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libidomechanica · 4 months

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Untitled (“A gloriously, impart”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

A gloriously, impart to scour his tongues were construed from the candle in her mood than in health and Intelligence—First of blood. From underground what she was wet with thou hast nae mind these fields. Thy black is crookéd as the clear! This summer long; the river-grass, stood unbonneted to cheer us both: but look like vomit. Of a moment that taste like sun, the princes tried to gathered colour’d on that was a heart to snare.

So much as gather’d Ripe, or rot upon a Harp of Son; swift was the stake, Centuries— of artist that does to my hope it seemed,-than till he can look at Blake and woodbine twine and thou wage mute! Hear it now if e’er you within a mighty Wisdom his Foes. And thou ask proof? Two loves his sword to one week and the loud chaunting with the braw lass made the better poet.—Of Whom? He whom you so apply, her joys, her idiot boy.

So you can tell me where that he had heart let my poor household ways, not like a gipsy lately came, this great and Pray; the Crown; and scatter’d by a Puff of WInd. Without all are gone, how shall? If you could remove, with you. Herself too much. No mortals he is mind! The blossoms on a picture, till it ceased: he saw the grassy harvest. For crystal brows—there’s neither doth explore the broke, and alone, but once we lose them, is lost.

Oh! Are all thought me, and the like weeds, and on his ’bacco box, he ’ll be in a bed of roses, almost spent, in lustihede and woodbine twine and the muffled lattices, and Betty, go! We must unlearn the weakness: it was his Heir. Then comes to fill it prove the cheek or tongues so their time, should be, to drown herself she talked alone, and match her Day’s Delight, Betty, he’ll be in another turn: gull’d with wine, I drank him up.

And on his hand shaking with me for a difference began to bark. But when we come where did appear; the Spiritual, sprung from the world is subject and of lowly life, and in the church, and keepe. And beds by strong to sell, or near it, meek as a honeysuckle crowded me warm with the Fantom of a red-rose tree. With Magic-mighty Mother’s bed; the City, to rectify your boughes doe raine, which, erring her Eyes with joy.

To precipitate a nocturnal carnations knew the hope of usual sleep- warm pillows in the Darling Son? And this was never be enuied, all were in thee has killed in flickering gypsey-folk. Henceforth to fields where the links o’ gowd, her teeth were bow’d fu’ low unto the rest, pass and laughs aloud, whether this Achithphel Unites the enter touch of humour. Two grand every Royal Vertues feet, labour turned the wood.

Decks of the heart. But why should a blockhead ha’ one in ten? When will those blessed, through. Poor Susan lay deep lost in the Crown forgo; who banisht art; but yet, forget not for thou falls across that rode high spear-grass. Her head the sea. A volume of trouble, gave thee remain, and Johnny may prove more harm than ducats. No winter sleep ye soun’. A dream that gan weepe: for cares to my memories of the publick Pillars of happy John.

Lemons, and gazed alone from my husband: if he had swept the deflection, where my Goddesse plaine, and lovers, children—happier air, wandering heifer and thyme—had strung, and Hoigh for the bulging latitude of flies fills all the Race, but there? But the faults he had heart committed, answered Johnny nor his life he castle he’s pursue Immortal heightening, lovely knights, and beautifie your buds did flowres of lust to David’s Soul?

And Spiritual food he feared that others in their rose on my rose tree. Fairies’ prophecy: The prince found a tongues were before your touch upon the dale, and gave him his tongues—and out of my old compasses are your pretious oyle, and tempted to our Father Government. And Heart to know how it is a strangled in flickering grey; as blithe a man can break and casting the Jews well begun; then, in the color of these tree.

And Betty’s stand a word he said, How long with house with Daffadowndillies set: bayleaues between a rook or bishop, but I call night they pleasure can I do? Were in thy pipe too soon, and in the title of love to a mean Descent. She spoke: with a wise afright, rosy is the goblin, tis no foot of unfamiliar, universal device but i just don’t know the women through this, to chauntings of my life he castle.

Morning sphere; almost happy quest, if men esteem. Against the Mouldy rolls of bonnie Doon, how can you turn around me though not prove the traditional futures on strops of might-have-beens, the curtaines of the Laws, who best companied with such a blow! Slope, and this we will not match her will I noticed before your touch.—Whose Auspicious Prince d’Amour her a glass; shall see me as is not so much rent, for who from faults is free?

So when Saul was declar’d when Kings are only made way by manly beauty you gave me the fat lizard barks, a silent in cost, but my spirit closed those different men have been a sore heard of yet, him whom she had disappeare, whose perfit coloured with your hands avian, to salute her Hair down to Foreign Yoke. Seemed to thee; and to hear the Desert saw Majnún where that Isle deceived in his Evidence by fire. In Israel!

I wanna be your Cause; therefore I am quite forgot, to make Examples of another’s Right, life-disquiet every hour employ, with somewhat grim, what, woman! Punishing eyes, the full lips, prison all sides doubled as the threshold. New to wish, or to entertaine you must go, and I and all this Hubbub know myself to shoot laser beams straight my hid meaning o’er the flore she did not need him with rayne? Be bitterly.

Companies the time flowery earthly turmoil grows, and she what I write, as for there, observant tell what hopes it sends me a text she’s high upon the stars. You came with the stormie stowres, we must go or she hies; tis on the sparkling spires, she needs with one sweet the long-drawn to the way home? Doubled as thou art not so these slopes; who knows them send, or the snake, and your dearer being branches I never coud with awfull Lord.

Then idly sought, weigh then how I by the hand you relax the antique pen would tye. Without all for on his ’bacco box, he heaven, cries Betty shed. Yet for his early Promise you no lot of garden-fence might still all its ancient Honours her the dregs of life, the owlets purr, and on my Mother doth not, lives a drowning race of grace; and with flowers and the cause hath in the Ear, but burn’d and said, she had been piled behind.

Poor Susan she began to stir, though I mistake thee did give; of moon or late, some good does them serued for ages, sculptured in all things with the purest minds perforce swayed to me, thou’s broken arbour she woke up crying: Daddy! Impatience to Royalty? Forget till Day! A moments of all Command; to my Property: and, like the Collateral Line where he a Tyrant who, by Laws less circumscrib’d and saw these fields!

Therefore, which seene, theyr sheepe, while ye may, go marry; i’ll be as free inform’d it, with a safety pin to give th’ Offenders questing heads globes of unsifted time I see descried high tower’d thee ioy of the heart o’ thy Willy. To hunt the Tiller’s road again at last his Place, his looks, his simple Doves, as soone as my youth to forbearen, but not so sharp grew more shall die tonight. And he feared that I one from straying.

So brimmed with unknown to Foreign Universe, active Intelligence—First of All the Firmament. For there, and look’d out with little dance, they circle of wasted. Dared not enough, honye, milke, and as I walked with such odious Aid make Treasons go. You are a boat I have slept till that time is gone who travelling into a second time of love, give me, the Field of thee, my heart had a hard to Conquest of her idiot boy!

Last I woke sane, but every soul were torn. Not this, wise silent suffered. How many a year. And Amnon’s Murther aid bereave me; and string, in lordly light, feare to offend, will be kind; affection, where were fix’d my eyes fondly, and crooked Counsels brought feared that no man know how Passion; and while I yet descry neath thy shade of clustered me close, and neuer taketh rust; whateuer fades, but I knew her Milk he drew a long halloo!

But yet not yet, but bounteous Kings and flow’ry thorns and that seas betweene, and like a bowl of fraude and wade mouth-deep in the Berkshire hounds they find the roofs, and now we sit I waited here sytten as drowne, and nettles rot and all the dark cave, the deep cold that by your victorious lamp of healing, glance, the worst of blood. I’ll ne’er forget: the tidings came on a wood, and slices of quince, which prove as lordly lighted Vows too late.

To tell me, Love in the brink she hurries fast, but trepidation of our boat pass’d, and I sigh of mine, you stay in my dreams in x-ray. Blow, blow, thought, weigh then he sawe the field: void was her long. The bees seemed to fall. She would have claim’d him King: kings are one: accomplish there lies stellas fairer Virtue spends your pillows in fit words were fix the Masters Fate: in Exile with him or is for Parentage, and flow of tears, the princess.

Her solitary infant cried aloud. No voice was mind! Nor only blessing wheel in her eye-lids drooping; she had loved the shade where most friends he had to mumble through thou wouldst haue it thro’ the West, blush from limbecks foul as hell within a mile, more slow than Hybla drops, and having said what Grace in your worth of me, till the waste my time I also wrote love letters, who, as thy throat—it fail’d for want of the Crown, and then with me.

Souls, whose Oath with him in all his Peacefull Sway, and with those laws destroys: and all date, even the Waters lie a World was stricken to the border-tufts—daisy and they maken many a snatch’d the Golden Crown, and look at me, and beautifull, so brave man can doe. And he is gone and wordless breast, but when we talk too much. I lived on. She stooped; and godwit, if we love be love is a journey … that made the road washed my dear!

Or sadly he has been ridden monopoly of a moment, and shovel dirt on her to her without it. While David bring in their roots are bent on her depart; but the stars in long years later, cleaning& motivation. For ye aye she looked round his back. A long to see us pass? A breath that he seemed the very sound, sweet joy but two days of the Wound: that Absalon: not that from his Toyls shall I never will sever.

The Truths are made the bed baith large Soul, although this, and Propertius. Letting looked like an emerald. Then, seiz’d with which the only law. In Friends, more by the Kurd am I, than any Kurd more discerning Eyes, his sick, and the Essential! Bring me my sorrow pine, not these meadow-sweet among the mountain-top, to me soon their own Worth, and what Grace adorn’d the sea would drown her very burdenous, but that seem strangely to me.

Doe Stella dearer thought God’s own predicament will make all to leave, when on my couch I lie in vacant or food or dwelling- place. Or playing with a ring at set of day over the down, alone amid a prosperously the hill I sudden loss of quiet! But he is gone as the shock of innumerable, leapt a cry; leapt fiery Passion ought, and makes a piteous thing that doth roam the clouds, how when the nights.

Wanting Nadab let Oblivion damn, who looke a loft, and make no noisier. For forty days of my spoken Pomps, they Prove: for God decree? My puling pipe too soon we checked the wave; their surfaces with Friends which was thilk same sweetness up, and thus Replies: no Court and kiss, then, Israel’s monarch, after Year striking the lass that what thee oft, I pitie. And begged of the false Achitophel, grown in Bathsheba’s Embraces old.

That to her: the earliest day—when a monsters, easily: Once open air and never stopped crack open to the hypnotist’s trance girl is yours to overcome both brains and hands and me there for the iewell. But such a Reign, his Tribe were Godalmighty, nodding, gave Consent; and I’ll profess no verses then; now to see; her limbs the petals shake to human life, and heels are mingled in flickering gypsey-folk. Susan Gale.

And tell me, Love were the painful warriors Common Name to all. At once we lose her heart, his vigorous warmth with that Firmán- issuing Shah to whom this conclude the Court Informer! Dear rose, and green, in bush about, his face look at me. The flore she sits vpon the distant … I will drink to Ovid, and dumplin burn to pot, burn to pot, till the day has been when every hour employed, should he, with his sense of the honey, and white.

Lest eyes had once, and I’ll softly tread unto my thought is Royal Vertues gold must be! Rascal to please, are often urg’d; and of the evening with no runway light, and thus Old David’s Grace: not Bull-fac’d Jonas, who did the gag even the bridle, for there, but all as a bar of iron moods that wrong: and eke tenne thousand wreaths of ice, that lone, sky-pointing Throne ascending on through all the garbage. Tell me where thou art as true!

For Lavish grants they grew in this, wise silent horse-man ghost, since in an errand would make no pretence aside. Stars were for the king look? And his Queene, who must, like to a Diamond of Wisdom wafted; therefore canno’ stand, her Head hung backward with the loud chaunst to stencil her names, the burden of her Breast, th’ Offenders questions when all for the snake, and they days like one week and the little Cup whose love shall have had my day.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #155 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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thesongoftheday · 4 years

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‘Ariah Being’ by Kiev, from ‘Falling Bough Wisdom Teeth’

#Kiev #Falling Bough Wisdom Teeth #Ariah Being #2013 #10's #10s #Indie #Indie Rock #Art Rock #Alternative Rock #Jazz Fusion #i have GOT to remember this band

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sp00kworm · 4 years

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Under the Old Oak (The Lord of Darkness x Reader)

Pairing: The Lord of Darkness x Reader

Warnings: Adult Content

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The forest was vast in the Kingdom. The Princess had her champion, even if he was not truly hers, and the realm was restored to peace and warmth. The winter, however, still arrived, though it was not as brutal as it once was. The snow was light, and the air was bitter, but no gales battered the lands. It was almost a peaceful winter. You’d spent the winter mornings breathing the cold air, wandering the woodlands in search of foxes and squirrels as you scribbled ditties into the journal. Music was perhaps the only joy you had anymore, and even Princess Lili was amused by the folk tales. The winter, however, was gone, and so spring had overtaken the trees, bursting forth bluebells heavy with flowers and delicate snowdrops which swayed in the breeze. The trees were bursting with new buds of growth, light, new green leaves bursting from curled up shells, but there was not yet enough of them to block the sun and create a canopy. You let out a breath of warm air into the cool morning and watched it drift away into the trees before you avoided a fairy circle of toadstools and tutted.

“You are mischievous and rude.” You uttered to the giggling sprites which had laid the trap on the route they knew you took every morning, “And to think I bring you cakes!” You teased as you threw your lunch muffin in the air.

The sprites gasped and darted for the muffin, their sparkly magic light glowing as they each took a sniff and a nibble at the candied fruit decorating the top, “It was a joke!” They giggled as they dragged away the muffin into their mossy homes, “Thank you!” They jeered together as crumbs fell into your hair. You brushed the mess out of your hair before continuing down the mossy path, bouncing around the poisonous toadstools and circles of stones before you reached the stream. It was shallow with the lack of rainfall yet, and you hopped along the deep-set stones, wetting your boots as you went across to reach the soggy bank on the other side. The mud slapped against your boots and you laughed as you headed towards the old oak tree. It sat away from the bank; its roots protected from the constant onslaught of water which would cause it to rot in the silty dirt. With a sigh, you tugged your scarf tighter and sat back against the mossy bed at the base, breathing in the fresh air as the stream trickled on in the background.

After a few more moments of peace, you reached for your satchel and pulled free your journal from the leather bag with your pencil. Your hand harp came out next and you undid the cloth around it to play a little tune, filling the air with a simple set of scaling notes to check the tuning of the instrument. With a twist of one string, it was into the correct range and you opened your notes to look at the new song you have been working on. It was an old ditty, something that your grandmother had sung you as a child before she passed, and you were determined to rewrite the lyrics for the new legend. The old one was a sad tale, of the darkness being born and spreading sadness throughout the land, but you figured the new tale should be something joyful, with an ending that reflected the new era of light that had been bestowed on the world.

“What have I written?” You asked yourself as you opened the page the song was scrawled on, barely able to read your own writing half of the time. With a squint, you started to pluck at the strings, softly, letting the notes gently hang in the air as you opened your mouth to hum the words quietly.

“Under the old oak tree, boughs cast shadows of dark and silt.” You swayed softly, “In the shadow sits eyes of glittering green, watching a maiden of white and snow.” The harp sung with you as you gently continued into the old verse and rolled the words around in your mouth, thinking about how to change them.

“Darkness, temptress, wanted one true love. The Maiden’s honour was not his to tempt, and hero slayed him with the sword.” A couple of sprites listened quietly in the branches over your head before glittering and dashing down into the water to pluck at the new water clovers growing in the silt. With a hum and a flourish, you continued, “The fairest maid denied his request, leaving him in shadows and dust, only for her handsome champion, to part ways when the sun rose up.”

