#it’s his irish temper + the emotional inheritance from his mother

[lauwrite1225]

Broken Crown || Finan x OC || Chapter 14

Summary :  Since the day he has been enslaved, Finan never thought that he would have to face his origins. But when an old friend made her arrival to Wessex, the Irishman is forced to deal with his past.

Other chapters

English isn’t my first language, if you see any mistakes, tell me :)

Warning : fluff ??

14|| SCARS

The tavern was full of noises when the group decided to eat there. Ailis rarely went into alehouses, not that she disliked it, she simply had no time for this kind of entertainment, but she didn’t really feel the place was so different from the few she went to. It could be full of Danes, they were also just drunken men. The four warriors seemed pretty used to stepping into taverns, not that it was a surprise, but to her dismay, Rohan seemed also to be at his ease.

The boy was telling stories of his life in the monastery, and at Osferth’s reactions Ailis doubted he was talking prayers and old books.

“Like father, like son.” Uhtred commented, sitting next to Ailis as Rohan was excessively gesturing a fight, making laugh the bunch of men around him. “I can’t tell the same about my son.” He sighed, shrugging when Ailis turned her head to him.

“How’s your son?” She asked curiously.

“Definitely more pious than this one.” He laughed, pointing his cup to Rohan before taking a sip. “He doesn’t want the life of a warrior.”

A breathless laugh escaped Ailis lips as she leaned back in her chair. “Funny how some children do not want the life we raised them for.”

Uhtred silently nodded. “But maybe is it for the better?”

Ailis added nothing, taking in Uhtred’s words and thinking of how she never walked away from the path her father guided her in. And the few times she had to balance between her duty and what she desired, her duty had been heavier.

Suddenly, shouts grabbed both their attention. The Lady blathered a bunch of insults as she analyzed the situation. Rohan was back against the wall, his face pale as a ghost, a hand keeping him in place by the collar. Ailis’ eyes traveled along the arm until she recognized Thorvard’s son. She didn’t even see him walking in, but his face was red with anger, and she wondered if it was only Rohan’s doing. Finan was between the two, his hands raised in a sign of peace as she made her way into the small crowd growing.

“What’s the problem?” She asked the Dane but he was too focused on Rohan.

“Rohan’s poured ale on him.” Sihtric answered.

Ailis swore again under her breath while Rohan was stammering excuses, but the ale wasn’t helping. Finan grabbed Thorvard’s son’s wrist, his eyes falling on the Irishman, not an ounce of anger fading.

“He said he was sorry.” Finan articulated.

The Dane studied Finan a moment before slowly removing his fingers one by one from Rohan’s tunic. Finan did the same and as soon as Thorvard’s son was free, he spat to the boy’s face.

“Irish shit.” He grumbled before stepping away.

The tension was still heavy in the tavern as Rohan loudly exhaled, wiping his face with his sleeve. His father grabbed him by the shoulder and quickly dragged him outside, making it impossible for Ailis to hear the few words he told him.

“Only this set him off?” Uhtred, coming just behind her, asked his men.

“He seemed pretty upset when he walked him, Lord.” Osferth answered, his smile digging only one of his cheeks.

Ailis had to admit it, Thorvard had the size and strength of a bear, but he was as cunning as a fox and his son didn’t seem to have inherited it. The boy had an ego and a visible hate toward the Irish and couldn’t hide it. That was a kind of enemy she appreciated to have, more predictable.

“Let’s try to avoid another accident.” She concluded, walking out of the tavern.

The rest of the night went peacefully. The group spent the night in another tavern, quite miserable, but at least no one came to disturb them. In the morning, Thorvard made them fetch to discuss. When they arrived, a table with food was waiting for them and the Dane invited them to sit.

“I’ve heard there’s been troubles with my son.” Thorvard said before biting into a chicken’s leg. Rohan, sitting next to his father, bowed his head. In the corner of the room, Ailis noticed the grinning face of Thorvard’s son. She quickly glanced at Finan, and as much as her, he seemed to be on his guard, fearing what would follow. “My son, Orri, claims that you spilled your ale on him.”

The young monk lifted his head, livid as he fixed Thorvard’s finger pointed to him. Ailis' heart started to race faster as the Dane stood up, her muscles tensed, ready to fight.

“It… It was an accident, my Lord.” Rohan stammered, melting on his chair the closer Thorvard was from him. Orri’s teeth were all visible now, no doubt proud to have his little vengeance from yesterday. “I excused myself!” Rohan exclaimed.

And suddenly, Thorvard burst into laughter, taking everyone by surprise. His laugh was loud and terrific, like straight out of hell. The poor boy didn’t know what to do anymore, his eyes still wide opened as he stared at Thorvard. From the corner of her sight, Ailis noticed how Orri’s smile fell, his jaw twitching.

“That’s the risk when you enter a tavern, son. You’re not a child, your mother won’t scold you for a stain on your tunic.” He mocked as his son’s face was taking the color it had last night. Orri left the room furiously, his fists tightened. “She’s dead anyway.” Thorvard at the attention of his man with an amused smile.

Ailis frowned, for what purpose was he humiliating his son like this? Orri was a nervous young man, subject to easily lose his temper. Maybe was he doing that to teach him serenity? Her question remained on hold, Thorvard taking back his place and pouring himself more ale.

“Maybe we could talk of the peace, now?” Proposed Uhtred with his usual ease. The Dane Slayer could claim he had no interest in politics but he was undoubtedly good at it. “Have you thought about it?”

