disquieting Peridot. The blonde investigator kneels down and checks for any vitals of her being. “Oh God please be okay…” she speaks. Lapis was okay. And she was relieved finally.

This was not over yet, however. The whaling of Jasper was still heard and waring off soon. Peridot looks over and turns out she could see the large ghost this time. Jasper’s true form came out through the boxes too and stood in front of her exorcist. Before, she looked human and impartial. But she looked more exhausted, and now there were green spots and growing out of her arms. The holy water must have affected that hideousness.

“That’s disgusting…” Peridot utters. Being assured that Lapis was going to be safer, she walks around and provokes her new adversary. She had enough. It was time for defeat. Jasper did not know where this was going. But she was soon met with a whole flask size of demon-killing liquors when Peridot threw the whole container at her. The last screech was caught and she completely stumbled down to her face, just like what happened to her prey.

The investigator began to yell her name and label her. “You are Jasper, the abuser of depths and the embodiment of suffering.” She says belligerently. She proceeded to chant a number of devout words that she had saved a long time for dispelling a demon. They were not too long, but the speech was enough to make Jasper feel her throbbing. Shortly, she did not appear to be human anymore. The incantation caused her to transform into a truly monstrous, hirsute, corrupted version of her. It was a beast made from vengeance and pride.

Peridot’s tone had rose aggressively and stopped the chanting. She did not care to process if Jasper had become a beast. All she did was place her own boot on her and said the final words to disperse her for good. “I condemn you back to hell.”

Jasper’s figure had faded to a normal silhouette. And her silhouette had faded into nothing more than inexistence. Peridot’s fearlessness was conducted solely because she wanted to save her most important person to her.

She panted incredibly vast after that excursion of an exorcism. She looks back and dailies to Lapis who was comatose on the floorboards. “Lapis! Wake up!” she bellows. “I defeated Jasper. She was the one who was haunting this place all along.”

Surprisingly, Lapis immediately wakes up from her partner’s voice. She rises up like she had just taken a nap. A nap filled with nightmares at least. “Peridot…” she murmurs. And after realizing the bloodstained look on her acquitted expression, she panicked.

“Oh gosh…Peridot, your face!” she grasps it softly. “I-I can’t believe I…….Peri, I’m sorry I let that happen. I would never mean to hurt you and scare you so much like that…Fuck, I should have never said yes to take this task otherwise we would have been okay…”

She did not answer. All she did was gape down and let one last tear drop from the side of her face. And then she was gaping back at Lapis. “It’s…okay, Laz.” She absolved. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were possessed, and I did not think ahead of that.” She grasped one of Lapis’ and felt their warmth getting the best of them. “I made many promises when we were engaged that I would protect you from all kinds of risk. Tonight I just got both of us hurt, and I might as well deserve it more than you.”

Lapis got herself closer to Peridot’s nearness and tried to ease her. “Please don’t say that. You just saved me, and I love you Peridot.”

Their venting ended with a deep embrace by the petite and sniffling blonde. “I love you too Lapis…”

The blue haired ceased the embrace and instead pulled her closer to kiss her ardently on her lips. The caress lingered for a while, not minding whether their lips were sanguine or they were inside a broken down barn anymore. They just needed to be at ease and forget about the task.

The next morning.

The couple never contacted Greg to bring them back to Beach City. They literally stayed and passed out on a hammock for the whole night. The task to uncover the long rumored Barn Haunting was the most short-lived yet laborious case the two partners have faced so far in their lifetime.

When they did choose to go back home eventually, they met with their eager client with what was left of their proof. Several different types of video clips were submitted including one photograph. Not to mention the wreckage of Peridot’s tech to verify the haunting.

They confirmed the barn to be ONCE haunted. And they did not care if he was going to spread the news to everyone or keep it confidential. What they wanted now was some time alone

#lapidot week #lapidot halloween week #steven universe #lapidot #my works #fanfiction #ghost hunting au #human au #lapis lazuli #peridot #greg universe #jasper #woah guys this is my longest oneshot so far #this is way over the top or way down below tbh #i dont know if this is true but i think this is the only lapidot week submission with angst #...or a dark story because the art and fics ive seen so far are so light hearted and i love them #i feel a bit out of place and kinda tired about this fic. and there are a few errors too #but ya'll i hope you still enjoy

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brightestandbest · 7 years

Text

The Angel of Evil

This is a piece of fiction inspired by two statues of Lucifer and the fact that they were carved by two brothers. Other than that it has no relationship whatsoever to reality. Under a cut for length and sexual content.