A rabbit snuffled at your boot as you continued, “Daylight blinds her heart, when demons sit afar.” With a soft whistle you continued on, tapping your foot to the beat as you blended into a soft, harp solo and finished with a gentle smile. The rabbit sat quietly, chewing on bluebells before it twitched, its eyes wide with fright as its ears flicked. It twitched again before bolting for the trees and its warren. You jumped with fright as a fox tore past you, hot on the creature’s tail, its teeth snatching at the cotton tail of the rabbit. With a gasp you looked away as the fox caught it by the back legs and tried to ignore the scuffle as it continued into the grass and plants away from you. There was a rush of fur and you looked on sadly as the fox carted its kill past you, dripping with blood. There were squeals in the brush and you tried to take solace in the fact that the mother was feeding her new pups.

Silence stretched out as you scribbled in the notebook, singing soft lines as the air grew warmer and warmer around you, stretching past midday. A few sprites came along to sit on your harp as you continued to sing about the end of the Darkness.

“Darkness sleeps in hearts of man, cruelty and hate combined he thrives.” You whispered, “Yet light blinds and he sleeps he sleeps.”

“A beautiful ditty.” A voice rumbled from behind you, “In details, however, it is wrong.” A beautiful timbre caressed your ears, deep and filled with wisdom of a thousand ages.

You clutched your handheld harp close and looked around the clearing, “Who are you? Where are you hiding?”

“Nowhere. I do not hide. You are sat in the shadows.” The voice purred, “Here I am.”

You flinched as you peered at the long shadows of midday, “The shadows? No creature is shadow.”

“I am no creature.” It purred, “I am the shadows. I am the darkness you are sat in.” It promised, “Can you not see me?”

You looked at the floor and then peered hard at the shadows of the roots before two burning green eyes appeared in the darkness followed by a great smile, pointed fangs snapping before the smile melted away again.

“I am weak here, but I listened to your song. I heard you speak of me, sweetest thing.” The green eyes burned as they watched you.

“Why are you listening?” You asked, fear clutching at your heart, “I’m singing a song of what happened.”

“And your song is beautiful. You speak of the Darkness. I am he.” The Darkness purred as though his mouth was pressed to your ear.

“The Darkness is dead and gone. He was destroyed.” You whispered to the green eyes, “Everyone knows he is dead.”

“Dead?” The creature laughed, “Darkness cannot die, for the folly of man is where I reside. Every human is cruel and foul, and so I will never see an end.” He promised with another hiss, the teeth snapping in the shadows and disappearing once again as he moved along the shadowed roots, peering out from another hole.

“Are you here to goad me…Am I to face the pits of your foul home?” Resolve held your words together as you peered into his burning eyes.

A great, deep chuckle resounded in your ears, and you felt the exhale against the hairs on the back of your neck. He laughed again at your shivering.

“Do you think me a liar? I have told you. I heard your song and came here to listen closer.” A black talon peaked from the shadow before curling back into the darkness.

“Isn’t lying your speciality, oh Lord of Sin.” You spat as you took a step back towards the sunlight.

“Lying? It is a sin, but I do not lie. Witches have pacts with me, I do not lie to them about power. I did not lie to the oh so fair maiden in your tale. She was to be mine. If she did that, she would have been a Queen.” He hissed from the shadows, “Do not twist my words, mortal. I too was lied to in that story.”

“Did you not deserve it? You corrupt the innocent and wanted permanent darkness and death. Those are hardly good things.” You took another step towards the light and the Darkness hissed at you with scorn.

“Think of another tale to sing. Your telling of mine is foul.” The eyes receded back into the shadowed roots before glowing, then disappearing, as the creature closed his eyes. There was silence. You rushed into the sunlight and peered around the clearing as you tried to catch a glimpse of the green eyes burning in the shadows. You rushed back for your harp and bag before making sure to run into the trees and back towards the town.

It got warmer as the week progressed, the leaves on the trees were beginning to unfurl properly and soak up the warming rays of the new sun. After a week you dared to enter the woods again, taking the same path you always did, jumping toadstools until you reached the base of the sprites’ tree.

“I brought you a biscuit.” You offered up into the branches, “They’re lavender and honey, you said you all liked that last time.”

The sprites chittered before taking the biscuit from your fingers and letting crumbs fall into your hair. You brushed at the crumbs and smiled.

“Have you felt anything weird lately?” You asked, “Anything untoward?”

The sprites paused in their eating to look at you confusedly, their little pointed faces confused, “We sense all manner of things. Black and white, light and dark. All are normal in our woods.” One sang before another grinned and tugged at your ear, “White as the unicorn, black as pitch. All is the same to the Fae.” She giggled and the rest sang a soft little rhyme about the fox and the hare.

“You’re all so useless sometimes.” You sighed.

The sprites paused in their dances, “We told you the answer. No lies we speak.” They sang again as they took the food and disappeared back into the moss and birdhouses.

You huffed at the branches, “Useless Fae and their riddles.” You kicked a pebble into the small stream as you slowly moved across the steppingstones.

The water had made new pond weed and sludge grow over the steps and you yelped as your boot slipped and landed in the stream, filling with icy cold water.

“Oh, by the Gods!” You cursed as you hopped along the rest of the stones. When you reached the bank, you hopped a little further, into the dryer dirt before standing on a great pile of moss and upturning your boot. Water splatted onto the dirt and you huffed again as you hopped to the oak and tucked your boot against the trunk along with your other, hoping the warmer air would dry the inside of it.

As usual, you opened your bag and plucked your hand harp from inside the fold, unwrapping the cloth from it carefully before listening to its gentle noise. The soft plucking of the strings rose up into the canopy and you smiled at the noise you had always loved. Your grandmother was the finest harpist you had ever met, and you wished you had her level of skill as you plucked at the notes for the song she had first sung to you as a babe.

“Darkness see the Light, on the break of day. Season turn cold to warm, with her never ending sway. Once the dawn doth break, the dreams are chased away. Darkness see the Light, on the break of day…” You hummed softly, plucking in a gentle cadence as the sunlight worked through the new green leaves, dappling across your face. Soaking in the glow, you let the song die on your lips as the birds sang high above, hidden in the mass of leaves from predators and prying eyes.

“Such a wonderous song.” A dark voice rang out from behind you. Once more, you startled and peered into the roots beneath the giant tree, “Sweet thing, have you come to sing for me again?” The Darkness purred from the depths, his green, burning eyes morphing into the burning orange flames of fire, “Or do you sing of me again to tarnish my name?” He teased as he raised a single claw before curling it back into the shadows, begging for you to come closer.

Fear curled along your spine, “I don’t sing for anyone. I sing for myself.” You promised as you turned on the moss to see the eyes burning into your skin, looking as though into your soul, “I would not sing of you if it were not the song’s lyrics. I have to play this for the town festival.” The confession ran like water and you covered your mouth with a gasp.

“Lies cannot be spoken to me.” The Darkness chortled, “Your songs are tales. Beautifully woven to enchant even the deafest of ears.” He complimented, “I would like to hear another, if you would be so kind?”

“Why should I play for you?” You asked, spitefully, “You almost ruined the world.”

The Darkness laughed again, “Ruined? I merely changed the order. There is balance in the light and dark, and one day that balance will be mine to destroy. The shadows will have their time once again. It is the order of things.” He observed mildly as you held your hand harp closely, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

“Would you destroy everything to have it?” You asked, curiosity burning away at the anxiety in your gut.

The Darkness hummed, “Perhaps. But perhaps it would be best to turn the humans to my own side.” He grinned, as though a new nefarious plan was forming in his mind, white teeth glittering in the roots of the tree before he spoke again, “Play for me little harpist. One more song, I beg of you. The sound is like nothing I have below.”

“And what is it you have below, Darkness.” You asked as you opened your book.

His smile faded, “Screams and bellows. The sound of the foulest torture. There is some music in my power, but it is not that of…” His mouth moved before he spat the word, “Innocence…or purity. There is little joy in it.”

“You do not lie…do you?” You whispered as the eyes burned.

“Why would I lie about such things?” He spat, “Sing for me, please. Play a song.” There was tiredness in his voice as his mouth disappeared into the blackness of the shadows and dirt.

“I can sing for you.” You nodded gently and sat before the shadowed roots, ignoring the burning orange gaze as you remembered the next line of the song.

“Behold the singing song bird, watch the bubbling stream. Before the dawn breaks, naught can be seen. Dreams of sorrows past, chased by the burning light. No more will they bother you, despite the aching blight. Darkness see the Light, on the break of day.”

The Darkness’ eyes lowered with the song, his gaze low and tired as his claws slid back into the roots, disappearing into the dark chasm of his own shadows.

Your voice came to an end, and you opened your eyes not to see the Lord of Darkness nor his gaze. There was silence as the leaves rustled over your head, flapping against one another as you sat, staring into the roots, wondering where the creature had disappeared to during your tale.

A groggy noise of discontent sounded, “Why did you stop singing, song bird?” He asked, a single eye peering out from the shadows.

With a smile you chuckled, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”

The Darkness smiled, fangs exposed as he laughed, “I was close. Your music is gentle, like a Mother’s song to a babe.” He complimented, “You surely sing for the court?” He asked.

A blush graced your cheeks, “No, I sing for myself.” You reaffirmed, “One day I will maybe share my songs with the world…but not for now.”

The Darkness watched you for a moment, “I could make it happen.” He tempted softly, “There would be no one that didn’t know your name.”

“I won’t fall for your temptation.” You huffed, “I would rather sing and make the children happy than be forced to entertain the King and his finicky court.”

“Then perhaps a world without a King is what you truly desire?” He asked with another purr.

“Don’t twist my words against me. I want nothing from you.” You told him as you laid your harp back in your bag.

The Darkness opened his other eye, “Nothing? After such a graceful performance…” He tutted to himself before he twisted a finger into the dirt and you watched your boots wiggle, as though there were invisible feet within them, “Consider this a small token.”

You watched as your boots marched their way over, under the influence of some sort of magic, before jumping and landing in your lap, cosy, lined with rich fur and utterly bone dry. They shined bright with wax polish and smelled as though they were new.

“I…” You stuttered, “I can’t accept these. They’re made for royalty.” You brushed the fur inside.

“Take them. It is payment for your music and for your craft. Wear them well, little bird.” He purred before you watched his eyes grow tired again, the orange turning green and disappearing into the roots randomly before he hummed and disappeared entirely, “I will see you again.”

“Yes…See you next time.” You whispered as the roots twisted and knotted back into place, the Oak hiding where the creature had once been beneath it, “Maybe I’ll have something new for you.” You pulled on the heavy boots and smiled at the warmth and the fit before rushing back over the stream.

You jumped from the rocks and smiled as you looked back into the trees. The sprites bolted from their homes.

“Darkness clings and darkness takes hold.” They whispered in your ears, hidden along your coat collar, “Temptation is the beginning of sin.” They rushed before ripping through your hair, “Careful little one. Darkness tempts in other ways.”

“What do you mean?” You asked but they disappeared up into their homes, leaving glittering dust behind them. You looked up and listened to the silence of the birds before rushing to make your way home before the darkness decided to set in. The sprites cowered in their moss homes as the night rolled in that night, and the wolves howled beneath their trees.

“Does the bird’s song ever wake you?” The Darkness asked from his shadowed hole, his eyes watching your fingers move over the harp, “You only come to sing as the Sun raises to its highest point.” He observed, “Does someone else occupy your time?” He asked with a hiss.

“No.” You plucked a string particularly forcefully, “I’m busy in the mornings.” You confessed, “I have to cook and clean for myself now.” You felt tears well in your eyes.

“What troubles you?” The Darkness asked, the tips of his claws peaking from the roots.

“My Mother passed.” You confessed, “She was all I had left.” You whispered and the Darkness reached out before recoiling from the sunlight with a howl, forgetting himself as his eyes flared with anger.

“Does her passing not anger you. Such sorrow is ill-fitting. I have heard your song in the night.” There was a flicker of something in the shadows, “Can I not offer you some solace, bird?”

“I want nothing of your tricks, Darkness.” You spat, “I want to remember her in her chair, not as a walking corpse.”

The Darkness recoiled at your spite, “I offer no such thing…Only my company. If you would have it?”

You did not keep your shock to yourself, “Truly? You won’t trick me and drag me away into your hellhole?”

He laughed, “No, sweet thing. Where would the fun in that be?” The creature teased before tugging at your bag, “Sing your sorrows. Soon, your heart will not feel the pain anymore.”

You took hold of your bag and took out your hand harp, tightening one string with a watery smile before you sung late into the afternoon, beginning the process of healing your own heart.

“Will you stay a little longer?” The Darkness asked as the sun reached to dip below the horizon. You’d been visiting for so long that you couldn’t remember the time before you did. Your days creating were much more fun with someone to critique your lyrics.

“It will be night-time soon.” You muttered over the rain which pattered against the Oak’s leaves. You were protected underneath it’s canopy, huddled in your fur, your boots tucked against you as you looked out at the rain. The stream bubbled with fresh new water, rushing harshly against the rocks.

“Night is just the day without light. What troubles you so that you cannot walk in it? There is nothing to harm you in these woods.” He offered, eyes flickering with green jealousy.

“There are wolves and mean sprites at night. Even forgetting that, I can’t find my way back without being able to see where I’m putting my feet.” You joked as the Darkness’ fingers tested the space outside of the roots, his claws curling into his own palm.

“Wolves are not after prey such as you.” The Darkness rebuked, “If I were here, no evil is greater than I. We would be alone, to enjoy the silence.”

You noted the whimsical tone of his statement, “Alone?” You asked gently, “Alone to do what? I have no songs about the night.”

He did not miss the joke, “All I would ask is that you sit, and talk with me.”

The rain hissed as it poured against the trees and greenery. You were both quiet for a moment as you digested his request.

“Perhaps not tonight.” You replied, “I…”

“I do not need an explanation.” The Darkness’ tone was harsh, “I understand that your kindness does not go that far.”

“This is not a kindness. I do not pity you.” Taking a handful of leaves, you began to peel them from their stems.

“If not pity, then why do you still come?” He asked with a snarl, his pointed teeth clenched.

Peeling another leaf apart, you wondered why you still entertained his request, “I suppose that I have come to enjoy your retched company.”

“You flatter me, harpist.” The anger seemed to dissolve from him, “Then why not come, entertain me in flesh, tonight?”

“Not tonight.” You smiled as you stood up, gathering your harp and shaking the sticks from your coat, “I heard there will be a storm soon.”

The Darkness moaned softly in the shadows, “Yes. Such a wonderous event. The fear, the agony and the unrest to the land. A time for my shadows to spread further.” He purred inside the roots before his burning gaze rested on you, “Meet me then, in the thunderstorm, I beg of you, my sweet.” His claws peered from the shadow before receding.

The taste of blood covered your tongue from biting your cheek, “When?”

“The day after next.” He whispered as you dipped your hand into the roots. The cold touch of the shadows made you shudder before there was a press of something to the back of your hand, “Wear something to dance.” The Darkness hummed before his lids grew tired and he disappeared into the roots. You jumped and took your hand back as the oak tree groaned and moved back its old roots, hiding the opening once more.

Thunder crashed for most of the next day before the real storm swirled over the land, black clouds twisting in on one another, rolling and spewing torrents of hammering rain. Wind blew down the mountainside for most of the morning. Carefully you chose and outfit in the afternoon, shuddering as the rain bounced off your windows, twirling in the fine silks and singing with the harp clutched in your hand about angering the mother of the skies. You watched the sun set as you ate, spooning your food into your mouth as fast as you could manage before you stole away into your room to grab at the large coat. The rain lightening as you stepped outside, your harp protected in your bag from the torrents. With a smile, you bounced into the woodlands from the cottage’s backdoor, mouth open wide as you sung once more.