“I have.” He said. A long minute passed before he dared to answer. “I’m going to accept.” He finally declared and Ailis had to keep herself from loudly exhaling in relief.

“You’ll have to meet King Conall, to sign the peace then.” Ailis explained, leaning forward. “In two weeks? At Droma Móir.” She proposed and by the way Thorvard looked at her, she understood he had no idea where it was. “It’s a church.”

The Dane grinned like the devil himself. “I love churches.”

They left Annagassan during the afternoon, not without Rohan expressing his joy to finally leave that place, and Ailis hoped that this little adventure would keep him from running away, at least for a time. She was also glad, the war was coming to an end and she couldn’t help but dream of the calm days that were waiting for her. But as her mind was relieved by one of her concerns, another grew.

Finan.

She found it annoying how her thoughts seemed to always remind her of his presence. How in a single gaze, a fire was building in her chest. A few nights ago, she let the flames consume her, and God, how right it felt. The feel of his lips on hers made her forget everything. But she had been abruptly brought back to reality, when his calloused hands touched the scar in her neck and it reminded her of what happened the last time she let her emotions guide her.

She just had to resist a little longer, and then he’d be gone. He’d be just a ghost again.

One night, they established their camp near a river. Only one more day of riding was separating from Navan Fort.

“I’ve never missed a bed so much.” Rohan exhaled as he dropped wood for the fire.

“That’s a part of a warrior’s life.” Ailis replied with an easy smile.

After the anger she felt when he arrived, she was feeling some kind of pride. Rohan may still be naïve about the complexity of the world they were leaving in, but during the past few days, he tried his best to make himself useful. She knew he wanted to prove himself to her, and probably to Finan too. But it would change nothing, for his own safety, he had to stay in the monastery.

Ailis walked to the river, wishing to fill her flask, but when she reached the shore she froze. Finan was already crouched near the water, splashing his face with it. She gasped at the vision of his bare back, her breath stuck in her throat. His skin was slashed by pink and white scars, running from his shoulders to his lower back. There were so many, crossing each others, she wasn’t sure she could even count them. These were no battle’s scars, she struggled to swallow when she realized what had created them.

Finan must have heard her because he looked above his shoulder and immediately stood up when he saw her. Her eyes briefly traveled on his chest, glad to see only a few scars on his skin. They stared at each other for a moment, Finan probably expecting her to say she was sorry for him for the pain he had to endure, but Ailis' mouth remained slightly opened and no word came out. He finally stepped aside to grab his tunic and put it again and as he started to walk away, she took his arms. She felt his muscles tense under her hand and slowly, she removed it as he looked back to her.

“The scars on your back? They are from the slave ship?” She asked him, even though she perfectly knew the answer.

“We all have scars.” He answered, looking down to what remained of the cut in her neck.

She turned her head, her heart aching as she touched the scar with her fingers. After what happened, she felt like he deserved to know the story, but the words were knotting her throat and she found it hard to speak.

“It was my fiancé.” She finally quickly said, as if Finan would forget as fast and just leave her. But he didn’t and his eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowing in incomprehension. Ailis took another shaky breath before speaking again, feeling tears threatening to flow her eyes. “He was one of the personal guards of a Lord. This Lord was planning to kill Conall, so I had to kill him first. I entered the Lord’s apartments in the middle of the night.” She stopped a moment, her voice trembling. “One of the guards caught me and brought a knife under my throat. I fought back without more thinking and stabbed him. When I turned back, we both realized who the other was.” Ailis eyes were now filled with tears. She had never talked about it out loud, and she felt as no word could ever express how much guilt remained on her shoulders. “He died, in front of me, his face torn by pain and surprise.”

 Finan didn’t move as he listened to her. She had no idea of what reaction she should expect, after all, she had killed the man she loved. But his face was showing nothing, or maybe was it just deception? The simple idea of it made her heart squeeze. She whipped her tears with the back of her hand and started to walk away. But Finan’s voice stopped her.

“How many will you sacrifice for Conall?” He almost shouted. She turned around and now there was sadness and compassion in his eyes, because he knew what it was to lose someone you love. “How many people you love are you gonna sacrifice?” He said more softly.

Ailis thought her heart had just stopped. Finan’s question was revealing the truth. How many times did she have to put her feelings aside to follow her duty? Through the years it became a habit, something she had to do without thinking. But since Finan came back into her life, he seemed to put disorder in her mind and she was unable to rearrange everything or just ignore it.  

His words couldn’t have been more right, and she knew he was implying himself in them. She loved him. She loved the man he had become and cherished the small part of him that remained of the boy she had known. And she was about to put everything aside for the sake of her duty to Conall. It had never been so hard before, but she had to, because Finan would leave after the peace would have been signed and she would have to stay in Ulaid.

She blinked a few times as Finan stepped forward. “I don’t know.” She answered and he stopped to walk.

And this time, it was indeed deception she read on his face.

 …

 “That is good news.” Conall smiled as he crossed his fingers and let them rest on his stomach, leaning back on his chair. “Very good news.”

Ailis was standing at the other side of the table. She was glad to see Conall pleased by the peace that Thorvard accepted.

“It is. We have to leave in two days, to conclude the peace in Droma Móir.” She said.

Conall waved his hand. “I let you take care of that.”

Ailis gently smiled, but her thoughts weren’t as kind. As if she hadn’t taken care of everything since he had sent her to Wessex. She walked out of the room, anger running through her veins.

