#queue the negative honour sound

[arthursfuckinghat]

"Oohhhhhh darling Abigail 😫🔥 I've changed 🥺👉👈 come live with me 🙏 in an outhouse 👉🏠 I wouldn't 🙅‍♂️ ask my worst 😠 enemy to take a shit in 😤💩"

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Simon (Zee) | Old Familiar Stranger | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “Can you forgive me?”

Requested: Yes

When Simon runs into you in Jerusalem, he finds out that a lot has happened since he left you heartbroken twenty years ago.

Something indecisive lingers in the air. 

Simon tears on through the bustling streets of Jerusalem, where crowds of people rush to purchase their final goods in preparation for both Shabbat and Sukkot. It is mere minutes ago that he left the hideout with the carefully worked out plans drilled into his mind. Adrenaline already shunts through him at the thought of his ultimate test tomorrow evening in honour of his promotion – he was a real Zealot now, ready to prove himself.

The assassination of a Roman magistrate going by the name of Rufus will mark the first of many. Everything he has ever trained for will now be put into practice. He lets a hand go over the carefully crafted sica dagger on his hip, a sign of trust and worth – it almost itches under his touch.

However, there is still a night to be spent in the city for he has been instructed to wait until after Shabbat, and Simon hopes that within the business of the upcoming Feast celebrated in the Holy City, there will be a small room available for him somewhere in an inn, no matter how poky. A night that will most likely be filled with paranoia and stress, he realises, or terrors if he manages to catch some sleep. 

The first place he tries sells him a negative answer to his question whether they have a bed for rent. Simon carries on, nearing the Lions’ Gate, where he is close to the pagan Bethesda Pool.

For a second, his mind goes to Jesse, who he knows to be in the city. He wonders if he should pay him a visit to tell him he’s at last fulfilling the promise he made to his older brother so many years ago.

And then there is you . You’re also somewhere in this city. Something uneasy sets in his gut the moment he thinks about the memory of your face. 

A little over twenty years in the past, before he left the village Ashkelon, he had always been under the impression that he’d marry you one day. When he returned to his hometown a few years back to attend his father’s funeral, he learnt that you’d been heartbroken at his departure to pursue the Zealot way of life, and that you had eventually moved away to Jerusalem. 

He wonders if he’d recognise you if he walked past you on the street. 

Simon walks up to a second inn to query about available rooms, but once again, he is sent on his way. 

A few children run past him and a concerned mother calls after them as she brings two empty buckets towards the local well. He follows them slowly in the hopes of getting a drink of water there, for the dusty city has made him parched.

Once he arrives, a long queue is waiting to serve themselves in preparation of the upcoming feast. He sighs, shaking his head and turns to leave for the hideout, his best option to have a place to stay for Shabbat even though it’s not ideal, but his eyes fall upon an utterly familiar face now looking down at the well. 

You had barely changed.

Lowering a bucket into the water, you scoop up as much as you can before heaving it upwards and pouring it into the jug attached to your yoke. A woman behind you presses you to hurry, answered with a frustrated glare from you. Simon can’t help but chuckle to himself – it’s the exact way you used to look at him whenever he’d tease you. 

The second jug on the yoke is also filled and you hoist them onto your shoulders, starting your trek home. Simon steps back as you head his way, waiting for you to pass him by.

You hadn’t noticed him yet – perhaps you didn’t even remember his face – and he knew he should call after you. It’s either now or never.

“(Y/n).”

You come to standstill and pivot to face him with questioning eyes – still that beautiful shade of (e/c) he used to drown in – and you frown slightly.

“Do I know you?”

He swallows thickly at the sound of your voice. Despite age being visible on your features, you still resemble the teenager you were back then in so many ways. 

“I-I’m Simon,” he stutters, “From… When we were children.”

Your frown turns into shock and your face twists, jaw falling slack as you nearly drop your jugs of water. “Simon?” you whisper, lowering the yoke before bringing up your hand to cover your mouth. “I… Are you… Is that really you? What are you doing here?!”