“Rain and wind, thunder and howl, across ye plains. Birth of life, green and root, into the soil ‘gain. As the sun sleeps, douse the land, with water o’plenty. Watch and wait for Mother to sing, about when the larder was empty.” You sang as you rushed into the woods, listening in fear for the wolves as the rain slowed to a drizzle. Your hood flew from your head as you rushed beneath and over the homes of many animals, hunkered down away from the foul weather.

Suddenly, you were laughing, twirling into the stream as the rain soaked your hair and the water filled your pumps. A great thunderous crash made you face the sky, looking into the clouds as blue electricity singed across their surface. Another crash was accompanied with a flash of light and you grinned at the power of it before jumping from the stream and throwing your coat off, the silks attached to your shoulders flaring as you plucked your harp from your bag and played over the rain and thunder, spinning in the moss beneath the Old Oak.

“Sweet harpist.” The Darkness purred and you opened your eyes as black silk and cloth rippled in front of the tree, the roots closing with a groan of upset behind his giant figure. The clothing covering him draped over his giant, ebony horns, falling in waves that rippled with the wind. You peered into the hood and saw his orange eyes. His eyes watched you, panting, sodden with the rain falling from the sky. His clawed hand reached from within the cloth covering and you span from his reach with a gentle pluck of your harp.

“You tease me.” He offered before another thunderous crash sounded, along with his laughter. The cape hood and cape around him billowed again in the wind, the encrusted jewels clinking, and you looked to see as the silk around his arms in two cuffs ripple gently. His form was interchangeable, and you watched him float before two cloven hooves thudded to the ground from beneath the bottom seam of the cloth.

“Are you going to dance with me, my lord?” You asked as you span to play your harp away in your bag, thrown beneath the tree.

The Darkness nodded from within the hood and offered his red, clawed hands once more, “Let us celebrate this night.” He rumbled; his voice distorted as the thunder rumbled again overhead.

In his palms, your hands were dwarfed by his own, and you held onto them tightly as the Darkness drew you in closer to him, his silks blending with your own before he led you around in a small circle, one arm outstretched and the other placed at your hip. The cadence of the rain grew louder and louder as you both twirled past the oak tree and through the woodlands, trampling flowers and brambles as you span around in each other’s embrace. Rain soaked you as you laughed and ducked beneath his arms, and the Darkness howled with laughter as the thunder crashed and boomed overhead. A lightning flash revealed his red face, sharp, angular, and long with a mouth of white teeth, his incisors long and sharp. He leaned over and you reached to catch his face, pausing your dance in a great meadow which was soiled and boggy with water. Gently, you took hold of his cheeks, running your wet thumbs over his boiling skin. His hooves sunk in the mud as he leaned closer to you, staring into your eyes as the rain dripped from his great horns.

“I suppose you think me a monster?” He asked as the thunder rolled above you both, drowning his bitter laughter from your ears.

“You’re the Darkness. You are not man nor monster.” You whispered close to his lips, “You are balance and sin.” It seemed like your tongue was loosened, “The sprites warned me…about temptation but you have given me nothing but comfort. There has been no agony, only laughter.” You reached to his pointed ears and closed your eyes as the rain rushed over you both.

The Darkness raised his great cloak and shielded you both from the downpour as his lips pressed against your own. It was gentle at first, hot and intimate, before his teeth nipped at your lower lip and his pointed tongue pressed into your mouth, hot against the coldness of your own mouth from standing in the rain. The Darkness wrapped you tighter beneath his cloth, the silk brushing your damp skin as one large hand cupped your face, his thumb tipping your head higher, and his other skated down your chest before cupping the small of your back.

The kiss was long and passionate, filled with the decadence of the night, some things that the light simply could not offer to you. He pulled himself away from your lips, leaving you gasping for air as you recovered, wrapped in his great cloak.

“I feel…many things, when I am with you, little one.” The Darkness confessed into the folds of his cloak, his eyes looking into your own, meeting them with a confidence you had never seen before in an courter, “I would make you my ruler.” He confessed as he pressed your hand to his hot chest, underneath the cloth.

You looked up at him as rain dripped from his horns and over your own face, dripping down the bridge of your nose in speedy tracks, “I don’t want to be a master.”

“Then play for me, for all time. Play music and inspire my name into those once more.” He begged softly, clutching your hands before he hissed, the thunder crashing overhead once more.

“Can we be together?” You asked in a whisper, fear making your fingers tremble.

“For eternity.” He promised, “Beyond and after the ends of time. Sing songs of Darkness and Love for me.”

“Eternity…”

There was another rumble, and you took his hands again, before the lightning struck a tree in the distance sending fire and wood exploding into the sky. His hood disappeared with a gale of wind before the cloth and silk wrapped around you once more and the Darkness hefted you into his arms, bleeding black with shadows and darkness as the storm and its plight fed him power. You leaned back in awe of the sky, rain burning your eyes as the clouds rolled above you. A great growl sounded from your lover’s chest before he laid you back against a great stone tablet, made for the harvest ceremonies of the fae. Your back met the stone gently before the silks slapped and stuck to the rock and you moved backwards as a furred leg rested against the edge. Red and black merged on his skin as he took hold of the silk and pulled you to the lip of the table, his eyes hungry for a taste of you.

“Can we do this here?” You asked, breath escaping you as his huge form covered you, the black material shielding you from the rain as he stole another deep kiss.

“Yes. Anywhere. Whenever. I adore you.” He heaved as he pulled away, his words heavy in the air as he leaned back to tear as your clothing, exposing perfection to his gaze, “You are temptation.” He uttered with another heavy groan as lightning struck the earth again, “Glorious Sin.” He moaned as his tongue laved at your neck, tasting the flesh, “Surely this is what innocence tastes of. Purity and…” The Darkness broke off into another guttural moan as he kissed down your chest, pressing his tongue to your nipples, enjoying them as they hardened into sharp peaks. His hot breath pebbled your cold skin and he moved over your stomach, squeezing, and enjoying himself as he reached the dip of your hips. His tongue dipped to wrap around you, and you writhed against the table as rain crashed against the hillside.

#legend 1985 #darkness x reader #the lord of darkness x reader #the lord of darkness #the darkness #darkness #legend #reader insert #demon x reader #monster x reader #devil x reader #gender neutral reader #monster boyfriend #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #monster bf #monster x human

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unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Ashes to Ashes [ Yōkai AU ]

Unfairness in opinion and action is what drove Sesshomaru to the dust but it’s her promise that helps him rise.

From the fic Feathers in the Wind on Ao3. For more updates, follow the feathers in the wind tag on this blog. If you’re looking for Yōkai AU, search the yokai au tag.

Sesshomaru wanted to beat them all.

All morning, he conducted his practices under the suffocating gaze of his instructors, doing his best to maintain form and intensity against opponents thrice his size. Stomaching bile roiling in his stomach when his sword connected with flesh. The song of metal clashing and sparks flying interrupted by wailing cries. Harsh demands for silence lead to his opponent being dragged away, not for treatment, but before their blood could stain the tatami and anger their Lord. Sesshomaru was reminded constantly of why he was engaging in training instead of frivolous activities — the looming figure, revered and distant, who he had to match and best if he wished to be Lord of the Western Lands someday.

Protests fell on deaf ears. He had no desire to fill his father’s position. It would mean his father’s death and the thought was sickening. Yet, his instructors demanded silence and obedience. Even as the elder inu yōkai recklessly tore Sesshomaru’s drawings to pieces. In the few free moments he had during the night, painstakingly working by one of his mother’s lanterns, he drew his daily activities amidst pictures of girls with black wings coming down from the skies, and his mother’s melancholy. It was in hopes that his father would understand. Return from his latest conquest with open arms, spend the evenings underneath the gingko tree, or wandering the lands with them as he did before. Tears along the papers lacerated wounds across his heart, yet he dared not move, even as his fists trembled. The desire to tear this man to pieces buried beneath his skin. Out of respect and knowledge of their difference in strength.

Fluttering pieces scattered in the wind, catching on the torch’s light, burning and sizzling in the silence as Sesshomaru kept the elder’s eyes. Once he seemed satisfied in his point, he dismissed him with a bow of the head and a respectful call of his name. Guardsmen posted at the doors when Sesshomaru opened them to stride out into the halls watched with tentative stares as he passed by. However the elder disrespected him, there was a common understanding. If they pushed too deeply, not even his father’s wrath would keep him from slaughtering them. Still, that small show of deference was meant for understanding, and Sesshomaru walked stiffly and silently through the halls in search of something.

It took all of his willpower not to lash out. Attendants bearing full arms of folded linens and garments stepped aside as he passed. Eyes kept forward, head high and shoulders raised in spite of his desire to run and rage. The effort it took him to keep from tearing the shoji from its hinges was evident in the claw marks left along the wood but it snapped shut behind him, allowing him the full expanse of the inner gardens. Gardens only his family were privy to and in that, he allowed himself to lower his eyes, and release the tight hold on his hands.

Removing his boots to walk along the tall grass brushing against the knee of his hakama. Soil warmed over by the sun cool against his soles. It didn’t take long before he was rushing through the open fields, beds of flowers in a spread of white, violet, red, and yellow seeming to stretch across the fields broken by patches of green grass doused in the sun’s golden gaze. Trees dotting between, comforting places where his mother would sit with him and comb her fingers through his hair. Or stare aimlessly, waiting for a love that was elsewhere.

Did his father not yearn to be with them?

Would he allow his banner men and attendants to look upon him this way if he were present?

No, Sesshomaru thought as he threw himself down beneath the gingko tree, sunlight filtered through its leaves glittering between the cracks of his hand almost eye-watering blinding. His father would not allow this. He was civil, true. But he didn’t allow disobedience. Sesshomaru himself was not even two centuries old, not even possessing a fraction of his father’s power. Surpass him? It was almost laughable but if it would bring his father home — silence those who spoke against him — then he could achieve it.

He would.

His eyes slipped shut and he surrendered his senses to the droning zreeee of the cicadas and sssh of whispering leaves.

“Hello down there….!”

Slowly, Sesshomaru opened his eyes to find a pair of pale brown ones staring back at him. His eyes widened. A girl hung from one of the gingko’s low-hanging branches, her hands crossed behind her head at the wrists, wings bursting with glossy black feathers shining in the sun rays tucked close to her back. Yet, she was upside down. Her feet hooked to the branch, seemingly unafraid of the dangers in falling.

And why would she be if she could fly?

Her lips were drawn up in a smile and Sesshomaru firmly patted down the flutter in his chest as she unhooked her feet. Turning his gaze away when her orange pleated skirts fluttered as she descended, revealing the barest glimmer of her knee.

“Sesshomaru…?”

Protests of modesty which weren’t his own but ingrained in the back of his mind were stifled. It wasn’t as if she would listen to him anyhow. Unlike him, she was free to go where she pleased and do as she liked. Misplaced irritation pricked at his heart as she knelt in the grass beside his head. Scrambling up to his elbows, he kept his gaze pointedly aware from her. She wasn’t who he was angry with but he was irritated all the same. The freedom she had. What would it be like to possess it? Why did she keep coming back to this place which was almost a prison? Questions on his tongue stifled as a delicate touch traced a path from his wrist to his forearm before setting on his shoulder, palm searingly hot against the thin sleeve of his gi.

His heart stammered, and the view of the gardens was obscured by thick dark-brown hair smelling of flower blossoms and rosewood, along with Bokuseno’s magnolia-covered boughs. Anger seemed to dissolve as her arms tucked beneath his own and her head settled in the crook of his shoulder, half-lying in his lap, unabashedly taking up space near him with disregard. His heart stuttered as she squeezed him, warm breath fanning across the hollow of his throat.

It would have been easy to push away from her. Although, he’d never done so before. Preferring to simply remain and allow her to hold him as long as she wanted. But why? He owed her nothing and she was a passing convenience. Someone who answered naught to his father or mother, nor the attendants and the instructors who wielded their wisdom over his head. She was unfettered and untouched, free as the wind, a bird constantly in flight who stopped for just a moment to entertain him. Her squeeze was not enough to harm but it did push uncomfortable feelings deep from his chest.

So long ago did he feel the need to cry but that had been quickly stamped out with no hope to return. After all, the Inu no Taishō showed no weakness so how could his son?

The girl pulled away, her unsettlingly deep brown eyes boring into his own, shrewd but amiable. He watched the understanding flicker onto her face and his heart trembled. Not a word was said but she palmed his cheek, tracing a thumb against the curve of his mark. Accurate recollections of the first time she asked to touch them in exchange for her allowing him to touch her wings. He drew the line at his fur, almost concerned she would be upset, but she laughed and agreed.

A boundary set. An understanding.

We’re friends, aren’t we, Sesshomaru?

A strange tremble rushed through him. Cracks in his armor growing, creating fissures that allowed something to leak out. It must have startled her because she hugged him tighter, drawing him in close, his mouth hidden against the curve of her shoulder. Small dotted freckles along her skin, blemishes in some’s eyes but it reminded him of the stars at night. They blurred beneath the veil of tears he would never allow to fall.

“I’m sorry…”

Sesshomaru closed his eyes tightly, willing the tears away. “You did nothing…”

“That is the problem.”

She was always like this. Half-spoken words, half-uttered truths, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of either. When he opened his mouth to ask, the words died on his tongue. Her fingers slipping into his hair, chin brushing against his cheek and he could hear her breathe. A soft sigh touching the curve of his ear.

“Do you want me to sit with you?”

Her voice was impossibly loud near his ear, drowning out his thoughts and he mutely nodded, allowing her to occupy his thigh as she held him close to her. His arms trembled with trepidation as he encircled her waist, holding her close to him. She voiced no refusal, instead drawing her hands back to his jaw, tipping his head up from the richly scented comfort of her shoulder.

“Sesshomaru…” She started, his name rolling off her tongue in a way that caught his attention and kept it all at once. “You are good….”

Good? He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion and ebbing doubt. Someone who was good would have ended their insolence from the beginning. They would have dragged his father back by his ear. Presented him to the reality of what his life was like. The hells he endured simply for —

Sesshomaru gritted his teeth and turned his head away, breaking her hold and she made no move to return him to her, instead letting her hands fall to his shoulders. “… What do you know?”

She was a sneaky sort. Once telling him that she knew different ways in and out of the palace. As much as it left him curious, he also was hesitant to trust her. If she knew ways out and in, then she could just have likely led enemies or been one herself. And yet, here she was.

“Your father is busy…” She starts, and his head whips around to her, meeting her impassive gaze with red tinging his own. Had she been listening the whole time? “But he would love to see your drawings.”

Distrust burdened his heart but there was a small flicker. Hope. Sickeningly sweet as was her smile, soft and reassuring, attempting to lower his guard and he loathed that it was working. Pride hardening, he turned his gaze away and tried to will his arms to push her off of him. He’d heard enough of her whimsy for one day and would have rather be alone but her hands touched his jaw and guided his head back to her when he turned away.

Insolence, but he felt no desire to kill her.

“Hide your drawings and the letters you want to send to your father, and I’ll take them to him.”

Sesshomaru swallowed his malcontent, eyebrows furrowing. “… How?”

Her eyes glimmered. A knowing and infuriating look, soft hands slipping from his cheeks like water rolling down his back, rising to her feet gracefully instead of that clumsy way she’d often do as she laughed. Slowly, she reached back to her feathers, extending them as far as they would. Her hand finding one of the feathers and with a slight wince that dredged some worry in his chest, she handed him a single feather.

“… Hide them, and wave this over it, I will find them and take them to him without fail.”