Louis had been commissioned carve a marble statue of Satan for the cathedral. The project, so far, was turning out to be appropriately hellish.

His brother, also a sculptor, had not spoken to him in weeks. Gaspard, elder and a more eminent artist, had been confident that he would receive the commission. When Louis had been asked to sculpt Satan, Gaspard had been convinced that he himself would be asked to tackle more sublime subject matter—John the Baptist, the blessed Virgin, perhaps even Christ on the Cross. He had mocked his younger brother as an inferior talent, saying he had only the skill to capture the ugliness of Satan, not the pure beauty of saints or angels. But as days passed and it became clear that no commission was coming to Gaspard, he grew bitter. He stopped speaking to Louis, even to mock. He simply shut him out.

Gaspard even contrived to pull their father into the quarrel. Somehow, he had convinced him that Louis was malicious, conniving, and insolent in taking a commission so clearly intended for his more established elder brother. Louis received a curt note from the patriarch expressing disappointment in him for wronging his brother so, and even quoting a bit of scripture regarding Cain and Abel. It ended by notifying him that his allowance would be suspended until he made amends to his brother.

Little as he relished the familial strife—and much as the loss of his father’s support had hurt him, emotionally and financially—Louis had more pressing problems on his mind. Chief among them was the project itself.

The Archbishop had been disquietingly vague in his instructions. He had specified the approximate dimensions of the statue and the space it was intended to fill, and said that it was to portray the Adversary. Which left Louis to answer the hardest question: how?

The problem had obsessed him for several nights now. At first it had been precipitated by the gloom that descended after being shunned by his father and brother, but soon the question itself had grown into the source of a despair even deeper. What, after all, was the nature of the Devil? Louis knew only what he had been taught in church, and had never thought too long or hard about Satan. Now that he had begun to ruminate on the nature of the adversary, his thoughts had grown deep and terrifying.

He turned first to scripture to answer his questions, but only found himself more confused. Here was the serpent, slithering through the garden of Eden. Here was Lucifer, son of the morning, fallen from heaven. Here was the devil tempting Job, nearly playing dice with men’s souls—disturbingly, with God for a gambling partner. His image of Satan became less distinct, and yet more seductively sinister, with every verse.

And those verses were few and far between. Louis soon realized the Good Book was a poor source of information on the evil one. It contained very few mentions of the devil, and what was there often seemed contradictory. Scriptures that had once made sense to Louis now seemed a pack of nonsense and lies. So agonizing was his doubt, so anguished his confusion, that he began to fear that Devil was actually taking hold of his soul.

Despairing of finding inspiration in scripture, Louis sought it in art history. He turned next to medieval manuscripts, where he saw Satan as snarling and serpent-tongued. Here, at least, was an entity that seemed more recognizable to him from the sermons. He made a few half-hearted sketches based on this impression, and sent them to the Archbishop. They were sent back. The Archbishop, he was told, wanted something a bit more modern. Modernity hardly seemed to Louis like a Catholic virtue, and he found himself now doubting not just the holy scriptures, but the Archbishop as well. His inner darkness deepened, along with his artistic frustration.

He had spent a fortnight, now, staring at the marble block. Sometimes he wasted hours running his hands along it, hoping to discover, in the raw rock, some demonic form waiting to manifest. His money was running out—without his father’s allowance, he had only the Archbishop’s deposit to live on.

Many nights, he found himself staring not at the marble block but at the beams of the ceiling, thinking of where to hang a noose. At other times, he contemplated taking the chisel not to the marble, but to his own tender wrists.

One early morning, at the tail end of one such bad and sleepless night, he stood before the marble. The gray light of dawn, creeping through the windows, combined with the uneven light of a few sputtering candles to reveal his pathetic condition. He was unshaven, unwashed, and thin. He gripped his chisel like a murder weapon. Without meaning to, he found himself saying a sort of prayer in his head, not to God on high, but to the dark one below.

Show yourself to me, he was begging in his heart. I must see you.

That was he heard his studio door open.

Louis spun about, chisel upraised, to face the intruder. At first he thought he was hallucinating, that desperation and sleep-deprivation had driven him mad. Surely the apparition before him could not be flesh and blood.