They had arrived just an hour ago and the sun was already setting. She found the warmth of her bed, but nothing could ease the sudden wrath she felt toward Conall. And the following day, as she organized their new journey, she remembered Finan’s words. They were haunting her, teasing her anger. At the end of the day, sitting on the edge of her bed, her face hidden in her hands, she felt like she would explode. But she understood she wasn’t only mad at her King, but also at herself, because Finan was right. She had sacrificed too much for Conall.

A/N : So sorry it took so much time to post again ! But i needed a break to clear my ideas for this story, and now I can’t wait to write what is following ehehe.

Tag: @geekandbooknerd @sihtric @queen-manning @naihqh @kelly-fasel @cloudjuumpers​ @limenal​ @amyyreblogss​ @othermoony @obipoelover and @queerbroceliande​

[greermarch-a]

TASK 001. → statistics.

Greer Josefin March

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Greer Josefin March

Nickname(s): Her father called her Gee until he passed away. Another nickname from her childhood was GiGi. Payton couldn’t seem to pronounce Greer, and upon hearing their father’s nickname, a new one was created. 

Age: 30

Date of Birth: March 27, 1990

Hometown: Boston, MA → Beacon Hill

Current Location: Mystic, CT

Ethnicity: Swedish, Finnish

Nationality: American

Gender: Cisgender Female

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Orientation: Biromantic/Bisexual

Religion: Catholic → Her father’s parents passed, and he was adopted and raised in a very stereotypical Irish Catholic Boston family. This was passed onto Greer and her siblings. She struggles with her faith due to the extreme problems she sees in the Catholic Church, but she continues to practice due to her father.

Political Affiliation: Democrat

Occupation: Author ( aspiring ), Bookseller @ Hailey’s Comet, Adjunct Professor in Creative Writing & Literature @ Mystic Community College

Living Arrangements: A small house that she has now started to renovate near the coast and outskirts of town. Much of the inheritance she received has been allocated to her home. The home looks something like this.

Language(s) Spoken: Fluent in English; Conversational French, Italian & Swedish. Her father taught her just about everything she knows, and with all of his international traveling with business ( and her frequent attendance on those trips ) in combination with her traveling while abroad, she picked them up quite easily. Her grammar is horrid, but she’s very good about getting her point across for the most part.

Accent: General Northeastern American accent. Her Bostonian accent faded while abroad. Her accent is something similar to this. ( This is just for her tone & for fun. )

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Face Claim: Alicia Vikander

Hair Colour: Naturally dark brown, currently dyed like this

Eye Colour: Brown ( x )

Height: 5′6′′

Weight: 120 lbs

Build: athletic, toned

Tattoos: One small, minimalist tattoo of Virginia Woolf on the back of her left bicep. ( x ) Another tattoo on her ribcage of “so it goes” from Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five that she got a week after her father’s passing. ( x )

Piercings: One piercing in each ear ( x )

Clothing Style: Very neutral tones, comfy clothes, very casual business casual for work and everyday, but more casual on her off-days and at home. ( x )

Usual Expression: Soft smile queen, her expression is usually light but attentive ( x )

Distinguishing Characteristics: bright laugh and smile, olive skin tone, brown eyes, defined jawline, small dimples when she smiles.

HEALTH.

Physical Ailments: N/A

Neurological Conditions: Generalized Anxiety Disorder; she was diagnosed her junior year of high school.

Allergies: N/A

Sleeping Habits: Greer tends to get 5-6 hours on a bad night and 7-8 hours on a normal night. She is more of a morning person, as she loves being able to wake up early, go for a run, and then write or get work done in the quiet morning ( 5 AM when she will typically wake up ). This can shift based off of her work load for the week and/or her muse for any writing she has been working on.

Eating Habits: Greer eats extremely clean and healthy. With all the working out she does to keep her energy and anxiety manageable, she will eat high protein diets full of grains, dark leafy greens, and proteins like beans, eggs, and organic seafood or white meat ( though she tends to not eat much meat for environmental purposes ). Her frequency is typically 3 full meals a day with two snacks in between the breakfast and lunch and then lunch and dinner. She will not eat any red meat.

Exercise Habits: She goes for runs and/or kick boxes six days a week, and she will do yoga on her off/rest day.

Emotional Stability: On the outside she is at about a 6. She’s rather impulsive and hotheaded, but she’s gotten much better about hiding it. When her anxiety is bad, this stability decreases. On the inside, it’s at about a 4. A lot of the things that she will not allow herself to express fully and externally manifests itself internally for her in stomach aches, headaches, and sleep loss.

Sociability: Greer is an introvert, but that being said, she is very outgoing and bubbly. She really values her social times with small groups of people she is comfortable and close too, and she needs it, but if it’s too much time spent in a day, she’s not able to get any alone time between waking up and sleeping in, or she is in large groups of people she doesn’t know well, her ability to socialize decreases.

Body Temperature: She’s like a little furnace. 

Addictions: N/A

Drug Use: Light marijuana usage when she was younger.

Alcohol Use: Social drinker, usually will drink about 2-3 times a week, but she will typically not have more than two drinks ( 4 if it’s a party typically ). Her drink of choice is typically an IPA, but she enjoys dry red and white wine.

PERSONALITY.

Label: The Bibliophile

Positive Traits: spirited, adventurous, outgoing, passionate, independent

Negative Traits: unorganized, hot-headed, impulsive, nervous, overemotional

Goals/Desires: Her ultimate career goal is to write a book ( likely realistic fiction ) that is able to touch a diverse range of readers. Her personal desires are to reconnect with her younger sibling Payton, find a home that feels like home, and find friends and loved ones that feel like home. Her romantic side wants a passionate and gentle lover and life partner as well, though this is not as high on her list.