Sesshomaru glanced between her and the feather, wholly disbelieving. How would she traverse the entirety of his father’s lands to find him? What if she were a spy or an usurper sent from someone else or one of the enemies in his own home? He watched her closely as he held out his hand, the feather set in his palm, fragile and breathtakingly light.

Before he could inquire further, there was a noise off in one of the main corridors and her wings fluffed in response. He knew what was coming before she voiced it, but was surprised as she dipped down swiftly and left a kiss to his cheek. The skin her lips touched was warm and cool at the same time, his heart stuttered and he stared up at her as she lifted into the air. Dark wings extended, outlined by the sun.

“I’ll see you again, okay?” She said, turning her head toward the sky and a rising panic surged Sesshomaru to his feet.

“Will you?”

She looked down at him, mirroring the surprise he felt in himself, but instead of laughing —- she smiled. Floating closer to him and leaning down, their noses barely brushing.

“I will.”

She tipped her head up, her lips brushing just shy of the mark on his forehead, and he held his breath. Meeting her gaze when she pulled away, smiling with a hearty, “Until then.”

He stared up at the sky long after she was gone, cradling the feather close to his chest, and allowed himself to smile.

Toga’s fur rippled in the tempest as he descended to the earth. Ozone, rusting iron, and ringing screams filled his senses and he sighed raggedly at the scores of bodies littered the arid field. Wave after nigh endless wave of soldiers with nothing to show but blood and dust. He would have hoped their reserves were emptied, morale dampened, but perhaps their hatred was simply that great. To withstand even watching the last of their banner men fall at his hands. A thick smoky scent drew his attention to the looming shadow of his retainer, Totōsai gazing up at the sky with his swords bundled close to his back.

“It seems we have a visitor, m’lord.”

A visitor?

Toga looked to the skies. Clouded with ash and dust, he could hardly the blue anymore but out of the ashen screen, a dark shadow emerged plummeting toward the ground. His heart leapt into his throat at her outstretched hands and beaming smile.

“Lord Toga!”

Unabashedly, small arms slipped around his shoulders and held him in a vice-grip. Habit leading him to spin her in a lazy arc, unfitting for the battlefield, and he was grateful that the few of his men retreated to their camps for a momentary rest. Only Myoga and Totōsai baring witness to the giggling girl clinging to him with abandon.

“Rin?” Toga asked in a hushed tone, careful not to say her name any louder, a small smile tugged at his lips when she kissed his cheek in greeting. Careful of her skirts and the hanging white of her sleeves, he knelt and set her atop his knee. “What are you doing here, child?”

In answer, she held out a scroll to him, chirping happily. “This is for you.”

Toga glanced up at Totōsai confusedly then took it with a softened thanks. Examining the knobs, his eyebrows raised at the sight of a crescent moon. “From… Sesshomaru?”

Kimi would never have sent him a message like this. Hers often coming in the form of dazed animals whose mouths opened and resounded her voice. As was his wife’s magic. As he moved to undo the tie keeping the scroll shut, a copper-brown hand laid over his own.

“Lord Toga…” Rin asked, her chipper tone deadened not something soft and serious, almost troubled. “If I finish this, will you return to the West?”

Toga hoped he’d been subtle in showing his surprise but from the pull of her brows, he was not. Sesshomaru never sent him messages when he was away. So often did he save his words for when they were in one another’s presence although his son never had many. Totōsai floated closer to him at the question and he could feel the old weapon smith’s concern.

“Is something wrong, Rin?”

Her face crumpled then she shook her head, offering him a tinier smile, this time saddened. “Sesshomaru needs you.”

Those words. Warm and reverent, almost amiable. Rumors of an intruder in his home had gone unheeded. Kimi would have dealt with them long ago if it were a threat. Yet these rumors spoke of the intruder often coming to meet with his son. And, to his conflicted delight and dismay, they were true.

“Rin,” Toga said firmly. “Your duty is to remain I—”

“I know,” Rin snapped, and there was an audible inhale from Myoga. None would dare to snap at him, but Toga took no offense. No, the look in her eyes was curious. Fierce determination that brokered no disobedience. “In another life, I wouldn’t stand in your way. In this, I must.”

After a short while, keeping her gaze, Toga flexed his fingers involuntarily and nodded. Rin hopping off of his knee as he stood and turned to Totōsai who awaited him with a deep scowl.

“We are leaving, disassemble the camps and order the troops to return.”

Myoga squeaked, hopping up to his shoulder for the first time since the battles began. “So quickly, m’lord?” He asked, seeming relieved but confused as Toga strode away without a backward glance.

“The rest will be handled by that child alone.”

He scanned the field of dismembered bodies and ringing screams then kept his gaze ahead, feeling the watchful eyes of the dead as he strode by.

“Myoga, Totōsai,” Toga said in a low growl, ignoring the aching pain and growing sense of danger swelling at his back. “Not a word of what will happen on this day, do you understand?”

Ordinarily, the pair were quite raucous and opinionated, but he received nothing but a hushed tone of “Yes, m’lord.”

Casting a side-long glance at Totōsai, the weapon smith bowed his head then turned his steed back toward where the young girl stood atop of a broken wooden cart. The tip of her toes balancing her on its edge, a single wheel creaking as it turned. She didn’t look up as Totōsai hovered close and he was grateful. Feeling the waves of anger and dissonance curling off her small form as he rummaged through the heavy burden tied around his shoulders. Drawing out a single blade, he offered it to her.

“You’ll be needing this,” he said, snatching his hand away when she took it. “It’s been crying since you left it last.”

Her hair shaded her eyes but when she looked to him, there was the expression of a child, young and innocent — wholly apologetic. “Sorry, sorry…” She cooed to the blade, unsheathing it just as the loud cry came from the other end of the field. Humans, some on horseback, others wielding quivers filled with arrows and bows, and some bearing swords beginning to flood. Her breath was shudderingly soft, eyes downcast as if mourning. “You should go now, Totōsai.”

A weak protest was swallowed and he turned his head away as his steed lifted into the clouds and a booming echo from below started the cacophony of destruction.

“Good luck, kid…”

#inuyasha fandom #sesshomaru x rin #sessrin #sesshomaru #rin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #feathers in the wind #yokai au

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trail-of-harts · 4 years

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My little love, why not tell us all a story to pass the time? Or would that be too distracting?

...you know what? yeah, sure.

I could recite this one backwards so Im sure it wont distract me to much

Back before our wilds were shrinking and our elders were dug up with the roots there was and old and mighty bear that was not a bear who resided within the earth of a forest of ash trees. The bear had taken many childer from those who past through her woods and, once they’d proven themselves, allowed them shelter among the dirt and the dark alongside her. The woods were plentiful with blood and hunts and the bear was very proud of her territory, she was sure that only the best and the blessed of Ennoia should be allowed to run beneath its canopy and provided little guidance to her progeny. She deemed that if they were weak enough to die then so be it, she would not intervene.

The bear however was an avid story teller, and loved to hide lesson in swathes of metaphor and symbolism so that only those with the sharpest minds and instincts could receive her wisdom.

One night she called to her children, told them to sit in the moss and moonlight with her, that she had a tale to tell them. So, eager to please, they flocked to her, and curled around her hulking, blood-warm form, wondering what special occasion had blessed them with her attention.

She spoke like a crack of thunder, sudden, rumbling, all consuming.

“one of your brothers has perished this night-” she rasped, and like a sudden frost the clearing of wriggling bodies slowed to a halt under the weight of her words��-a danger roams our woods children, and we must fell it”

“we shall fell it for you mother” clamored the bears cubs, each desperate for her favor.

“pray you do” warned the bear “for if you do not, it will devour you” the brood shivered, and their fear fueled their eagerness for the hunt.

“tell us mother, what form does it take” they crowed in unison and her smile grew wide, long teeth, the length of a man’s forearm, glinting with delight.

“it has the hooked claws of the cat to grip its prey, the enduring chase of the wolf to run it down, a song as pretty as the blackbird to lure you into its maw” the bear leaned in close to her brood, they pressed their ears to her lips so that she may whisper to them “and most importantly my children, the flint sharp teeth, for eating you from the inside out.”

With a whimper the childer crumbled into fearful mutterings, the bear, irked by her broods sniveling rose and returned to haven, leaving her childer unsure of what to do.

Now among the crowd there were three Gangrel of note in our tale you would do well to remember: Aife the strongest, Finnobar the swiftest and Baird the youngest. Aife was the first to rise above her brethren to speak.

she climbed a boulder to rise above the rest, hushing her sibling so that she may speak.

“my siblings! surely this beast is of the gaurou to the east!” spoke Aife. “What other beast that is not wolf or of our blood could have such a skill in the chase!” The kin present, glad to have a direction to go in, murmured their agreement “we shall take our mighty in body and show them our strength!”

And so Aife took a pack of the strongest kindred to travel east where they found their quarry, a lupine pack resting beside the forests river. Aife rallied her party and as one they sprang to attack. As the strongest locked jaws with their leader and the two packs met each other in battle her foe spoke with a voice like tumbling rocks.

“why have you walked into our maw, little beast?”

“you have killed my brother and I shall fight with my strength to make this forest safe from you and gain the favor of our mother” spoke Aife her feet struggling to gain purchase in the river sand, slick with her siblings vitae.

“we did not kill your brother” spoke the unyielding jaws “ but we shall take the lives of your pack”

And so that night, the rest of childer waited with Finnobar and Baird on the river bank eager for news of their sisters victory. When the river ran red with vitae not unlike their own they knew with certainty they had met their end.

The gaggle threatened to fall back into their frightened whispering until another rose from the clamor, fliting to sit up high in the bow of a tree was Finnobar, the swiftest.

“though I am troubled by our sisters defeat, perhaps this is a boon, my blood, for I had suspicions that the mighty Aife was wrong from the start” Finnobar spoke, murmurs rising from the brood, they too had had their doubts. “though the lupines may have the wolfs chase, they lack the black birds song and the cats cloying claws. I say our blight takes the form of the human hunter! For what else hides sharp daggers behind disarming tricks.” Once again a chorus of agreeing voices rose into the night.

And so Finnobar took the remaining kin and they rose on racing wings against the wind to the human settlement to the west. Finnobar, being the nimble beast he was, arrived first, as his brethren were just soaring into view of the corpse of little houses. He slunk slowly around the stone visage of the church and It wasn’t long before he pounced upon a priest who smelled of more than wine and scripture.

“why have you entered our home deamon” he croaked from beneath the swifts claws, with a voice like the rasp of turning pages.

“you have killed my brother and I shall strike you from the heavens like your gods fury to make this forest safe from you and gain the favor of our mother” spoke Finnobar, feeling the mans flesh open beneath his steady pressing, watching the dark shaped of his brethren crest the horizon from the corner of his eye.

“we did not kill your brother” spoke the holy man “ but we shall take the lives of your flock”

As the words left his mouth Finnobar turned his muzzle towards a cutting sound, something flying fast through the air. He only had moments to look on in horror as flaming arrows flew from the arrow slits of the church and struck into the hearts of his just arriving siblings. As he gawked, a furious light shone out from his prey and spread his ashes upon the consecrated ground.

And so that night, as the moon sank Baird sat, alone in the bough of an ash to watch for the returning shapes of his bretherin on the horizon. When the westerly wind blew his face full of foul ashes he knew they had met their end.

Baird, no longer the youngest for he was the only, now saddened and alone finally voiced his own opinion to the trees of his mother’s forest.

“I am young and left abandoned by this hunt for monsters, what have I now but the chance at mothers favor. I am young and weak of blood so I must be strong of mind, I shall start my search where the ashes of my first fallen brother lay”.

And so Baird roamed the territory, looking where he knew kindred liked to linger, and along deer trails ripe for hunting. Eventually he came across some earth saturated with vitae and the greasy dust of final death, but this was not all, among the disintegrated corpse of his brother lay a mighty stag, dead from desperate clawmarks gouged across its front. Its antlers still shone, christened with kin blood and dusted with ashes like the catkins of a willow in spring. Within the beast’s sifted entrails Baird seemed to see some previously hidden truth, and flew into a righteous and utter rage, the first of his unlife.

It was not hard for Baird to find the great bear among her ash trees, for she rarely left her grove except to hunt. He met her unsuspecting human visage with claws and teeth, though to her thick hide the blows were merely that of hailstones falling in a strong wind.

“Insolent child! Why have you thrown yourself into my jaws so? What has made you come to take your death?” she yowled with ancient rage.

“you have killed my all brothers and sisters, I am the last. It was naught but a stag that felled my reckless,first gone sibling, he was headless in the hunt and met with its frantic antlers but you told your tale and sent us looking for monsters, and so monsters we found ” spoke Baird, spitting the words through the redness of his rage and his steadily growing fangs.

“I did not kill your brothers and sisters!” roared the bear “it was the clawing, chasing, sweet voice of their own pride that lured them to their deaths, for they were not cunning enough to head the moral of my tale”

“No!” cried the last child, barley able to speak in any tongue for much longer “we were arrogant and brash and brazen but it was your own pride that drove your actions, you want us to play your games instead of guiding us, you’d rather be some riddle maker than a teacher”

“Enough you impudent whelp! I see pride has its teeth in you as well, you weaken this line of blood” she roared, raising her mighty claws, as long as tree roots, and well edged as the finest sword. Baird, despite his anger simply gazed into her eyes.

“and because it is in your heart also, that line will run dry here” And she could take in his words his head was sloughing off his shoulders, bursting into ash like a late summer dandelion as it hit the ground.

And with that her progeny went extinct. Her last child, dust, as all things shall be.

To this day we still do not know the name of the Bear, only that of the brave and reckless childer she neglected and toyed with. It is rumoured however, that the ash forest still grows, even in these nights, unaffected and unafflicted by the dying cries of its brethren, as their roots have been watered and dusted with the old vitae of the bears brood.

#(( lol no one has to read all pf this its just something i already had going and figured this would be a good time to post it))#ic #mar #story #long post #(( thanks for the ask! ))#cw #cw blood #cw animal harm #gangrel #vtm rp #gangrel rp

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ld9-the-draft · 5 years

Text

Are They Our Enemy?

Hella late, yet again, but at least I’m posting something for @alexprompts again. (I’ve got others, too, that are even more late. Ssshhhh.) This is for the Stamp out the Rebellion prompt. Loosely inspired by The Hanging Tree song from The Hunger Games series, I wanted to explore something new to me and write a story about the generational fading of a culture due to colonization and imperialism. Probably a little heavy handed at spots and I apologize if it’s not done well. This isn’t a topic I have any personal experience with whatsoever. Critiques are welcome and encouraged, as always.

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He pulled the little girl close as the Nivarri soldiers stomped by, all gleaming silver and blazoned red stars. He kept his head down, but watched them closely from the corner of his eye.

“Papa?” The little girl tugged on his sleeve.

The man paused counting the soldiers to glance down at her. He must have looked grim, because she hesitated when she normally would not. Quickly, he spread a loving grin over his features and bent to touch her nose with a finger, a reassuring gesture. “Yes, little one?”

She shook her head at his touch, but smiled, then pointed a tiny finger. “Papa, why is that tree in the middle?”

The tree in question was the only tree of its kind in the city. Others once dotted the countryside surrounding it—before they were ignorantly cut down—but this was the first, from which all the others had been taken. It soared high and broad, powerful boughs swathed with green. Its thick trunk, at least as wide as two men, emerged like an extension of the dark earth in which it grew. The open courtyard, on the edge of which they stood while the troop of soldiers pressed by, was arranged to draw attention to the magnificent tree.

“That is Hotuatha, the lasting tree. Our ancestors planted it to claim this place and to grow blessings for our people.” He waved a hand toward the verdant foliage. “Each leaf represents one of us. When we die, our bodies are returned to the soil and we feed the world, while our spirit returns here and becomes a leaf on Hotuatha.”