He gives you a wry smile and nods, unsure what to say next. “Here to celebrate Sukkot.” he tells you, for he cannot reveal his true intentions, “It’s been some time,” he breathes. “A long time, actually.”

You let out a hum and your brow knits together, eyes filling with unshared sorrow.

“How have you… How have you been?” he asks in an attempt to make smalltalk, “Are you looking forward to the Feast of Tabernacles?”

No reply comes from you. You stare at him, slightly shaking your head. “I’m confused, Simon. Why are you suddenly here, after twenty years? Do you have any idea what you’ve–”

“Eema? I’ve got the onions and carrots.”

A teenage boy brushes up next to you and slips said vegetables into the basket on your arm. Simon blinks in puzzlement as you turn to him and give him a watery smile. “That’s good, thank you sweet pea.”

The boy notices Simon and raises an eyebrow. “Who is this?”

“Someone I know from the past,” you breathe, “Now, uh, why don’t you go get challah and something else you like from the bakery? Don’t spend too much. And also something sweet for your sister.”

“Of course, eema. I’ll be right back.” You press a soft kiss to his forehead after brushing some dark hair from his eyes and he rushes off to fetch your request. Simon opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. 

You slightly narrow your eyes at him and huff. “I carried on with my life after you left, Si.” you whisper, the abbreviation of his name slipping out almost naturally. “Don’t act all surprised.”

“You got married? You… Have a son.”

“Three, actually. I’ve got a daughter, too. So yes, of course I did.” you snap, “ Of course I got married. My world moved on despite your absence.”

Your voice is filled with hurt and desperation, clearly shaken at his sudden reappearance and trembling with unresolved grief.

Simon swallows to relieve the tightness of his throat, though it is of no use. “But… How did you know I wouldn’t return? I-I was in Ashkelon a few years ago, I actually hoped to see you there and–”

“ Twenty years, Simon!” you exclaim in frustration, a few confused faces turning your way. You step closer to him and shake your head slowly. “I moved on. I got married to a man… To a man who was not you, but what else could I do? It should have been you, but you were gone!”

With tears in your eyes, you inhale deeply. “I deeply loved you, Simon. I truly did. The thing is that you loved your vengeance more than that you loved me.”

His lip trembles and he can’t do anything else but lock eyes with you, hoping to carry over even a fraction of the shame that shunts through him. He had been fully aware of how much you had always opposed the path he had chosen for himself, how much you had looked down onto the violent way of the Zealots. And yet, he had left. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know.” you bitterly state, “You never wrote to me. Not even once . You’ve got no idea how much hurt you’ve caused me.”

Simon’s knees feel weak and the urge to throw up out of guilt claws at his throat. “Nothing can excuse that.” he whispers. “I’m… I wish there was anything I could do to take that away from you.”

You fall silent, chewing the inside of your cheek as you squint at him. The man you once so loved watches you with a defeated look on his features, uncertain of what to say next. 

“I don’t know if you can.” you say. “Things will never be the same between us, no matter how often you’ll apologise.”

“I am aware.” Simon whispers. “If you so wish, I shall not bother you any longer. I know that I’ve hurt you deeply. I just… Hope that you’ll be able to… Well… Can you forgive me? Eventually?” The words waver on his tongue, unable to properly speak them without his voice breaking.

A long silence falls until you finally break it.

“I don’t know yet, Simon.” you tell him in all earnesty. “Time will tell… I ah, I need to hurry home to prepare. Shabbat Shalom, Simon.” You hastily hoist your jugs of water onto your shoulders to head home, turning away from the Zealot. 

“Wait.” Simon calls after you. A gush of water spills as you come to an abrupt halt and look over your shoulder to face him. “I… Have no place to stay. Now, I don’t want to be impolite but… Could I sleep on the roof of your house? If your husband is alright with that, of course.”