Fears: Enclosed spaces, Not being loved, Being cheated on, Never creating a legacy of some sort that inspires people (e.g., a book, career)

Hobbies: reading, running, kick boxing, home improvement, hiking

Habits: running fingers through hair, rambling, licking lips, fidgets constantly

FAVOURITES.

Weather: Warm and sunny but cool enough to wear a sweatshirt ( aka perfect running weather )

Colour: Burgundy

Music: Primarily alternative indie rock and rnb. She loves stereotypical w|w alt rock bands and singers such as Phoebe Bridgers, Soccer Mommy ( Wildflowers was a huge inspiration while writing her ), The Japanese House, etc. Her father was extremely into artists like Stevie Wonder, Womack & Womack, and Prince, so she also very much enjoys rnb artists both new ( think Snoh Aalegra, Rihanna, Blood Orange ) and old. See examples here.

Movies: Book adaptations, period dramas, romantic comedies

Sport: Basketball

Beverage: Tea with honey or coffee (black) with cinnamon for hot drinks. Otherwise, lemonade with mint.

Food: fresh fruit ( especially berries )

Animal: otters ( she loves the photos of them holding hands when they sleep )

FAMILY.

Father: Joseph March, deceased., former CEO and founder of March Enterprise.

Mother: Josefin Nyburg March, 65 years old, current CEO of March Enterprise

Sibling(s): Joseph II March, 33 years old; Payton March, 26 years old

Children: N/A

Pet(s): N/A

Family’s Financial Status: Upper-Class ( Corporate Elite )

EXTRA.

Zodiac Sign: Aries Sun; at their best, adventurous and energetic, pioneering and courageous, enthusiastic and confident, dynamic and quick-witted. At their worst, selfish and quick-tempered, impulsive and impatient, foolhardy and daredevil. Pisces Rising. Aries Moon.

MBTI: INFP-T (The Mediator): Strengths — Idealistic, Seek and Value Harmony, Open-minded and Flexible, Passionate and Energetic, Dedicated and Hard-working. Weaknesses — Too Idealistic, Too Altruistic, Impractical, Dislike Dealing with Data, Take Things Personally, Difficult to Get to Know.

Enneagram: Four/The Individualist. Fours want to be unique and to live life authentically, and are highly attuned to their emotional experience. ( Eight & Seven are close 2nd and 3rd in that order. )

Temperament: Sanguine.

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Primary Vice: Pride

Primary Virtue: Diligence 

Element: Fire

[lookbluesoup]

I want to know more about Nate's parents

Hey mouse! :D Soooo sorry for how late this reply is! Thank you very much for the ask!

Just a heads up, mentions of child abuse and alcoholism to follow D; Also a disclaimer that this is just a collection of lore I’ve written for Nate, and none of it is meant as an attack towards people of any faith/party/culture. Nate has a complicated view of his childhood. There are some firsthand inspirations mixed into his backstory, and they’re here as a way for me to explore those personal experiences in a safe context.

Nate’s father, Cato Ronan, (named after the Cato Letters and Cato the Younger) was an Irish-American army chaplain, black haired and blue eyed, devoutly Baptist. When sober, he was zealous and full of religious fervor. An excellent speaker, with an uncanny quantity of Bible verses memorized, ready and willing to debate or dispense advice. He was a proud man, patriotic, and for all outward appearances a model member of society worthy of the neighborhood’s esteem. When sober.

Money was tight, but whenever there was extra (and sometimes when there wasn’t), Cato fed his other religion, alcohol. Under its influence he could be neglectful and even violent.

Gender roles were fixed, homosexuality was impermissible, and even dancing was considered a sin in the Ronan household. Cato would often scold Nate for ‘sissy’ tendencies, things like sewing, crying, and cooking. He tried all manner of ways to coerce his son to ‘toughen up’, including forcing 10yo Nate to shoot a squirrel, ridicule, and even beating Nate over particular offenses.

Nate learned several lessons from these punishments - thought not the ones Cato was trying to teach. Firstly, not to show vulnerability in front of his father - or anyone like Cato, for that matter. Nate continued dancing, he continued sewing, and became more and more comfortable as a solitary wanderer during his free time - only allowing himself to cry and comes to terms with difficult emotions privately.

Then defiance. Cato’s physical punishments over things Nate didn’t even think he should be punished for eventually escalated to a beating where Nate was left with multiple massive, painful bruises - and still refused to cry, apologize, or show any remorse at all for the misbehavior. At that point, Cato finally realized no manner of physical roughness would get Nate to submit, and the beatings stopped. Cato never struck Nate physically again. He continues to be stubbornly resistant toward any perceived misuse of authority, and Nate can take a punch if nothing else.

Most of all Nate learned compassion. One of the biggest reasons Nate is so incredibly patient and tolerant, why he will only instigate fights in specific situations, and why he ends up feeling absolutely awful if he does lose his temper, is because of the havoc Cato’s own aggression wreaked on Nate’s home. He was always a soft soul, but Nate particularly does not want to be like his father.

Nate does not consider his father abusive. Though if he saw another parent treating their child in a similar manner, Nate would be up in arms. He’s idealized a bit of his childhood, glossing over the worst parts and making excuses for them because - for all their troubles, Nate loved Cato. If asked, Nate will say that Cato was “strict”, and enjoyed drinking too much. That’s generally as far as his criticism will go.

Cato was proud of Nate’s military service, living to see him make Sergeant, but not long after passed away due to complications from his drinking. Nate mourned him, but does not miss his father.