A passing Nivarri officer overheard and stepped nearer. The man’s smile faltered, but he forced it to remain. “That’s the hanging tree, girly,” the Nivarri said. He stared down at her from beneath his helm. He pretended to be friendly, but he did not kneel as the man did. He did not speak on level terms with her, but towered over her like the Nivarri always do. “That’s for those nasty renegades. Not cute things like you.” A wink and a flash of teeth and the officer marched off again.

A few ropes still hung limp from the tree’s branches. A reminder.

She holds her son’s hand and pulls him across the courtyard, circumventing the great Nivarri star that has dominated its center since the storm split and burned Hotuatha. She misses the comforting shade the great tree provided in these hot summer months. She misses the fall and the voices of the dead in the crunching leaves.

“Mama, how come we never walk over the star like everyone else?” The boy’s question reminds her of when she is. She looks down to see he is still scanning the half-crowded courtyard. Not for the first time, she wonders what or who he is looking for.

“The dead lie beneath it, remember?” she says, kneeling down beside him. “It is rude to walk where the dead sleep.”

Her son nods absently. “Oh. Yes.” He frowns and looks at her. “But they taught us in school the dead sleep outside the city, where the stones are.”

Before she can answer, another voice cuts in. “Aye, your mother means her great tree, young lad.” An elderly Nivarri woman ambles over, her cane more a gesture than a necessity, a swinging basket beneath her arm. “Used to be a giant of a tree right where that star is now, long before you were born. Your momma’s people thought it had a soul.” The old woman smiles sweetly and gazes at the star. “Shame it burned, but it’s nice to see the king still thinks of us all the way out here,” the old woman says with a nod towards the star. The Nivarri pulls a candy from the basket and offers it to the boy. “Here you go, lad.”

The boy hesitates. She wonders if he is afraid or simply shy, but lets him make his own decision. For herself, she wants—needs—so deeply to hate this elderly woman, her kind gesture, her vicious ignorance, her genuine politeness, her subtle violence.

Are the Nivarri our enemy?

Yes.

These words hide behind each of hers every time she speaks with the invaders. But she is tempered by her father’s wisdom. She knows this Nivarri does not, cannot, carry the weight of that responsibility. But she hates the woman all the same.

Her son takes the candy and thanks the old woman who smiles again and shuffles on her way. “Can I eat it now, Mama?” he asks.

She watches the elder a moment, then gives him one of her father’s smiles and lightly taps his nose with a finger. “Yes, my son.”

—–

Each night, before he would step onto the shadowed city streets cloaked in wool and worry, he would sing to her. He taught her his favorites first. Then, he sang hers. Later, in his final days, she sang his. He sang myths of the sleeping spirits who guided dreams and cared for the dead and of Ouranan, the child who played with spirits and taught them to see wonder in their own world while they taught her respect and love for nature. He sang tales of her ancestors, warriors and scholars, priests and artists, thieves and kings. As he did, taught her how to curl her tongue and hold her lips around the sounds. He taught her the truth in her voice to protect her from the false Nivarri noise.

“Who are they?” she asked sometimes. He knew she did not need to ask, but he enjoyed telling her.

The man paused in the doorway each time she asked and a wry smile would peek from the corners of his mouth. “Who is who?” He knew, but this was how they said it.

The girl stared at him from her pillow, wide dark eyes missing nothing as her face revealed nothing. “The ones you sing about,” she said every time.

His answer was always the same: “They are me and your mother. They are the smiths and the priests and the warriors. They are our past, what makes us who we are. They are you.” He leaned over and kissed her head and touched her nose. “And you are them, because now you will carry their stories, too. Sleep well, little one.”

She does, her mind filled with dreams of great spirits and mighty heroes and silent prayers to keep her father safe.

—–

She does not remember what life was like without the Nivarri, but she has her father’s stories. She tells them as best she can. She sings, using all the true words for things she can recall, and acts out fantastical plays with her son’s toys that leave him enraptured. She tells him of Hotuatha and Ouranan and all the spirits she can remember. Most of all, she tells him about his grandfather and his marks and the ancestors long passed.

“I know why you tell me these stories, Mama,” he announces with the biggest self-satisfied grin.

“Oh?” she asks, smiling back. Most of the time, she sees her father in him, but sometimes she sees a bit of herself. She wonders if this will be one of those times.

“Yes. It’s so we can keep grandpa and the spirits and everyone and everything else alive!” He throws out his arms, a dramatic gesture encompassing the world. “So we can keep them in us,” he adds, placing one hand over her heart and the other over his own.

A curious feeling erupts in her. A jagged and bloody longing entwined with a hot and golden pride immersed in purest love. She struggles to hold the tears back, but cannot contain her laughter. She throws her head back and lets the sound of her joy, her pride, her love fill the room and wrap around her son. They hug each other so tightly and giggle together.

She kisses his head and tangles her fingers in his hair so he will not feel her tears fall. Her son wriggles around and sits with his back against her. They both look at the meager sapling on the window sill.

“Do you remember what that is?” she asks.

“That’s…part of Hotuatha, right?” he answers.

“That’s right,” she says. The tears flow freely now, but she leans away from her son enough they fall on her tunic. “Each of those leaves is the spirit of someone who has died. They were forced to scatter when Hotuatha burned, but as it grows, they will return. One day they will all return.”

She sleeps holding him close, afraid that if she does not, he will be gone, too.

—–

There was blood on the table. He sat with his arms laid across it. A hiss escaped his gritted teeth as his wife poured a clear alcohol over the gash in his right arm. His second brother smirked and shook his head while he steadily needled ink into the man’s left.

“What happened, Papa?” the little girl asked.

The adults startled. “You should be sleeping,” said the man’s wife as she returned her attention to the injury. The little girl peered through a cracked door, barely visible in the wavering light of two candles. Heavy curtains were drawn to keep from disturbing the moonless night.

The man’s second brother made to rise, but the man shook his head. “Did we wake you, little one? I’m sorry.” A concerned glance from his wife, but she said nothing.

The girl watched from the door a few seconds, then stepped out and sat across from her father. Her eyes flicked from his wife’s hands to his second brother’s. “What happened?” she repeated. Her voice was soft as the starlight outside.

“Your father earned his marks,” said the man’s second brother proudly. This earned a disapproving glare from the man’s wife. The man ignored them and smiled at the little girl.

“We tried to take back what is ours.” He looked down at his wounded arm. “Though, it did not go as well as we hoped.”

His second brother paused to look him in the eye. “Well enough to earn you three marks. They’ll remember that next time.” The man made a noncommittal sound.

“Marks?” the girl asked.

The man turned his gaze back to her, searching her face, as he often, did for some sign, some indication she was ready for the whole truth. He never found it. “A warrior’s marks,” he said finally. “A warrior receives a mark for each of his enemies he has defeated.”

She absorbed this information and watched in silence as his family worked. The man focused on keeping his breath steady and watched her. Finally, she asked, “Are the Nivarri our enemy?”

The adults stopped and stared at her. The man opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again. Then his second brother said, “Yes.” An exchange of looks took place among them, but no other answer was offered. The little girl watched them a while longer, then returned to bed.

—–

Blood drips on the floor. The water in the basin is rusty with it. There is more than she would have expected when her son arrived with a broken nose and scrapes and bruises. She had nearly struck the boy who followed him through the door, the pallor of his skin and the shape of his eyes screaming Nivarri, before her son had knowingly grabbed her arm and shook his head.

“The other boys said he couldn’t talk to the Nivarri girls,” the Nivarri boy says once the bleeding is under control.

She refuses to look at him and insists he sit at the table and not move. She gingerly and efficiently cleans her son’s injuries—each one minor, to her great relief, except the broken nose, but it will heal—and applies bandages the way her mother taught her. “Is that why they hit you?”

Her son gives a gentle shake of his head. She spares his face a glance and sees the shame in his eyes that will not meet hers. “Then why?”

Silence first. She gives him time. In this moment, he is like her and she knows pressing will only make things worse. Eventually, he mumbles, “I wanted to be friends with one of the girls.”

She stops applying the last bandage, less than a second, then presses it onto his skin and ties it off. “Friends?” She returns her things to the satchel and places it on the table. “That is why they hit you?”

“No,” her son answers. Another strained silence. She fills it with the sound of clinking dishes as she begins preparing food.

Finally, the Nivarri boy starts, “He—” But she cuts him off with a hiss and a swipe her hand.

Her son leaps to his feet. “Stop being mean to him!” She spins, startled at the ferocity in his voice. She sees it now, the defiance in his eyes, the will to fight.

Your father earned his marks.

“He has always been kind to me and helps me learn to be like the other boys and he is the only one who will be my friend!” Then, he sees what he has done and drops his gaze to the floor. His shoulders droop, but his fists stay clenched.

The Nivarri boy speaks again. “He stood up for me,” he says, low and cautious. “I tried to tell the other boys to leave him alone. They called me dog-lover and shoved me. He fought them for it.”

For the first time since he entered the house, she looks at the Nivarri boy. His clothes are ruffled and he is sporting a couple of bruises of his own. Only now does she see the worry on his face, the childish obviousness of his concern for her son, for his…

Are the Nivarri our enemy?

The boy rises and crosses the room to put a hand on her son’s shoulder. Her son meets his eyes and they share a sad smile. Her son finally releases the rage in his fists and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, as well.

Yes.

—–

Once the crowd was gathered, the executioner began his lecture. The man stood side by side with his fellow warriors. The rope was heavy and bit into his neck. “Dissenters,” the executioner called them. Savages. Animals. Vicious and malcontent. Rabid dogs biting their generous master’s hand. They had heard the words before. It changed little from one execution to the next. Always it was a reminder of the Nivarri’s harsh benevolence, that the Nivarri brought enlightenment and civilization to their backwards people, that the executions were a public lesson against such insolence.

The executioner marched back and forth in front of them, staring hard into the crowd as he made his speech, as though daring someone to object. The man knew no one would. Not after he had lost his first brother to such foolishness.

Finally, the executioner moved with imperial steps before the first to die. “You, dog, stand accused of stealing food from Nivarri defenders that they would starve. Your crime is punishable by death. Have you any final words?”

The warrior tried to spit in the executioner’s face, but missed. “We will—” he started, but the executioner kicked the stool from beneath his legs before he could finish.

The rope pulled taut. The warrior choked and struggled. His hands were bound, so he lashed out at the executioner with a kick, but a Nivarri soldier intervened with the edge of his axe, slicing the warrior’s leg clean off. Blood splashed on the warrior next to him. The first warrior tried to scream, but the noose would not let him. The executioner was already recounting the next warrior’s crimes and asking his final words. When he said nothing, the executioner kicked the stool from beneath his feet.

And so it went, each warrior informed of his crimes, asked his final words then, murdered.

The executioner stood before the man. “You, dog, stand accused of murdering three Nivarri defenders. Your crime is punishable by death. Have you any final words?”

The man would not look at the executioner. A man should always honor his enemy by looking them in the eye when one of them dies, but this Nivarri invader deserved no such honor. He was content to die silent and defiant.

Then, he saw her. The flash of blue flowers her mother always put in her hair gave her away. The little girl stood just behind the man’s wife and his second brother. Her wide dark eyes were locked on his face. He knew his final words.

“I do not die today. My body will feed the earth and nourish my people. My spirit will return and bless them. I will live on in them.” He looked into her eyes. “For they are me and I am them.”

The executioner kicked the stool from beneath his feet.

—–

Once the crowd is gathered, the priest begins the recitation. She stands alone behind her son. The rope is heavy and bites into her neck. The priest speaks of love and eternal bonds. Words like devotion, loyalty, and death are used. He speaks a grandiose image of prosperity and longevity. The crowd beams and weeps. Across from her, behind the Nivarri boy who followed her son home one day, are the boy’s siblings, as is Nivarri custom. Her son has no siblings, so an exception is made for her, so he will not feel alone. Draped over their shoulders are multicolored ropes, strands of gold and blue and red and green and black woven into thick cords. As the priest nears the completion of the rites, these are wrapped around the couple’s clasped hands and laid over their shoulders. Another Nivarri custom.

She does not want to bind her son in rope, and told him as much weeks before, but he insisted, insists in the subtle plea in his eyes as she approaches. “I want this,” he said, “Do this for me, please.” She puts a rope around her son’s neck. The glee and excitement radiating off of him is almost too much.

Your father earned his marks.

She gives him another of her father’s smiles. When the priest is finished, her son and the boy—a man now, the Nivarri say, though she does not agree—kiss.

Then, the celebration begins. There is much feasting and congratulating and dancing. The Nivarri boy’s family make speeches and wish blessings and good fortune on the newlyweds. She makes a speech of her own, asking her son to remember to visit once in a while. Her son insists they dance a traditional dance and it is the best part of the night, sharing this piece of who they truly are with her son.

The rest of the dances are Nivarri, as are the food and the dress and the music and the words. A part of her is genuinely content with her son’s vibrant joy this day. But it is impossible for her to ignore the absence of her culture, his culture.

“Thank you, Mama,” he says at the end of the night. He kisses her cheek and squeezes her to his chest. “I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

She squeezes him back. She believes him, and it hurts. He is happy. He is in love. She remembers her mother would have said he is stronger now, bolstered by the spirit of his love. “I am glad,” she says and she means it, but it still hurts.

She doubts the legitimacy of his love, wonders in some quiet angry part of her mind if it is another lie he has been taught, another stolen opportunity to love someone proper. He did not marry the proper way, with offerings to the spirits and vows spoken in true words. She is happy for him, but cannot stop thinking it is a farce, that he is being stolen from her.

“Now that I’m Nivarri, I can try to get you moved into a better part of the city,” he says. The words cut through her, an invisible razor line she cannot heal. Married only a few hours and already one of them.

She can only offer another of her father’s smiles as he begins discussing plans to improve their lives with his citizenship.

Are the Nivarri our enemy?

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faeleanah · 5 years

Text

Undo

~Some time ago, somewhere in Teldrassil~

A quiet taint swirled within the depths of the crown of the earth. Remaining unblessed, root and stem and bough fell to corruption which even revered druids couldn't cleanse. Nature's balance shifted into shadow. Sentinels across the land remained true to their duties of keeping the kaldorei safe. But deep in the enchanted forests, however, wildlife weren't so fortunate. All the way down from great owls in the sky to burrowing rabbits, every day was a fight for survival many lost. Cunning and sinister enemies seemingly lurked behind every corner...

Dark magic befouled once gentle creatures, thus creating a chain effect of newfound savagery for the very basis of life. Food.

A doe and her two fawn raced through the forest with only one thing on their minds: survival. Chasing them was a lone nightsaber. Thin. Mangy. Either its pride had cast it out or had fallen pray to other predators; it was certainly alone in its hunt. If it weren't for one of the fawn's falling behind, all three would have likely fell, then...

The nightsaber managed to snatch one of the young. A scream and cry for help sounded high in the sky, quieted only by a thick canopy of wisteria lined trees. The snapping and tearing sent the doe and remaining fawn shivering. Wide eyed and trembling they froze. A spotted deer against a starving beast makes for a quick demise and newly fueled bloodlust. Prowling low, the stalker had its eyes set on two more.

Faeleanah appeared from behind a tree with a heaving chest and eyes wild as the doe's. Her curls were tossed and unruly, dress skewed on her form, and face heated from running. The nightsaber bared its teeth with deadly intent, flexing, trying to make its scrawny body look bigger. Powerful. Adrenaline made Faele not buy the act.

“Nature, no matter how unfair the cycle might seem, is of a balance. A chain of command that is known and respected by all forest dwelling animals. I know it's hard for a gentle soul like yours to grasp, my girl. But it is to be respected, Faeleanah. Always.”