It was a young man, perfect in his beauty. He wore his hair unfashionably long and scandalously loose around his shoulders, but it was hard to blame him for showing off that softly curling golden mane. His features were smooth and well-balanced, a paragon of masculine beauty so harmonious it seemed to have been created by mathematical formula. Yet despite his appearance as a platonic ideal of youthful manhood, nothing about him seemed tame or rational at all. There was a bright wildness in his eyes, which were a tawny golden color. His full lips looked too red, too sensuous, obscene; a haughty smile played around them. He was dressed in rich clothes, but his cravat hung half-undone around his throat, his shirt was partially unbuttoned, and his suit was rumpled.

He met Louis’s gaze with his wild eyes. Upon that contact, the sculptor seemed to hear a howling in his head, as of high winds and lashing rain; and the muffled noise of huge, beating wings. He staggered, and had to steady himself against the marble block for support.

“Who are you?” he croaked, still half-brandishing the chisel in unconscious self defense. “What do you want?”

The young man’s smile widened, showing strangely sharp teeth. It was mocking smile, but somehow not unkind. Its effect was profoundly unnerving.

“I have heard you are the sculpt the devil.” His voice was an androgynous tenor. “I am he.”

Louis, in his state of near delirium, actually believed him for a moment. Then he put the notion aside. He even convinced himself that he had heard or remembered the words incorrectly—the young man must have said something like “I am your devil.” He was a young model supremely confident of receiving a job, nothing more.

Having persuaded himself of this version of reality, Louis looked at the young man more closely, more critically. There was something peculiarly wicked and demonic about his beauty. His wildness, his hauteur, the insolence of those perfect lips—yes, this could be a fallen angel, previously the wisest and fairest of them all.

“Yes,” Louis heard himself muttering aloud, “Yes, you could be. I know the hearts of men. They do not fall from grace by chasing ugliness. They fall for beauty.”

The young man said nothing, merely inclined his head slightly, as if agreeing with the point—no, as if acknowledging that the point was made self-evident by his very being. Louis, entranced, wondered who had fallen for that beauty before. He did not doubt that many had. He thought men and women alike probably went mad for it, died for it, scratched their eyes out desperately trying to forget it.

Without another word, the young model began to shed his clothes. He was completely unselfconscious about it, shucking everything as though, to him, it was all mere affectation. Nudity brought his beauty into even starker relief. It wasn’t so much that his body was beautiful—though it was, achingly so—more as if the layers of clothing had served to dim some inner radiance of his, that flowed out from every inch of his exposed flesh. Louis swallowed uncomfortably, his mouth suddenly watering and his breeches feeling very tight.

The model cast him a teasing glance, then pointed at a stool across the room.

“I will sit on that,” he said.

Louis stood still for a moment, stunned and stupefied, then shook himself and went to retrieve the seat, pulling it into a good position. The model alighted upon it, gloriously, irresistibly nude. Louis drew back, afraid to accidentally touch his skin. A shocking heat seemed to radiate from the man’s body, as if his skin would burn to touch.

“You’ll be needing a drape,” Louis said after a moment.

The model glanced back over his shoulder at Louis. “Will I?” His eyes were dark and bright at once, his grin bewitching. In the periphery of Louis’s vision, he saw something twitch, like a large and very lewd snake.

Louis swallowed hard and tried to sound severe. “Definitely,” he said firmly. “The sculpture is for a church.”

“Of course,” the model sighed. “Do as you must, I suppose.”

Louis brought over a drape, and arranged it delicately across the model’s lap. The model wasted no time in making adjustments, tucking it in under his buttocks and arranging it so that it covered merely the essentials, riding low across his hips but high over his knees.

Louis started to protest.

“Be quiet.” The model’s voice was startlingly firm. “It has to be just so. This is an image of temptation, yes?”

Louis hesitated, then paced around the model in a slow circle. He had to admit, reluctantly, that the flash of nude buttock, the suggestive drape between the knees, was compositionally perfect. It drew the eye to all the right, or wrong, places. After a moment’s further hesitation, he nodded.

The model swept his eyes up to the ceiling, drew in a deep breath, and seemed to collect himself. “Fallen from heaven,” he murmured, and his voice sounded sad. “Of course. Right.”

He adjusted his posture so that his shoulders curved slightly, as if beneath the weight of wings. His eyes were cast down on his lap, and held a fierce, burning regard. His expression was serious, but at the same time, serene. A fallen angel who has accepted his lot, gathering his strength and courage to begin his reign in hell. He was perfect.

“Yes,” Louis whispered, “Yes, I see you.”