Nate’s mother, Adlevia Ronan, was stocky, strong woman of primarily Cherokee descent. She was devoted to the idea of a traditional family home, and very loyal to that ideal. She was also tolerant of Cato’s vices, and did not challenge him in public settings. Not even around Nate.

In private, she allowed and even encouraged Nate to help her with house work, she would let him bring frogs inside, and never scolded him for crying. Nate was very close to and protective of his mother.

Adlevia was also very proud, though keenly aware of how poor they were. In a way this also became a matter of pride for her - they lived down to earth, simply. She made most of their clothes herself. Cleanliness was one thing lack of money could not take away, and she instilled this value in Nate early on as well - hence his continued insistence on minute things like keeping his hair cut and his pants creased, even after the War.

She had an excellent sense of humor and a gentler hand that Nate responded well to, inherited from her own father - who Nate was also very close with. While he still has a lot of gaps in knowledge regarding his Cherokee ancestry, she gave Nate a pride in his mixed heritage, and offered a sense of stability and perseverance that Nate needed growing up.

She passed away not long after Cato, and Nate still misses her terribly sometimes.

[visualsymphony]

June 9

9. Tell us about your parents. In what ways are you exactly like them? In what ways are you the opposite?

My father is deceased. He lived hard, played hard and died young.  To me he was an iconic person, and most of our dads probably are.  He worked hard his entire adult life.  He grew up a wealthy 'spoiled little rich boy' as my mother recalls it... and he thought he was hot shit.  Til she set him straight, as he used to tell it. She was the first and only girl who ever rejected him, and he had to fight and work for her respect and attention, and once once he got it, he had it for life.

My father was a real jack of all trades. I can't even count to you how many different jobs he held, simply because he was always wanting to try new things, learn new things, and always worked hard to support his family.  His jobs ranged from making furniture, to being in a rock band, to building ships in a shipyard, to being a stuntman, an ice cream truck driver (Til Mum ate all the banana popsicles and he got fired), a race car driver, a fire chief, a mechanic, a truck driver and finally in his last years, he worked with the mentally impaired, probably his favourite of all the jobs he'd ever done.

He died too young in a very unexpected and violent way due to his own bad habits of drinking and smoking.  

I'm told I am a lot like him. My smart ass sense of humour.  My one liners and my quips.  My love of music, guitar and singing.  He even wrote poetry. He had a strong work ethic, and so do I.  He rarely missed a day of work. 

When in love, he was a romantic fool-- spoiling her rotten and treating her like a queen.  For his kids he'd do almost anything,and for his grandchildren he would do absolutely anything. His world was his children and their children.  The truth can be said similarly for me, in a lot of ways, though I admit I don't center my entire life around mine as the older they get, I recognise they have to have their own lives and their own space, so that I too can have mine. I also have the leadership skills, and tendencies my father had.  He was always a leader, a role model and someone others looked up to and respected. He wasn't always the boss, but even management and 'the bosses' came to him for advice and respected his opinion. He fought for the working man, the underdog and the underprivileged. He got involved in his community, his union and his government both local and state. I think I got the best of my father's traits, but I also got a few of the worst.   He had a horrible temper. Irish/ English with a lot more of the Irish side coming through... hot headed and a quick fuse. I used to have the same.  I've learned as he did in growing older how to temper the fire.  He sat me down once when I was about 17 and we had a serious heart to heart about rage, and temper and consequences.     I also got his restless spirit, which isn't necessarily a bad trait, but it makes for some unsettled feelings sometimes. I've no doubt my wanderlust is inherited.

From my mother I got the steadfast, middle of the road, mediator. She was always the one to mediate things when there was conflict.  I often find myself in that position.  My mother is very private and internalises a lot of her emotions as do I.  She's American with Native American blood running through her strong, and that grounding, down to earth part of her is something I am glad to have inherited. She is a very spiritual woman, and I for not being religious can say that I am very spiritual and open to much more spiritually than people realise.  (Ask me how she convinced me she could make it rain sometime).

She also has the ability to distance... to go ice or so it seems. It is a self defense mechanism. I am much the same. But like her the ice is only on the outside, to hide the fire inside...

I am very much a blend of my parents. I try to take what I can learn from them and also go my own directions and my own way too, but that is also something they taught me to do.  They were strong in their belief of letting their children discover their own way and I am also this way with my own kids.  My mother has my back even when she doesn’t agree with me, and both my parents love/d unconditionally.  I never doubted once in my life that I have been loved by either of them. 

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Strong Man Bookends

Bible Study of Galatians 5:22-23 God's Word First

A lovely house shaped shelf, a display shelf made of pine wood. Painted grey or white and very strong. 2 strong keyhole hooks are fixed at the back for hanging. Choose your colour for your room. Can be painted by you in any colour. Can change your child's room or any other space and doubles for some of the nicer ornaments. Modern genetic analysis has revealed genetic differentiation across the south of Britain and Ireland. This structure demonstrates the impact of hegemonies and migrations from the histories of Britain and Ireland. How this structure compares to the north of Britain, Scotland, and its surrounding Isles is less clear. We present genomic analysis of 2,544 British and Irish, including previously.

When you are born again you receive the Gift of Holy Spirit; you become a new creation, a new man, because a spiritual seed is placed inside you. When cultivated and grown this seed blossoms into a tree that bears spiritual fruit.

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The amount of fruit you bear is dependant on how much you tend to the seed and grow it.. meaning, how close you are to God and how much you are doing His word. This fruit manifests itself in the following ways:

Galatians 5:22-23 “But the fruit of the spirit is Love, Joy, Peace, Longsuffering, Gentleness, Goodness, Faith, Meekness and Temperance; against such there is no law.”