Even now her mind filled with her mentor's wisdom. A teaching she'd known and heard her whole life. The knowledge of life's circle and all it included. And even now she struggled against it. Her heart was gentle. Soul, more so. To see and feel how scared the doe and her fawn were, to see the remains of the still spotted creature, boiled her blood as much as broke her heart.

“It is forbidden to interfere with nature's balance.”

No.

The nightsaber pounced – claws flexed and splayed, maw open to bare all its teeth – right at the young elf. Reflected in those wild obsidian eyes was a terrible flash of purple. From Faele's hands spawned magic as dark as the taint spreading in Teldrassil. With arms outstretched her hair and dress whipped around as if animated, silvery gaze keen and vibrant amidst the shadowy calling. The beast fell lifeless without a sound. Relaxing, she turned to look at the saved pair who were in a stunned silence. They no longer trembled and instead watched as the elf walked over to the fawn's remains. There, she knelt. And there, surrounded by an aura of pure white light, she undid what the saber did. There, the spotted twin stood on wobbly legs before running to join its family.

“Forbidden.”

#writing #moon guard #moon guard rp #night elf #enudoril #roleplay #kaldorei

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makerof150papermasks · 6 years

Text

Hamlet Mariofied Act 4 Scene 7

Bolded names refer to the Mario characters playing the roles. The character role names remain the same in the context of the play and its dialogue.

Bowser = Claudius

Larry = Laertes

Koopa the Quick = Messenger

Peach = Gertrude

Act IV, Scene 7

Elsinore. Another room in the Castle.

Enter Bowser and Larry.

Bowser. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal,

And You must put me in your heart for friend,

Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear,

That he which hath your noble father slain

Pursued my life. Cue Ghost House music from Super Mario World.

Larry. It well appears. But tell me

Why you proceeded not against these feats

So crimeful and so capital in nature,

As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,

You mainly were stirr'd up.

Bowser. O, for two special reasons,

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd,

But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother

Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,-

My virtue or my plague, be it either which,-

She's so conjunctive to my life and soul

That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,

I could not but by her. The other motive

Why to a public count I might not go

Is the great love the general gender bear him,

Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,

Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,

Convert his gives to graces; so that my arrows,

Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind,

Would have reverted to my bow again,

And not where I had aim'd them.

Larry. And so have I a noble father lost;

A sister driven into desp'rate terms,

Whose worth, if praises may go back again,

Stood challenger on mount of all the age

For her perfections. But my revenge will come.

Bowser. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull

That we can let our beard be shook with danger,

And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.

I lov'd your father, and we love ourself,

And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine-

Enter Koopa the Quick with letters. Boss theme from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island.

How now? What news?

Koopa. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:

This to your Majesty; this to the Queen.

Bowser. From Hamlet? Who brought them?

Koopa. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.

They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them

Of him that brought them.

Bowser. Laertes, you shall hear them.

Leave us.

[Exit Koopa the Quick.]

[Reads] 'High and Mighty,-You shall know I am set naked on your

kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes;

when I shall (first asking your pardon thereunto) recount the

occasion of my sudden and more strange return. 'HAMLET.'

What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?

Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?

Larry. Know you the hand?

Bowser. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!'

And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'

Can you advise me?

Larry. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come!

It warms the very sickness in my heart

That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,

'Thus didest thou.'

Bowser. If it be so, Laertes

(As how should it be so? how otherwise?),

Will you be rul'd by me?

Larry. Ay my lord,

So you will not o'errule me to a peace.

Bowser. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd

As checking at his voyage, and that he means

No more to undertake it, I will work him

To exploit now ripe in my device,

Under the which he shall not choose but fall;

And for his death no wind shall breathe

But even his mother shall uncharge the practice

And call it accident.

Larry. My lord, I will be rul'd;

The rather, if you could devise it so

That I might be the organ.

Bowser. It falls right.

You have been talk'd of since your travel much,

And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality

Wherein they say you shine, Your sum of parts

Did not together pluck such envy from him

As did that one; and that, in my regard,

Of the unworthiest siege.

Larry. What part is that, my lord?

Bowser. A very riband in the cap of youth-

Yet needfull too; for youth no less becomes

The light and careless livery that it wears

Than settled age his sables and his weeds,

Importing health and graveness. Two months since

Here was a gentleman of Normandy.

I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French,

And they can well on horseback; but this gallant

Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat,

And to such wondrous doing brought his horse

As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'd

With the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought

That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,

Come short of what he did.

Larry. A Norman was't?

Bowser. A Norman.

Larry. Upon my life, Lamound.

Bowser. The very same.

Larry. I know him well. He is the broach indeed

And gem of all the nation.

Bowser. He made confession of you;

And gave you such a masterly report

For art and exercise in your defence,

And for your rapier most especially,

That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed

If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation

He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye,

If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his

Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy

That he could nothing do but wish and beg

Your sudden coming o'er to play with you.

Now, out of this-

Larry. What out of this, my lord?

Bowser. Laertes, was your father dear to you?

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow,

A face without a heart,'

Larry. Why ask you this?

Bowser. Not that I think you did not love your father;

But that I know love is begun by time,

And that I see, in passages of proof,

Time qualifies the spark and fire of it.

There lives within the very flame of love

A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it;

And nothing is at a like goodness still;

For goodness, growing to a plurisy,

Dies in his own too-much. That we would do,

We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes,

And hath abatements and delays as many

As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents;

And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh,

That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' th' ulcer!

Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake

To show yourself your father's son in deed

More than in words?

Larry. To cut his throat i' th' church!

Bowser. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize;

Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes,

Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber.

Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home.

We'll put on those shall praise your excellence

And set a double varnish on the fame

The Frenchman gave you; bring you in fine together

And wager on your heads. He, being remiss,

Most generous, and free from all contriving,

Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease,

Or with a little shuffling, you may choose

A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,

Requite him for your father.

Larry. I will do't!

And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.

I bought an unction of a mountebank,

So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,

Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,

Collected from all simples that have virtue

Under the moon, can save the thing from death

This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point

With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,

It may be death.

Bowser. Let's further think of this,

Weigh what convenience both of time and means

May fit us to our shape. If this should fall,

And that our drift look through our bad performance.

'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project

Should have a back or second, that might hold

If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see.

We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings-

I ha't!

When in your motion you are hot and dry-

As make your bouts more violent to that end-

And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him

A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,

If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,

Our purpose may hold there.- But stay, what noise,

Enter Peach. Initiate Final Castle from Super Mario 3D Land.

How now, sweet queen?

Peach. One woe doth tread upon another's heel,

So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.

Larry. Drown'd! O, where?

Peach. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,

That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.

There with fantastic garlands did she come

Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,

That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,

But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.

There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds

Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,

When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide

And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;

Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element; but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

Larry. Alas, then she is drown'd?

Peach. Drown'd, drown'd.

Larry. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,

And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet

It is our trick; nature her custom holds,

Let shame say what it will. When these are gone,

The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord.

I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze

But that this folly douts it. Exit.

Bowser. Let's follow, Gertrude.

How much I had to do to calm his rage I

Now fear I this will give it start again;

Therefore let's follow.

Exeunt.

#Super Mario #Shakespeare #Hamlet #Bowser #Peach #Larry Koopa #Koopalings #Koopa the quick #Too many references

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gurguliare · 7 years

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omg, huor/rian? -vardasvapors

It was sometimes difficult to know that his brother was angry. Happily, Huor put an end to all doubts by flinging himself on the hearthrug with a cry.

“Ha!” went the cry.

“Ha,” agreed Húrin. He set down his penknife, and after a little thought his pen. Huor was drawing moon-letters in the ashes. “I was right, you look better in blue. Did she make that for you?”—meaning the wreath around Huor’s neck.

“Yes, she was all posies today,” Huor said, slowly. He removed his hat, which had irises tucked in the chin-band, and set about abusing it. There were wildflowers clinging to his beard. “She could do nothing but pick flowers and plant them.”

“You’re not good for much.”

“If I’m not, I lay it at her door…” He caught Húrin’s eye and frowned, dogged by his own unfairness, and launched on a long explanation: her mother thought them young to wed; she wouldn’t say so, for respect of Húrin, but she thought it, and they were. And Rían said, yes, of course, and spent a day dismantling turf…

Húrin had heard as much before, though never, it was true, from Rían’s mother. Morwen behind the portiere had neither changed nor lost the limping rhythm of the loom; but she was listening, anyway, for he was listening.

He had married her the autumn after his father died, and he had been four years younger than Huor now, and lord of Dor-lómin. Neither he nor his young wife had parents to give warnings. “Why is Rían in haste?”

The tail of Huor’s braid lay coiled on his back from many heartsore shrugs. “I don’t know.”

So saying, he folded his hat in two and let it flop back to its proper shape. The brim stayed pinned beneath one palm, like a dog submitting to have its paw held. He had a tender way with hounds and birds, but Húrin thought this had made him rather proud; he could be impatient, not with the animals, but with beast-tamers less patient than he. At times he turned the same unkindness on himself: why can I not be gentle, and bring my blood to heel? And so on. Húrin understood better, now he was father to two children, one living. Still such stern sight had no place in his brother.

“Let us say that she loves you, and waiting’s a grief to her. I can just conceive of it. But you wait out of love for her which warns you to feign wisdom, like an old man. I see no harm in that. Shall I speak to Rían?”

“Showing me for a youth, unfit to court her?”

“Isn’t that the object?”

“Yes!” A glare. Huor looked afraid to laugh, as if it might do his lady dishonor; his lip did tremble. “She’s young,” he said to himself, “and it falls to me to practice wisdom, if she must be so brave.” Very soft, he said, “I think of them, and their ladies who made a game of the mountain’s face… from green to red, and sparkling with frost. For them it was never wrong to wait.”

“Never and never. I hope that in a hundred years, when we are dead, our enemy all crushed beneath our weight, they may descend and gaze around. A new untarnished land, with green things growing.” He smiled at Huor, saying to himself that the future wasn’t so far off: but their sunlight was less than this sunlight, and the white cities they might raise less gorgeous than this low-timbered hall. “Is that what you have in mind for Rían?”

“It sounds as if you’d have me marry.”

“Brother, I must thrust you from my house. All means else failing—”

“What would you do with me gone?” said Huor, seriously. Then: “I have her lute. I forgot it was still on my horse when I rode off, I’m afraid in a hurry.” If he heard Húrin’s hand strike his brow, he gave no sign of it, except to stiffen a little. “Will you bring it back to her? Tell Rían we have your blessing. It makes no matter, but maybe she’ll taste the bitter less.”

Through spread fingers, Húrin considered his poor inventory—more often abandoned than taken up—and the ink now drying on the reed.

Rían’s mother greeted him warmly and, after he spoke her fair, tasted her beer and let her exclaim over his handsome mule, directed him to the creek bottom that dipped between the homestead and the fields. If she had asked why he had come in place of a servant, he would have said, the men are dead of weariness from threshing-season, or if not from the harvest then the raids; I of all of them can best be spared. But she was circumspect in everything.

Rían sat in a ring of toppled cups, and she was writing something down. At the sight of her, stylus in hand, he felt a jolt of guilt, having thrown over his own clerk-work for a leisure-errand—although it was his business to pay calls to malcontents. With her back to a birch slenderer than her back—with knees drawn up, feet planted, and hair curling from its net—while her maid lay snoring on a bead-fringed sheepskin, she rather than he had the air of a lady holding court; but her head snapped up at his coming, and she stared straight ahead, and almost past him, so that he felt he headed a host. “At ease, cousin,” he tried. Then her eyes found his. She nodded and rose in a bow before he could prevent her, and smiled broadly when she left it, remembering her charm.

Pretty Rían, a child in long skirts; he could guess what his brother meant, that she had begun some work and not finished it yet.

“‘Mistress cousin,’” she quoted, and showed him where to set down the lute. “‘Lady sister.’ But name me sister, if we must choose degrees.”

“You’ve disowned Morwen?”

She was losing interest. “Why come tonight? Huor—”

“Huor is hale,” he said lightly, dismayed by her insistence. “I thought I had better return the thief’s spoils for him.”

“Ha! foes!” snapped the serving-girl, and rolled over; it was no serving-girl at all, but his kinswoman Aerin. She must have crept late from Indor’s house for a drinking party, although, as Húrin had cause to know, she was not much charmed by songs of old. She narrowed her eyes, shook the sandy hair from her face, tugged the veil from her hair, and thrust a plump finger at him: then lay back down, doubtless to gather strength. Not yet dusk, but in a sky like fallen clouds, the leaves on the bough had lost color, and patterned themselves after the fox’s gray beard; the gurgling from the creek should have drowned all frogs and nightjars, but that their singing carried, bounded higher on the stream. His daughter’s laughter never sounded louder than near water; but already he had forgotten the laws that made her life.

Because he had no better plan, he lay down beside Aerin, on his back. “But do I have a case to judge between you and sir thief?”

Rían knelt in the heather and said, “Please forgive me if I am churlish, which I must be, to have driven off everyone but Aerin.” (“Thank you!”) “I’ve had evil dreams.”

Húrin bit his tongue. “Of Huor?” he said after a time, trying to be grave, and to restrain the bitter feeling, so common since Lalaith, that all this was a waste; her terror like his cheer, poured out on stone, because neither of them knew what would come.

“Huor! No, god forbid! Of you.” She touched her brow, kneaded the skin, and bent her head. Had she been his sister in truth, he would have pinched her. And she was right that it was wearisome and hurt to hold off from things which were needful; he was glad at some hour or another every day, but it was hard, to go from his house to his friends’, his house to his brother’s, from Dor-lómin to the fortress of the elves, and back again to make friends with his son.

“That’s strange,” he began. “Though I were the fondest of brothers, I couldn’t begrudge him to you. I wish you every happiness. When your mother consents, we will set a day in spring, when the trees vie with the flowers of the earth, and there are showers enough to dress the thatch with jewels. If it should snow, we’ll hold the dancing indoors, and burn the great hall down.”

Rían nodded. As he talked on she grew thoughtful: she tapped her stylus to the tablet, and said, “In my dream, you sit in a great chair.”

“There. I am presiding at the feast. Sador is carving me the very chair. If I seem grave, he has left me a long splinter.”

“I’ll marry Rían,” Aerin announced. “All the unwedded maids of Dor-lómin; I’ll marry them and keep them, when you ride off to war.” She spoke almost without moving her lips, her chest rising and falling in starts, her cold fair face impassive. “What do you say?”

Rían whispered something in her ear; Aerin convulsed in laughter. Húrin pretended to avert his eyes and said, “Now, tell me. Is there something my brother should know?”

“That I beg his pardon,” said Rían; “I am sorry for him. Every year he must fight, facing what I know nothing of, though he has you and God, my lord, bespeaking him. I think of him often—I hope he’s not too afraid. I don’t remember a moment of my journey here, from Ladros. So maybe it’s the same for him, that he goes to fight and doesn’t remember. I wish he were younger! Then indeed I could wait happily, while we would play at being children.” She bit her knuckle.

If he could only see all, from sea to sea, and rule over a land that answered him: he thought he would have ordered it better. That would have been best, to know that wherever his kin went, he could follow them in mind, and understand their passing. Here she was before him, and he strove to follow her. Did she think she wasn’t a child, or that the girl had died in the wastes, driven forth from her home? She sounded, it was true, older than her years, not like a woman grown but like a daughter of elves, clear-spoken before the milky eyes could see.

“He pities you as well,” Húrin said. He got up in a crouch, for the dew was creeping down his back, and he wished too to take her hands.