He went to work with the chisel immediately. Every cut he made felt painful, as if he was sculpting from his own flesh, but he did not stop. The lithe, youthful form, and the suggestion of wings behind it, began to emerge from the stone.

Louis worked feverishly. The deeper he went into the stone, the closer he felt he was coming to that smooth, frighteningly warm flesh. He longed to trace the subtleties of clavicles, biceps, and jawbone. He couldn’t wait to trace the soft contours of those perfect areolas with his chisel. But he was far from such levels of detail when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find the young model standing beside him.

“Louis,” he said softly. “Enough. You’ve carved all day and all night. You have to stop.”

Louis looked blearily over at the window, to see the rose hues of another dawn gracing the horizon.

“Your body cannot take this, Louis,” the voice sounded pitying. “You are only human. You must rest.”

“No,” Louis said unclearly, “Inspiration like this, it never comes. I have to continue…” his voice shook with exhaustion and fear.

A soft laugh. “Poor artists. I adore you so. You are the only real martyrs. Your inspiration will return, I promise it.”

Louis shook his head, still trembling, feeling drunk from exhaustion.

“Hush. Hush. Let me sustain you.” Blackness was already beginning to cover his vision. He felt himself enveloped in strong arms, a body hot as a furnace pressed close to him. “Taste of the forbidden fruit.” The words seemed to come at once from very far away, and from within his own skull. A rush of soft wings enfolded him, and lips as scarlet and as scorching as coals pressed to his mouth. And then he knew no more.

When Louis woke, he felt refreshed and rested as he never had before.

He lay in the model’s arms. What he had dreamed were enfolding wings must have been the sheets and soft down of the pillows.

Louis sat up quickly, horrified to find himself in the embrace of a naked man, still more distressed to realize he was naked too.

A soft chuckle let him know he was being watched. He looked down and met the golden eyes of the beautiful youth.

“How,” Louis began, “What…?”

The model sat up, leaning gracefully on his elbow. In the morning light, the contours of his body were serpentine, elegant. “Hush, my friend. You have slept as innocently as a babe.” His lips curved, and Louis dizzily thought—the bow of Eros.

“I do not corrupt,” he murmured. “Only tempt. And last night, you were much too tired to be tempted.”

Louis rubbed unnecessarily at his eyes, trying to banish sleepiness that was not there. On the contrary, his sight had never seemed clearer.

“Besides,” the young model laughed, “You only want to do one thing.”

The sculpture. Louis’s hunger to finish it was ravenous, lascivious. As he raked his eyes over the boy’s form, he knew that where other men might desire to touch him, Louis would be satisfied far more deeply by drawing its copy out of the marble. To mutilate the stone in search of that gorgeous form would be far more piquant a consummation. Thinking these thoughts, he flushed, and nodded.

It was another day and night of feverish work. Louis did not eat, but he did not feel hungry. It was as if he fed on proximity to his model, drank him with his eyes. The wings were beginning to take shape, framing the body. It nestled between them, the face like… like the pearl within a woman’s folds, Louis could not help but think. It was a blasphemous thought, but it seemed right. Was this not the forbidden fruit—desire? Knowledge, of the most carnal kind?

Louis came to know that bright body, his chisel conforming to its most intimate contours. His strokes were still rough—it was not time, yet, for the cherished smoothing, the forming of delicate features—but he strained towards those details passionately, taking away the stone a bit at a time, leaving just enough so that he would be able to perfect the close work later.

The model sat perfectly still, barely seeming to breathe. He had assumed the exact pose, the exact expression, of the previous session. He was not only the most beautiful model Louis had ever had the pleasure of working from, but also the best.

Marble chips showered to the floor like hail. Powdery white dust filled the air, coating Louis’s face and hands until he himself looked like a statue.

When another dawn approached, the model again stopped Louis’s work with a gentle hand. He lead him away to a warm bath, perfumed with the scent of roses. As Louis soaked, the model sat at the edge of the tub, massaging the sculptor’s sore neck and shoulders. Under his hands, Louis felt himself become something better, more refined—as if the model was a kind of sculptor himself. When the water had cooled, the model led Louis to bed and gave him another gentle kiss, and the artist once again slipped into a blissful sleep full of nothingness.

It went on like that for a week. A day and a night of work, a day and a night of seemingly drugged slumber. Louis was on fire, happier than he had ever been in his life. His work was extraordinary, glowing with the light of genius.

One day, mid afternoon, Louis was surprised to feel himself stopped, again, by a hand on his shoulder. He was even more startled to glance out the window and see the sun still high in the sky.