Fruit of the Spirit

Let’s get to know each manifestation of the fruit of the spirit in better detail. Depending on how many of these manifest and at what level of activity or intensity will show you how close to God a person is.

Love:

The primary key to everything. Along with temperance (self-control), love is a bookend that helps hold the other fruit in place. It is a love that surpasses human understanding and causes a person to be filled with the fullness of God (Ephesians 3:18-19). Its divine characteristics are detailed in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. 'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails'.

Joy:

Mac terminal restart command. The emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying. Joy gives spiritual strength. Heb 12:2 says, 'Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God'.

Peace:

Primarily, peace with God. When we are sinners doing the works of the flesh, we are rebels against God. When our rebellion ends and we are forgiven, then we are at peace. This kind of peace doesn't come through laying around on vacation, entertainment, drugs, alcohol, sex or wealth. The spiritual fruit of peace results from being justified by faith. Romans 5:1 says, 'Therefore, since we have been justified (made right; declared innocent or guiltless) through faith (in what Christ accomplished for us on the cross), we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ'. We must learn to maintain peace in three important relationships:

With God,

With our fellow man,

And with ourselves.

We maintain peace with God by believing and trusting Him and by not sinning. We maintain peace with our fellow man by not allowing strife to be a part of our relationships with other people. We maintain peace with ourselves by being happy with who we are and by refusing to live in self loathing, guilt, or condemnation.

Longsuffering:

Long and patient endurance of injury, trouble, or provocation. Like when someone angers you or picks on you. But then you just let it go and you maintain your self control. Longsuffering is love on trial. It enables you to be emotionally strong and forgive others. Colossians 3:13 says, “Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.”

Gentleness:

Being moderate, kind; the absence of harshness or severity. The Apostle Paul illustrates gentleness by the example of a mother feeding her babies (I Thessalonians 2:7).

Strong Man Bookends Clip Art

Goodness:

Moral excellence; virtue. God is the ultimate example of goodness. Goodness is holiness put into practice and results from knowing God. Goodness enables you to do good to those who hate you (Luke 6:27) as well as those of the household of faith (Galatians 6:10). It is the goodness and grace of God that leads people to repentance. That's why we need to be good to people. Our witness won't have any power unless we are kind to others. We are called to be light in a dark world, and we must make up our minds that we are going to shine!

Faith:

A better translation is 'faithfulness', the act of being faithful. Doing what you say you are going to do. Being known as someone people can trust because you are reliable. Webster's Dictionary defines faithful as 'maintaining allegiance; constant; loyal; marked by or showing a strong sense of duty or responsibility; conscientious; accurate; reliable; exact.

Strong Man Bookends Images

Meekness:

Humble and patient. Meekness is not being mousy or weak, but rather a servant-like submission to God and others in your care. Your spirit is free from rebellion and pride. Meekness or humility is defined as 'freedom from pride and arrogance; modest estimation of our own worth.' Humility or meekness is the opposite of pride. The Bible says in I Peter 5:5 that God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble. And Psalms 37:11 plainly states that “the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace.”

Temperance:

Strong Man Bookends Pictures

Self-control; Moderation or self-restraint in action or statement; It is control over your entire being (body, soul and spirit). A person who has self-control is mild and calm, avoids extreme behavior, and exercises self-restraint in both actions and speech. After all, temperance and love are the bookends that hold all the other fruit in place.

Bottomline

Strong Man Bookends Cartoon

So now you know what exactly Jesus meant when he said in Matthew 7:20, “Wherefore by their fruits you shall know them.”

[idornaseminary]

Chapter One-Hundred Seventeen: Beatrice/Calix

“You sure your friend is coming today?” Lanuola shouted from the kitchen’s large open window looking out at the backyard where Beatrice sat in the white knit hammock, waiting. 

“Yes, tina!” The younger witch called back over her shoulder, causing the soft cotton swing to jolt back into motion. She looked down at her watch, a small nervous smirk playing on her lips as she watched her otter tattoo circle her forearm, flicking its tail back and forth with each second that passed, making her wonder where in the world Calix was. Yes, international apparition was difficult, but she gave him a picture of her single-story pale blue house with a white steel roof to help him focus. Tugging on her black and gold high waisted tie-die shorts for about the hundredth time, she huffed impatiently watching the sun kiss the horizon and start to slip below the ocean, staining the sky with blood orange beams of light, glimmers of gold radiating off the churning waves.

Maybe I should go get him. Side along apparition is so much easier…

“You look handsome,” Cassandra said, leaning against the wooden doorframe, “When did you grow up so quickly, huh? I can still remember you being my annoying little brother, drooling on the carpet.”

“When’s the last time I drooled on the carpet?” Calix chuckled, tightening the leather strap of his watch around his wrist. The metal hands ticked incessantly, every little click a jarring reminder that he was late. His mother had kept him longer than he had hoped.

“I don’t know, Cal,” Cassandra scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and gently smoothing unnoticeable creases in his snow-white shirt, the light fabric coarse against his raised gooseflesh, the Irish winter leaching the warmth from his bones. “Just let me have my moment, okay? I can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

“I know,” Calix stressed, grabbing his small briefcase, meticulously packed with essentials for the trip by his sister the night before, “But, I’ve got to go! I’m late, so very late.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, “Have you got everything?”

“Yeah, I do. Where’s Ryker?”