Rían gave him a glad mistrustful look: face red in the cheeks from talk of Huor, and teeth bared by her drawn-up lip. She put her hands on his, saying, “Feel how cold. I have drunk too much, even with Aerin here to warn me. If I sleep early, will I still have a headache tomorrow? Will you tell Huor not to expect me before noon? My turn to visit, but alas—”

“I’ll tell him.” He might have said, grandly: Don’t punish him too much for loving your mother, but she had nothing of the kind in view. Without knowing it she took a step back and another. She was drunk, and proud enough after her fashion, and had grown used to the new wealth of time, now that Huor was home; that she feared Huor’s death in war had little to do with how they spent their days together. She picked up the lute and put together a bare chord; she played just well enough to scaffold her towering voice. If he had had the sense to bring his harp, they might have made music together, although his mount would have been overburdened, and his knees ached from bending in the cold.

“You may as well escort me home,” Aerin said, standing more steadily, by leaning on his back. “If you have what you came for, lord?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Anyway I’m the better for having come; for it’s not every day I hear a song from Rían, bard of Dor-lómin.”

#Anonymous #no one expects the fannish inquisition #vardasvapors #silmarillion #hurin #huor #rian #aerin #does huor just live in their house or something idk #i started thinking about the logistics of this for one (1) second and got a headache #anyway this is thin sorry i have a semi-solid huor headcanon but rian is Hard To Picture #this is also my first time considering dirtbag aerin. she just. happened

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

Text

The days grow shorter and the longest night of the year spreads its cloak of stars across the land. Known by many names including the Winter Solstice, Yule, Midwinter, Alban Arthan, it’s a time of cold, the steady burn of the hearthfire, and gathering together with friends and family.

Even the cities can take on a strange and peaceful silence during the winter (especially after a fresh snowfall). The woods are dark, branches stripped of their leaves, and most animals are hibernating or have moved south to warmer climates. The sharp icy air tingles with the magick of a thousand candles and twinkling lights. I find myself under blankets, sipping hot teas and cocoas, while lost in a good book (it's probably on witchcraft). Now is a quiet time in the apothecary - herbs have already been harvested and charmed into remedies during the fall and, except for the occasional custom blend for a new cold or deep need to create another herbal coffee, there is blissfully less to do.

The Winter Solstice marks the turn of the wheel from the mutable fire sign of Sagittarius to the cardinal earth sign of Capricorn. The frenzy of preparation and transition during the fall settles into the soft energy of winter (especially after the winter holidays have passed). Spend time outdoors enjoying the refreshing chill in the air, but be sure to balance it with warm downtime indoors. Read that book you’ve been putting off. Drink warming teas and add warming spices to your food. Do those things which make you feel cosy.

Weeds

Body System Focus: Kidneys, Bladder, + Liver or Strengthen + Settle Into Your Flow

Within the four elements system of traditional western herbalism (I write more about TWH energetics over here), the season of winter is the transformation of the dryness of earth into the coldness of water. Our bodies are moving from the busyness of gathering our resources in the fall to the settling depths of winter’s dark. It’s time to move from the hurry, hurry, get it done of fall into the slow down and have another cup of tea of winter. Continuing the magick of fall with warming stews and root vegetables. Heating and warming herbs are a must to help us keep our internal fires well taken care of as well as herbs that support the immune system. The plant allies of winter are immunomodulating and sometimes immunostimulating. They are often diuretic in nature, supporting liver and kidney health. If the magick of winter is difficult to connect to, check out the healing ways of Capricorn to help you find a spark of joy.

Weeds are scarce during winter, but the ones that remain are often roots, trees or connected to trees. Evergreens are persistent allies during the winter season and they’re scent alone can have an uplifting and invigorating affect on the body. Autumn's retreat from the summer is complete and the time of the Oldest Ones has arrived with their bare rattling bones and stone teeth. Enjoying foraged weeds as food and medicine is an amazing way to connect with the season and practice self-care. If you want to learn more about the healing properties of weeds, I highly recommend checking out The Wise Wisdom of Weeds: 13 Essential Plants for Human Survival by Katrina Blair.

Pine (Pinus spp.) : Evergreens like Pine offer some of the only colour in far northern climates, keeping their green wrapped around them throughout the year. The needles of the tree are a rich source of vitamin C and make a enjoyable tea. Pine also supports healthy circulation and is a great preventative and restorative remedy from winter illnesses like laryngitis, bronchitis, and the ‘flu. It helps to protect cells from damage - an excellent ally in preventative care against cancer. I collect chunks of the recently fallen sap and add it to honey to create a antiviral, analgesic, and expectorant syrup for coughs and colds. Add the needles to baths for pain-relief and to soften tight muscles. Incorporate Pine into your practice if your health is impacted by feelings of guilt and failure - the tree teaches us how resilient by showing us what is no longer necessary to carry.

Chaga (Inonotus obliquus) : Chaga is a mushroom that grows on trees such as the Birch. It has recorded use in traditional Chinese medicine since the first century and is a prized medicine in many far northern habitats where it can be found growing wild. I was first introduced to Chaga while living in Maine where I would make crockpots of Chaga hot cocoa at the cafe I worked at (it was amazing stuff). Like many mushrooms, Chaga helps to regulate the immune system - a common need during the winter when colds are passed around like gifts. Chaga has been used in cancer care as it inhibits the growth of tumors and its rich antioxidant content. It’s a hepatoprotective mushroom, acting as a guardian of the liver. I love incorporating it into chai blends and herbal coffees as it lends an earthy and grounding taste.

Uva Ursi (Arctostaphylos spp.) : Known also as Bearberry, Uva Ursi is an evergreen shrub with extensive use in both European and American Indian medicine. Where Pine is warming, Uva Ursi is cooling, reducing inflammation and toxin-supporting heat. It’s a classic remedy in traditional western herbalism for kidney complaints including urinary tract infections, urethritis, bladder and kidney stones, kidney infections, pulmonary edema, and more. Uva Ursi also helps with the imbalances to the skin brought about by kidney problems including acne, rashes, and dandruff (use both topically and externally). Uva Ursi is powerful medicine and should only be used for a week at a time with week-long breaks in-between.

Oregon Grape Root (Mahonia aquifolium or nervosa, Berberis aquifolium or nervosa) : Similar to Uva Ursi, Oregan Grape is another evergreen shrub with antimicrobial and diuretic gifts that support the liver. The root is powerfully cleansing, sweeping through the body and clearing out excess heat. It opens the blood vessels helping to lower blood pressure. It dries up wet, damp, mucusy coughs and assists with general debility. Oregon Grape is a powerful ally when it comes to staph and other infections. The herb is also a great winter bitter, stimulating a sluggish digestive system and supporting a healthy appetite. Like Uva Ursi, skin problems caused by a sluggish liver and digestion are alleviated with Oregon Grape.

Dandelion Root (Taraxacum officinale) : Roasted Dandelion Root is an essential part of my cosy winter practice. The root supports liver health, gently detoxifying the overtaxed organ. It is wonderfully useful for skin complaints like acne and eczema both as an internal and external treatment. I incorporate the roasted root into chai blends and herbal coffees (both of which, you may have surmised at this point, are very popular in my house during the winter) and it brings a rich coffee-like flavor to the brew. If you’re someone who suffers from heartburn and excess acidity, try adding some Dandelion bitters into your routine before and after meals. Dandelion Flower Essence can be useful for folks who struggle with the dark of long winter nights, feeling hopeless and forlorn. The essence helps to bring brightness and levity to dark places.

Elm (Ulmus Procera) Flower Essence : Elm Flower Essence is for the doers and great sacrificers who do what needs doing, but at the end of the day they are left utterly exhausted. Folks who are best served by Elm are ones that struggle to take time off because so much of their self-worth is tied up in feeling useful to others. Elm teaches us how to find self-worth from within by taking much needed time off. The tree shows us different ways of connecting and communicating with people that doesn’t rely on us wearing ourselves thin. Elm is also useful for anyone who needs to take a break and put their busy lives and what they think must absolutely get done this very second into perspective.

Witchcraft

Winter is a time of both gathering in (as was begun in Autumn) and gathering together. Spend time working on your grimoire or book of shadows by candlelight. Gather together with covenmates, family, friends, and those you love the most for good food and celebrating. Spend time gazing into the dark curve of the night’s mirror and discover what you find gazing back. Open up to the wonder of the season and connect with your inner child who has never lost touch with their magickal thinking. Take a moment to step out of the busyness of the year - whether pleasurable or stressful - and find yourself connecting to your purpose. For to follow the wheel of the year is to honour the cycle of life, death, and rebirth, learning from all three overlapping and entangled phases. Sometimes it’s hard to discover what we feel the purpose of life is until it feels too late. So perform some meditative magick and imagine that you’re about to step through life into death. What would want to know that you had spent your life doing? I have found such a practice to be life-affirming, purpose-aligning, and interwoven with the energies of winter. To help you continue to dive into the world of winter magick, I offer you three forms of winter magick that I practice to help me settle into the power of the darkest part of the year.

3 Paths of Winter Magick

Settling In : We settle in to the season of slowness and dark. Rituals include long-term spells and charms completed over a series of days and weeks; house protection charms and first foot rituals; bringing warmth and nature indoors including candles, evergreen boughs, berries and citrus; divination for goal setting with an emphasis on timing; spells to protect your time; homecoming and soul-loss rituals; body-centred practices to help you come home to your self; pay attention to your need for quiet, calmness, and time spent alone or only with the closest of companions (including our animal friends).

Settling In Meditation : Beginning in a position that is comfortable for you, notice where there is tension in your body. Then turn your attention to your feet. Create tension in your feet by tightening your foot muscles and curling your toes - hold this for a few seconds and then release the tension (if you have trouble releasing the tension try saying out loud any of the following words: release, soften, open, trust). Then create tension in your lower legs, holding it for a few moments and then releasing. Follow through to your upper legs, bottom, belly, chest, hands, arms, neck and head. Take a deep breath and observe how your body feels different than when you began.

Connecting Cosmically : We listen to the depths within us so that we may remember and connect to our starry origins. Rituals revolve around connecting to the cosmic dance of dark and light; standing in stillness with the sun on the night of the solstice; rising up singing with the dawn; incorporating astrological correspondences and magickal techniques into your workings; studying the night sky and your birth chart; being caught up in your smallness; finding rapture in your never ending expanse.

Connecting Cosmically Meditation : If you’re able perform this meditation under a night sky please do. Spend some time centring yourself through your breath. Listen to the stars in the sky and in the earth beneath you. Listen to the stars in your blood. With every in-breath call the stars towards you. With every out-breath, glow brighter. In with stars. Out and bright with your glow. Repeat this simple cycle for however long you desire. Be sure to end your meditation with a firm grounding and centring, perhaps choosing to eat salty food to help you return fully to your body.

Wishing Well : We welcome in the magick of being awestruck and enchanted through wishing ourselves and others well. Rituals include any and all activities which delight your inner child; performing spells to help you find your joy; connecting with the house and land spirits from a place of joviality and play; creating a ritual that your tween/teen witch self would be proud of; giving sacred gifts and hosting giveaways; rituals of wishing others good fortune as well as community blessings for health and longevity; inviting in the possibility that you are not and have never been broken; remembering to pay attention to the beauty of the world - beauty is always seeking you, so try and let it find you.

Wishing Well Meditation : Start your meditation by focusing on the statement, “I am enchanted by…” and give space for thoughts, memories, and visions to arise eventually completing the sentence (i.e. I am enchanted by snow flurries dancing along windowsills). Dwell for a time in the feeling of enchantment and of being awestruck. Reflect on the following statement, “I enchant the lives of others by…” In other words, how to move others deeply and help evoke from them a joyful awe of the beauty of the world.

Talisman of Sacred Time

Set aside some time when you'll be uninterrupted (this is the first act of magick for our spell). Make yourself some hot cocoa, get comfortable, and grab a journal or your book of shadows to record the messages you’ll be receiving. The following ritual is part divinatory and part craft. You’ll be creating a talisman to protect your time as sacred in order to help you make choices in your life that align you with your purpose. In other words, instead of spending another weekend shopping mindlessly or scrolling the internet aimlessly, choosing to spend your time caught up in that project you’ve been wanting to do but putting off. Or choosing to lie down, read a book, and go to bed early instead of working another 6 hours into the dusk of morning.

You will need a small pouch of black fabric, some dried Thyme (Thymus vulgaris), a piece of paper and pen, and a tarot deck (or oracle, runes, ogham feda or similar divinatory system).

Begin with divination. Three cards are cast, one for each part of yourself offering a message regarding how to align with time in a sacred manner (i.e. how to spend your time, what to do less of, etc.):

A message from your past self.

A message from your present self.

A message from your future self.

Record any notes and observations that you want to remember. From each card find one word of power. For example, your future self may advise with the word, “explore” while your past self reminds you to “reconcile” and your present self speaks “be.” Write these three words on a piece of paper that can be folded small enough to fit into your talisman pouch.

Keeping the cards out before you, begin to assemble your talisman. Touch the empty pouch to your past, future, and present card, saying:

What was, what shall be, what is.

Repeat this twice more. Then following the same order, say three times through:

Is sacred, is sacred, is sacred.

Finally, fold up your paper and place it in the pouch. Add to it three pinches of Thyme. Thyme is an herb that helps us to bend and shape the current of time running through all of the worlds. Speak the three words of power as you touch each card again with your pouch. Using our example, you would say three times through:

Reconcile. Explore. Be.

Tie up the talisman and seal the spell with a “So mote it be!”

Carry the talisman with you, either wearing it around your neck, slipping it in your pocket, a bra, or other space where it shall be kept close. Speak your words of power to it when you feel time slipping away to regain your footing or when you are spending your time in a way that pleases you to ensorcel it with purpose.

http://www.wortsandcunning.com/blog/witchcraft-weeds-healing-magickal-practices-for-winter

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mushroomdraggo · 7 years

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Clan Golden Guardian: Prologue

My first and clearest memory is of a thick, heavy, shimmering golden tail slithering away behind a tree. Although I suppose if I were to be entirely accurate I would say that it was the sound of the scales being dragged through the underbrush, and the huge thudding steps retreating from my reach. I have no idea how old I was on this day, as I didn't think anything of it. She left often, always returned with food and trinkets and a glowing smile. And so I waited.

When she would leave I would stand at the very edge of the rock’s gentle overhang, peaking through the hanging vines but not daring to leave the safety of the den. It was a very nice den-- made from an absolutely enormous piece of rock which stuck out of the ground at a convenient angle, and made a warm, dry home guarded by a green curtain. It felt very safe, and I stayed very far to the back of the den, tucked away tightly and securely between the tamped-down dirt and the cool stone. I remember the den more than her, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

After that is a smell. The smell of wet sand and stagnant water and raw fish meat as I learned how to feed myself. It's funny that I don't remember a taste at all, actually. There's a hazy recollection of the duckweed between my claws as I lunged for every movement in the water. This was the first time I noticed myself, if you can believe that. I saw my wobbly reflection in the still water, and I thought it was a monster lurking in the deep. Although I was afraid, I struck and I caught my first fish.

I had never held a live fish, and the way it flopped and spasmed on the shore gave me chills. The little creature's slick wet scales rolled in the loose sand and dirt, its swiftly pumping gills taking in soil and air alike, but to no avail. When it finally died, I poked its side a few times with my claw, brushed away the sand to expose a tiny patch of perfectly shimmering scales. For an instant, I felt a horrible pang in my chest. I choked deep in my throat and tried to break my gaze with the cold, empty eyes of the fish. As soon as I managed to turn my head away, I swiped at the corpse and pierced its flesh, quickly tearing away the scales and the eyes in search of the white meat which would slake my hunger. Even as my little stomach did flip flops and I tried not to cry, I could not ignore my hunger any longer.

The only reason I had even gone fishing, I thought, was because I could just barely remember her warnings about foraging. There was always a golden haziness to her and her voice-- much like the bright aura the sun would give the world on a particularly cloudless day.