The model stood over him, beaming.

“Stop, you silly man,” he commanded. “Can’t you see that it’s already perfect?”

In a daze, Louis glanced up, and saw that it was. He was kneeling at the statue’s feet, detailing a serpent that ran around the base of the pedestal. The marble eyes of the devil stared down at him, their gaze somehow penetrating despite their blankness. Their regard led the way down a magnificent body, lovingly detailed. Every centimeter of it had been rendered flawlessly, and polished to a smooth radiance that nearly hurt to look at.

Over him stood the original of this perfect copy, and his smile was incandescent.

Louis felt tears come to his eyes.

“I don’t want to stop,” he whispered. “I can’t give you up.”

The model squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. His fingers were still painfully hot, but Louis had grown used to that burning touch, and to the scorch marks it left on him.

“You have to stop, Louis, or ruin your most perfect work.”

Louis nodded, unable to deny it. Now that he looked at the thing in its entirety, he realized the model had stopped him just in time. A single stroke more would have marred it.

“You will always be mine,” came the voice from above him, and once again Louis heard thunder and rain. “But not in the way you fear. Poor Louis,” he continued, as the grew louder, “Your father is so cruel to you, as mine was to me. Do not fear. You will never have to meet my father. You will join me in the shade, beneath the tree of knowledge.”

“It is you, isn’t it?” Louis murmured in wonder.

Behind him, he heard the rush of air as the mighty wings spread.

“You want to keep it for yourself. You don’t want it to go to the church. That is fine, Louis. Such selfishness is no sin. Be patient, and I will come back to you. I promise it.”

Louis closed his eyes and tilted back his head, and accepted, for one final time, that burning kiss that consumed his consciousness.

The statue was at the cathedral that same day. No one saw the work crew come and install it. It was simply there.

The Archbishop received word that the work was done, and was content. He sent Louis his full payment, and a little extra. He did not even bother to come and see it—at least, not at first.

Soon the atmosphere in the cathedral began to change. It began as a subtle shift—a dark shimmer in the air, a little extra heat. Fewer offerings were strewn at the feet of the Virgin, fewer candles burned by the hem of her stone skirts. The flowers, the candles, the incense, and the praying devotees soon crowded around the sublime statue of Lucifer instead.

Men came to church dressed as women, and women as men. They looked so natural, so happy and content, that nobody would have noticed—save for the fact that they recognized their neighbors. Here a farmer or a banker in a long skirt, there a housewife in her husband’s breeches.

The priest got a child with the Mother Superior at a nearby convent. Both had to be dismissed in disgrace. They were soon seen holding hands and gazing together at the exquisitely carven face of the fallen one.

It was whispered that in the dark hours of the night, nude figures crowded into the cathedral, a congregation far greater than had ever assembled there before. The worshippers writhed together on the pews, or entwined in the aisles between them. Incense burned and strange hymns were sung. Kisses were given and received like the eucharist, sperm swallowed like communion wine. Neither the Archbishop or the new Priest or any of the elders of the church were there to see it—or at least, they claimed ignorance of the lascivious midnight masses, and tried to dismiss the stories as wild rumors. But evidence was found, here and there—a suspicious stain on an altar cloth, a smear on the pages of a Bible, a discarded piece of underclothing draped over the Virgin’s shoulder.

Something had to be done.

The Archbishop had the statue removed and delivered back to Louis’ door less than two weeks later.

“Keep your cursed sculpture,” read the accompanying note, “And the money too. You have completed your commission all too well.”

Louis smiled as he read the brief missive, and a warm hand seemed to graze his cheek.

In the end, Gaspard got the coveted commission. His Lucifer was stormier in aspect. His brow was furrowed, his expression grim. One hand tugging frantically at his wild hair, and his ankle strained at a chain. The face of the statue, though, looked familiar. Many speculated he had worked from the same model as his brother.

Not long after, Gaspard was found dead and blinded. It seemed he had scratched his own eyes out. Their father, overcome with grief, took fever and passed away in early spring, leaving Louis sole heir of the family fortune.

Louis cared little about the money. He was drowning in commissions, so many that he could happily pick and choose, accepting only the work that made his heart sing.

And sometimes, as he worked, his masterpiece would stir, blinking an eye, or stretching a wing. As soon as he looked directly at it again, the motion was gone, and all returned to its place.

Except, he could swear that the drape was forever slipping further and further down those divine hips.

#my writing #fiction

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