“I’m here,” his brother called out, the heavy sound of his footsteps on the wooden floorboards echoing through the house as he ran into the room, still chewing his dinner. “I’m here. Are you off?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Calix said, ruffling his brother’s messy mop of curls, “I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?”

Ryker nodded, batting at Calix’s hand and stepping close for a quick goodbye hug: “Yeah. You better come back though, or I’ll come out there and get you.” He reluctantly let go as Cassandra dragged him away by the tail of his shirt, a heart-breaking pout on his lips as he dug his heels into the floorboards.

“I won’t be long,” Calix said, “I promise.”

He looked down at the picture in his hand, imagined the eclectic house, the blue paint bright in the sunshine, the salty smell of the rising tide, the crashing waves of white foam and the warmth of the sun on his light skin. He closed his eyes, the air popping around him and the sound of his sibling’s goodbye replaced by the roar of the ocean and the call of gulls overhead.

Beatrice grinned and hopped up, the hem of her neatly tucked in black scoop neck tank top sliding up with the sudden motion as she jogged down the steps of the back porch over to where her boyfriend stood staring at the house, her loose beachy curls bouncing with each step. “Cal!” She bit her lip, tempted to try running and jumping into his arms though she knew it was probably a bad idea as she instead wrapped him in a tight hug, the sun quickly slipping below the warm waves making his silhouette radiant.

Calix opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a huge smile as he dropped his briefcase onto the soft sand and lifted Beatrice into his arms. He spun and twirled, planting a sweet kiss on Beatrice’s forehead when he placed her back down, a golden, sun-kissed glow to her revitalised skin.

“I missed you too, my love. Even if it’s only been a day or two.”

She squealed happily and stood up on her tiptoes, leaning up for a soft, chaste kiss when she heard somebody scream from the house. Beatrice chuckled and rolled her eyes, drawing back as she saw Keise standing on the porch, hands on her hips as she stared at them. “Who the hell is that?” her younger sister shouted, her long wavy hair blowing in the breeze like a black cloud of doom. “So I guess it might be a bit redundant to ask you if you’re ready to meet my family?” Beatrice whispered with a giggle, lacing their fingers together as her wrathful sister approached.

Calix looked over Beatrice’s shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing and his rough fingers tightening, as the choleric shouts of a younger girl cut through the serenity of the beach, the gentle and rhythmic lull of the swelling waves shattered by an emotion Calix could not place. He had only just arrived and already someone was shouting at him.

Bollocks, what did I do, now? She did tell them I was coming, didn’t she? Please don’t tell me we did it again!

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” Calix whispered, looking nervously into Beatrice’s eyes, “She looks kinda mad?”

“Don’t worry. She’s all bark, no bite,” Beatrice said a little louder, turning towards her sister who approached, arms crossed over her chest. “Keise, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Calix. Calix, this is my half-sister, Keise,” she said politely, gesturing between the two of them. “Sister? Are you sure about that?” Keise spat, her eyes narrowed at the man now in front of her. “Cause I’m pretty sure that sisters tell each other when they break up with their old boyfriends and rebound.” Beatrice rolled her eyes and ran her long, tan fingers through her hair, trying very hard to remain pleasant. “Kiki, Cedwyn and I broke up a long, long time ago. You were in your third year at Ilvermorny, remember?” she asked, burying her toes in the warm, soft sand below her feet. Does she have to be so freaking dramatic all the time? “And I knew you were going to react like this, so I figured you should meet him before you decide that he’s evil inherent or whatever.” “I don’t think he’s evil,” she said, nose wrinkling in anger as she looked from her sister to her boyfriend, trying to offer him a polite smile, it coming across more placating than anything. “I don’t think you’re evil. I just don’t know if you’re right for Bea,” Keise sat flatly, shrugging her shoulders a little.

Calix watched the whole conversation distantly, his hand gripping Beatrice’s tighter, tracing his thumb over her knuckles, and his free hand plunging into the depths of his trouser pocket. He felt like an alien observer, like an outsider watching the world talk about him in ways he simply did not understand, references to people he didn’t know. His fingers found a piece of friable tissue in the abyss of his pocket, a survivor of washing, and absentmindedly played with it in an attempt to distract himself from Keise’s outburst and Beatrice’s growing annoyance.

“Em, not right for her?” Calix said softly, looking down at his girlfriend, “What do you mean ‘not right for her?’”

Beatrice turned slightly and looked up at him, her mouth hanging agape as her sister’s words finally registered with her. “Oh, Cal,” she whispered, finding it difficult to swallow as she tried to figure out the right words to ameliorate the situation. “I….” “Okay, Kiki, that’s enough from you,” Mahana said, sneaking up on the trio stood at the rising water’s edge. He scooped his youngest daughter up and slung her over his broad, tattoo-covered tanned shoulder, a smile slipping onto his lips as she screeched with surprise and tried kicking and hitting to make him let her down. “Don’t mind what she says. She and what’s his face were pretty good friends. I’m Mahana. Please, don’t call me ‘mister’ or ‘sir’ or whatever. Just Mahana or ‘hey dude,’” he said, holding out his thick, meaty hand for Calix to shake, ignoring his daughter’s temper tantrum.

Calix started wide-eyed at the giant, who moved with an impossible quietude and who hoisted Beatrice’s sister into the air like she weighed nothing more than a downy gull-feather, a grain of sand ripped lifted by the surging sea. His massive, outstretched hand eclipsed Calix’s, which was dotted with white specks of tissue that clung to the skin of his fingertips. He strongly shook Mahana’s hand, resisting the inclination to address him as ‘sir’ or hiss at the pain in his collapsing joints, the gears in his head connecting the tattooed colossus to Beatrice and Keise, the inherited paternal resemblance evident only in the tantruming sister.