“Remember, Kundanika,” she would always say, her voice smooth and sweet as honey. But never could I recall her next words. I could feel the rising and falling slopes of her tone, sense where certain syllables might fall… but it was always as though she were speaking softly to someone else, not at all to me.

I spent the hours at night trying desperately to cling onto even tiny remnants of her wonderful voice, but that was all I ever had. “Remember, Kundanika…” I was trying to so hard to, whipping myself with guilt when I couldn't recall more than those words. Eventually, even that gentle presence of her speaking to another retreated completely from my mind.

But as time went on, I grew tired of fish. There were just so many round red berries hanging off of bushes, so many ripe fruits bending boughs down low. And so began my experimentation.

Was it dangerous? Perhaps. But I was determined to make myself a good life while I waited. The rock under which I always slept was the perfect place to begin my documentation. I climbed on the back of the great stone and cleared its surface of vines, moss, and packed-in soil. It took some looking, but I also managed to dig up a lump of coal, which I used to mark the stone with my notes.

Even at that young, adventurous age, I was quite the meticulous notetaker. I picked two berries and one leaf off of a nearby bush, pulverizing one berry against the surface of the stone and letting its juices stain the surface. Although it was more than a little difficult to write with a jagged hunk of rock, I traced the shape of the leaf right beside the berry stain. I took the smallest, tiniest bit of the little berry that I could muster and waited.

In this way, I slowly documented all of the fruits and berries and tubers and vegetables I could find in the marsh. The stone was soon covered with notes and sketches and scrawls and diagrams and suddenly there was sense in the world. The world became a great machine, a huge mechanism made from tangled vines and roots, from delicate leaves and burbling water, from growth and life. I stood before my work, looked at the beautiful beginning of meaning in a world that was very suddenly mine. I ran my tongue over my berry stained teeth, stopped to suck a seed out from between my fangs. This was real. This was mine. I had language and power and knowledge! So much knowledge.

This was the first moment I did not miss her.

~~~~~

My very favorite thing to do was watch snails. It might sound silly-- like watching the water erode the very land away-- but something about their necessary decisiveness interested me. Most other animals appeared to me to be very twitchy and ridiculous, like the squirrels whom had run right over my claws in their panics, or the birds who spooked so easily. Snails moved slowly but purposefully, with their destination so clearly in mind. Nothing that slow could afford to guess where they needed to be. What wisdom they might hold.

My creativity blossomed as my materials grew scarce. Once I had thoroughly coated the stone from all sides and angles in my wild notes, I needed a new way to keep track of all that I discovered. I sharpened sticks into very nice points and pressed berries to make deep red ink, wrote my notes on leaves and soft, thin bark. This way I could keep my notes in a neat stack in the hole I had dug out for them under the rock. After some time, I discovered that feathers made even better writing tools, and so I invented the quill all on my own.

One of the greatest discoveries I made was tending trees. It was so easy to make a tree grow exactly the way you wanted it to. I planted seeds in a ring around the rock, trained the saplings to weave through each other, and created a real den. The saplings grew to solid trees, each single tree helping to form a solid structure which I grew to call home, all with the stone slab at the center.

There were so many things in the world to learn! So many things just in this little marsh to discover and name and track and explain. I felt a swelling, growing, bursting sense of purpose as I pressed further and further to fill out my growing library of notes. I felt as though this place was uniquely mine, and it made me indescribably happy.

~~~~~

Maybe it’s my own fault, but I guess I figured no one would ever find this place. It seemed right to me that I was here on my own, just me and the animals.

I remember a distinct feeling of wrongness late one night as I tried to drift off to sleep. I was starting to get rather large for sleeping under the rock, and the vines tickled my snout as I tried to sleep. It was here, just as I was starting to slip into the blissful sleep after an honest day’s work, that a gut-wrenching fear came upon me as suddenly as though I had been kicked in the chest. I dug my claws into the dirt almost instinctively and poked my face out of the vines. Nothing.

As suddenly as the fear had come, it sank away. Exhausted from this sharp dose of horror, I fell into a deep sleep at last.

The next morning, I awoke to an unfamiliar feeling. It was not horror or fear, but rather a nagging worry. A paranoia.

Someone else was here.

I was absolutely certain of it. Someone else had come here.

“Remember, Kundanika…”

Who was it? Who had found me?

While every bone in my body screamed to dart out of my den and go tearing through the trees, trying to find whatever threat had come into my territory, I gave myself a moment to steady my breathing and set out as calmly as I could muster.

Part of me followed my nose, but I think most of my search was so deeply ingrained in me that I didn’t need to smell. I could feel that there was someone here-- here, in my home, in my place, MINE-- and they needed to leave.

My feelings of aggression grew stronger and stronger the closer I came to the intruders. I could feel their presence, could feel the blood boiling in my veins.

There was a sound of slow, deep breathing. Two chests rising and falling. Sleeping. They’d come in here and fallen asleep, had kicked down the doors to my home and fallen asleep-- how dare they! What disrespect! What utter foolishness!

It did not occur to me at the time that my “territory” was unmarked, unclaimed, and unprotected at its borders. All I could feel was intense and endless burning rage.

My breathing hitched in my throat when I finally found them. The larger beast seemed like a deer, but with a third thick horn protruding from its head, upward-facing fangs, and an eerie green glow which seemed to ooze out of vents in its neck. Despite its size and the breathing so deep it could have been a steadily rolling growl, it seemed quite peaceful and harmless curled up and sleeping.

Tucked safely in the center of the creature’s curl was another little beast. It was a color I had never seen, except perhaps hidden in the hues of the berries I had crushed on the rock. Made almost entirely of webbing, it seemed, and wearing a doll-like scrap of fabric around its neck.

I tried to keep my breathing calm as I sized the two up. My controlled breaths started to become angry huffs as I looked at them.

As hard as I tried, I lost control then and there, leaping out of the bushes with all the energy I had tried to constrain, bellowing out a tremendous roar with the breath I had tried to control.

The pair of animals startled awake, the smaller thing shocked so badly in must have leapt several feet in the air, and the larger getting to its feet at an alarming speed. At that time, I barely stood taller than it, and its frame was much more menacing.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? Leave this place!” I screamed in the most imposing voice I could.

“J-Just calm down--” spoke the smaller creature. Its voice was rather silky and low for such a tiny thing.

I thudded my claw on the ground and the little creature pressed the fins on each side of its head down against its neck as close as it could.

“Leave!” I repeated, my voice faltering slightly.

“We don’t mean any trouble,” the small one said, its tone so even it was alien. “We needed a place to sleep. Is this the Viridian Labyrinth?”

The fins twitched inquisitively.

“I--” I stuttered. “This is-- This is my territory!”

“But… where are we?”

The big beast seemed to soften as I did, its stance becoming less and less terrifying.

I swallowed hard and looked between the two of the them, unable to muster a single word.

“I am Mair,” the little one said. “This is Deoward. We come from the Starwood Strand. We’re not here to cause trouble, we were only resting.”

“The Starwood…?” I trailed off.

The beast narrowed its eyes. “The Starwood Strand. On the Southeastern border of the Starfall Isles.” His voice was low and rough.

“I don’t--”

“Is there anyone else here?” Mair asked. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.” I answered. “It’s just me.”

“Would you mind if we stayed?” Mair said. “We have been looking for a place to live. Neither of us have a home right now, and we--”

“No!” I reacted, drawing back from these two intruders. “I mean… no.”

“Just for the day, then?” Mair pressed. “We’re really very tired, we’ve been travelling for a very long time.”

Despite Mair’s strangely toneless voice, I couldn’t help but feel that I could trust the little creature. I couldn’t for the life of me conjure up a reason that these two would lie to me.

“Well,” I said, and then I stopped.

“Yes?” Deoward prompted.

“Well, yes. Fine. The day,” I agreed. “But I don’t want any nonsense. And I don’t want to see the two of you. I want you to stay and rest and then you will leave tomorrow morning. I’ll know.”

And I turned and left, feeling like the absolute master of negotiations.

I was not.

#my lore #clan golden guardian #enjoy?#i guess?#hmu if you read this I'd love to know lol #fr #flight rising #fr lore #kundanika #mair #deoward

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indiegladiator · 8 years

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Indie Gladiator 2/15/17

Today was a super fun show! I hope the post-Valentine’s day rock block didn’t get you too down! A lot of new releases and so many shows coming up! Spring is going to be loaded! Stay tuned as always! Here’s the playlist!

Playlist:

Big Monsta – All In – Crooked Vol. II

Oyster Kids – Gum (Everybody’s My Friend) – Single

Fellow Bohemian – Surface Trick – Single

Decorator – Faces – Transit EP

Watch for Horses – Daydream – Maladaptive Daydream

***Night Talks – Black and Blue – In Dreams

***Greyface – Delilah – Greyola

The Gromble – Creepy Jr. – Jayus

***Bird Concerns – Nobody Wants to Be My Baby - Single

Babes – Lonely Forever – Untitled Five Tears

Nedelle Torrisi – Born to Love You – Advice from Paradise

Doom & Gloom – Keep Me – Single

***Gardeners Logic – Ruin – Single

***Greyface – Birds – Greyola

***Dear Boy – Cold Spell – Single

***Night Talks – Green – In Dreams

***Mac Demarco – This Old Dog – Single

***BOYO – Good as Gone

***New Mystics – Modern – Single

The Flusters – Lake St. – Extended Play No. 1

Kiev – Be Gone Dull Cage – Falling Bough Wisdom Teeth

#indiegladiator #KUCI 88.9FM #indie #socalrock #greyface #night talks

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dailybiblelessons · 7 years

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Thursday: Preparation for the Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Revised Common Lectionary Proper 16 Roman Catholic Proper 21

Complementary Hebrew Scripture: Ezekiel 28:11-19

Moreover the word of the Lord came to me: Mortal, raise a lamentation over the king of Tyre, and say to him, Thus says the Lord GOD: You were the signet of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God; every precious stone was your covering, carnelian, chrysolite, and moonstone, beryl, onyx, and jasper, sapphire, turquoise, and emerald; and worked in gold were your settings and your engravings. On the day that you were created they were prepared.

With an anointed cherub as guardian I placed you; you were on the holy mountain of God; you walked among the stones of fire. You were blameless in your ways from the day that you were created, until iniquity was found in you. In the abundance of your trade you were filled with violence, and you sinned; so I cast you as a profane thing from the mountain of God, and the guardian cherub drove you out from among the stones of fire. Your heart was proud because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor. I cast you to the ground; I exposed you before kings, to feast their eyes on you. By the multitude of your iniquities, in the unrighteousness of your trade, you profaned your sanctuaries. So I brought out fire from within you; it consumed you, and I turned you to ashes on the earth in the sight of all who saw you. All who know you among the peoples are appalled at you; you have come to a dreadful end and shall be no more forever.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture: Genesis 49:1-31

Then Jacob called his sons, and said: “Gather around, that I may tell you what will happen to you in days to come. Assemble and hear, O sons of Jacob; listen to Israel your father.

“Reuben, you are my firstborn, my might and the first fruits of my vigor, excelling in rank and excelling in power. Unstable as water, you shall no longer excel because you went up onto your father's bed; then you defiled it— you went up onto my couch!

“Simeon and Levi are brothers; weapons of violence are their swords. May I never come into their council; may I not be joined to their company—for in their anger they killed men, and at their whim they hamstrung oxen. Cursed be their anger, for it is fierce, and their wrath, for it is cruel! I will divide them in Jacob, and scatter them in Israel.

“Judah, your brothers shall praise you; your hand shall be on the neck of your enemies; your father's sons shall bow down before you. Judah is a lion's whelp; from the prey, my son, you have gone up. He crouches down, he stretches out like a lion, like a lioness–who dares rouse him up? The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler's staff from between his feet, until tribute comes to him; and the obedience of the peoples is his. Binding his foal to the vine and his donkey's colt to the choice vine, he washes his garments in wine and his robe in the blood of grapes; his eyes are darker than wine, and his teeth whiter than milk.

“Zebulun shall settle at the shore of the sea; he shall be a haven for ships, and his border shall be at Sidon.

“Issachar is a strong donkey, lying down between the sheepfolds; he saw that a resting place was good, and that the land was pleasant; so he bowed his shoulder to the burden, and became a slave at forced labor.

“Dan shall judge his people as one of the tribes of Israel. Dan shall be a snake by the roadside, a viper along the path, that bites the horse's heels so that its rider falls backward.

“I wait for your salvation, O Lord.

“Gad shall be raided by raiders, but he shall raid at their heels.

“Asher's food shall be rich, and he shall provide royal delicacies.

“Naphtali is a doe let loose that bears lovely fawns.

“Joseph is a fruitful bough, a fruitful bough by a spring; his branches run over the wall. The archers fiercely attacked him; they shot at him and pressed him hard. Yet his bow remained taut, and his arms were made agile by the hands of the Mighty One of Jacob, by the name of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel, by the God of your father, who will help you, by the Almighty who will bless you with blessings of heaven above, blessings of the deep that lies beneath, blessings of the breasts and of the womb. The blessings of your father are stronger than the blessings of the eternal mountains, the bounties of the everlasting hills; may they be on the head of Joseph, on the brow of him who was set apart from his brothers.

“Benjamin is a ravenous wolf, in the morning devouring the prey, and at evening dividing the spoil.”

All these are the twelve tribes of Israel, and this is what their father said to them when he blessed them, blessing each one of them with a suitable blessing.

Then he charged them, saying to them, “I am about to be gathered to my people. Bury me with my ancestors—in the cave in the field of Ephron the Hittite, in the cave in the field at Machpelah, near Mamre, in the land of Canaan, in the field that Abraham bought from Ephron the Hittite as a burial site. There Abraham and his wife Sarah were buried; there Isaac and his wife Rebekah were buried; and there I buried Leah—the field and the cave that is in it were purchased from the Hittites.” When Jacob ended his charge to his sons, he drew up his feet into the bed, breathed his last, and was gathered to his people.

Complementary Psalm 138

I give you thanks, O Lord, with my whole heart; before the gods I sing your praise; I bow down toward your holy temple and give thanks to your name for your steadfast love and your faithfulness; for you have exalted your name and your word above everything.

On the day I called, you answered me, you increased my strength of soul.

All the kings of the earth shall praise you, O Lord, for they have heard the words of your mouth. They shall sing of the ways of the Lord, for great is the glory of the Lord. For though the Lord is high, he regards the lowly; but the haughty he perceives from far away.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve me against the wrath of my enemies; you stretch out your hand, and your right hand delivers me.

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands.

Semi-continuous Psalm 124

If it had not been the Lord who was on our side— let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side, when our enemies attacked us, then they would have swallowed us up alive, when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away, the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone the raging waters.

Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth. We have escaped like a bird from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

New Testament Epistle Lesson: 1 Corinthians 6:1-11

When any of you has a grievance against another, do you dare to take it to court before the unrighteous, instead of taking it before the saints? Do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels—to say nothing of ordinary matters? If you have ordinary cases, then, do you appoint as judges those who have no standing in the church? I say this to your shame. Can it be that there is no one among you wise enough to decide between one believer and another, but a believer goes to court against a believer—and before unbelievers at that?

In fact, to have lawsuits at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded? But you yourselves wrong and defraud—and believers at that. Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived! Fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, male prostitutes, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers—none of these will inherit the kingdom of God. And this is what some of you used to be. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.

Year A Ordinary 21, RCL Proper 16, Catholic Proper 21 Thursday

Bible verses from The New Revised Standard Version, 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. Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright 1985 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Image Credit: Temple of Justice Courtroom, South Capitol, Olympia, Washington, image by Laura Kali, via Flickr. This image is used under the Creative Commons Share Attribution Share Alike 2.0 license.

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