This was her stepfather? This was Mahana?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Calix said, a new-found confidence to his voice that hid the niggling worry biting at the back of his mind about what’s his face, “Thank you so much for having me. I hope it’s not too much trouble - I can understand…” He shrugged his shoulders and thrust his head towards the screaming mass hanging over Mahana’s shoulder, her attacks dying slowly. “I can understand I must be a bit of a shock, unexpected, I suppose.”

A low rumble came from the titan as the corners of his messy beard curled up in what Beatrice knew to be a smile and a laugh. She let out a sigh of relief and gently set her hand on Calix’s elbow, taking a half step closer to him as her stepfather readjusted his tight grip on Keise’s petite waist. “A welcome one I might add,” he said with a heavy chuckle, releasing Cal’s hand as he turned and headed back towards the garage where he was waxing his surfboards. Beatrice let out a soft sigh of relief and turned back towards Calix, her eyebrows knitted together in concern as she looked up at him, her soft, supple bottom lip caught between her pristine white teeth. “You wanna go inside and meet my mom or do you want to go eat out?” she asked bluntly. “I know that was a lot, so I’m gonna leave this decision up to you cause I don’t want you to get overwhelmed,” she said, squeezing his left hand gently, knowing Mahana likely bruised his other at the very least.

Calix shook his head, taking a deep breath of warm and dense air that felt strange in his system. His whole body shuddered at the invasion, a tickly feeling in his chest as the last dregs of the cold Irish winter melted in glorious Samoan sunshine. He placed another soft kiss on the top of Beatrice’s head, bending his knees so he could pick up his suitcase with his sore hand, red shadows forming where Mahana had crushed the life from the skin.

He was a big man.

Big was probably an understatement.

“I think your mom would be pretty pissed if I came all this way and stopped now?” Calix chuckled, nuzzling his cheek against the crown of her head, “She’s not gonna see something wrong with me is she?”

She laughed nervously, shaking her head. Dear God I hope not. Beatrice stood on pointe again and pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt for a soft, quick kiss, the blanket of twilight closing over the dome of the sky around them. “I don’t see any reason why she should, but then again it is kinda her job to worry about me,” she added, her fingers delicately grazing the inside of his elbow as she led him back towards the house.

Lanuola stood in the doorway of the living room leading out onto the porch, washing her dry, tired hands off on a damp dish towel as she patiently waited for the pair of young lovers to come to her, the delicious smell of oka l’a with fresh coconut bread wafting out of the dining room. She smiled quietly to herself and waved her wand, sending a small burst of flame out to the torches lining the pathway to the house as the new moon hung low in the sky, offering no light save for the stars overhead. “Who’s your friend, Teuila?” she called out to her oldest daughter, sweeping her long dark hair over her shoulder.

‘It’s my job to worry about you now’, Calix thought, happily following Beatrice along the wooden path. The edges were lit by tiny flames, dancing and flickering at their feet as they jumped up two steps at a time. A soft voice calling out in the twilight drew Calix’s stormy eyes further up the torch-lit path, settling on the tall, elegant woman standing in the doorway. He recognised her from photos and interviews and books - it was hard not to recognise the President of the Polynesian Hospital and his boss’ ex-wife.

She was most definitely Beatrice’s mother, though. They shared the same eyes.

“This is my boyfriend, Calix Galen,” Beatrice said, beaming proudly up at the Irishman, her fingers lightly clasped around his forearm. She swallowed tightly and looked up at her elegant mother who batted her eyelashes prettily at the young man, holding one of her calloused hands out to him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Calix. I would like to say I’ve heard a lot about you, but Teuila has a tendency of being quite secretive sometimes, especially when it comes to men,” she teased lightly, her youthful skin pulled back in a dazzling grin. Beatrice blushed and looked down as her mother straightened her relaxed posture to invite him in. “We’re fairly informal here, so please feel free to call me Lanuola, or Lannie, if you can’t remember how to pronounce it. Just stay away from ‘ma’am’ or ‘missus’ or ‘Teuila’s mom’ and I think we should get along swimmingly,” she explained.

Calix shook Lanuola’s hand, smiling brightly at her words. But, the niggling feeling came roaming back again too, what’s his face rearing his ugly head, hidden in the shadows at the back of his mind. His voice, however, didn’t falter: he was here with Beatrice and her family; that was all that mattered.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you too,” Calix said, stepping into the house. His arm snaked around Beatrice’s waist instinctual, pulling her flush to his side, possessively, as they followed Lanoula to the kitchen. “I really hope I’m not intruding. As I said to Mahana, I know I’m a bit of surprise, so I hope you don’t mind me staying a while.”

“Of course not. You’re always welcome here,” Lanuola said with a warm smile, catching the motion with her wide brown eyes, a foul feeling inching into her mind as she watched the couple sit down at the large dinner table across from Mahana and Keise, who looked rather put out indeed resting her elbows on the dark polished surface, slouching on the bench beside her father. Lanuola chuckled and shook her head, muttering something in Samoan under her breath as she went to fetch the food from the kitchen.

There was something eerily familiar about Calix that deeply unsettled her, though he seemed like a nice enough fellow, and Beatrice looked happier than she ever did with Cedwyn. She took a swig of her beer, levitating it out to the table before sending the food along with it, staying behind a moment while she struggled to put her finger on what it was about the newcomer that put her at ill ease.

[burtlancster]

apparently all mike wallace had to do to get him to answer this question was play truth or consequences