You turn away from him and sigh. 

“My husband is dead.” you tell him. “Got a very bad stomach disease about four years ago. He was gone within two days. Nothing we could have done about it.”

“Oh,” Simon breathes, blinking rapidly. “I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”

You don’t respond right away.

“But by Adonai, I shall not refuse a Jew who has no place to celebrate Shabbat seeking refuge under my roof. You can stay until Shabbat is over provided you’ll pull your weight.”

“Of course,” he immediately replies, rushing forward to take the water from you, “That would only be the right thing to do.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye and slightly smile. “This is no means of reconciliation, Simon. I’ve got a fair share of thinking to do.”

He nods frantically. “Yes, yes, don’t you worry about that. Take your time, I… I understand.”

“Maybe twenty years of thinking ought to be enough for me,” you muse with slight humour in your voice. 

Simon huffs in amusement and feels a glimmer of hope settle within his gut. “If that is what it will take, then so be it.”

Smiling at him, you find yourself thinking back on the past, a fond memory forming in the front of your mind, and you suddenly feel one of the familiar tingles his presence used to cause tug at your heart.

Perhaps that in due time, things might heal. And if not, the least you’ll get out of it is complete, utter closure, but Simon is not keen on letting go again any time soon.

[adhd-ahamilton]

Bump

@littlewritingrabbit​ So, happy birthday! :) Since you’ve been so sweet and writing ficlets for me and other people lately, I thought I’d try and write something for you in return this time! :)

Hamilton squawks.

Laurens stops. Hamilton stops. The letter – the very subject of Hamilton's playful boasting and John's sudden lunge – flutters onto the cot and settles by John's knee.

John Laurens is a twenty-three year old man. He is a respected soldier in the American army, and an aide-de-camp to George Washington himself. He is a man of duty and honour and pride. He is not a ten-year-old child wrestling with a younger brother.

Alexander's eyes say it, clearly: do not dare.

John grins.

His fingers dig into Alexander's side again and Alexander squeals with a pitch that can only encourage John further. He tickles him mercilessly, straddling him on the bed and trapping him tightly with his body weight so he can't escape. When Alexander's waistcoat rides up, John's fingers shove beneath it, scrabbling against the single layer of fabric separating them.

Alex flails for his arm to grab it, but he can't get a good angle, and he's shaking too hard in unrestrainable laughter to exert his full strength. John continues his onslaught in sheer delight, hair falling into his friend's face as he leans over him breathlessly.

He's so distracted that he doesn't notice as Alexander's hands fall from his arm and reappear at his shoulders and then, at just the right moment, push.

In an instant, John's upper body catapults backwards – and then there is a loud thunk, and a piercing stab of pain at the back of his head.

John falls back and curses, loudly and vehemently.

“Ah, sorry, sorry -” Alexander tries to touch his arm, but, irritable and petty, John kicks him. Alex whacks him in return, but stays close.

“Is something going on in-?” comes Meade from the doorway. But the tableau – both men kneeled awkwardly on the bed, half on top of one another, John clutching his head – must tell the story well enough, because he visibly rolls his eyes and leaves again, muttering something about children.

“Are you hurt?” Alex asks, gently.

John sighs, dropping one hand. “No...it's fine. It's hardly the worst wound I've suffered. Just the shock of it.” He scratches at his scalp and glares upward. “But, I am really not fond of these low ceilings...”

Alexander lets out an amused huff. But then he shuffles closer again. “Um, are you bleeding? It is a head wound...” John starts to answer in the negative, but then Alex says: “I could check? For you?”

John considers that. Alex's knee is very warm against his, and he can smell the scent of sweat and pomatum from him. His heart beats rather fast.

“...I can't tell. So, uh, you could...”

Alex smiles brightly; John's chest tightens further. “Certainly!”

Alexander shifts to his side, giving him a view over John's shoulder. When he touches John's hair, John makes a conscious effort not to jump. Carefully, Alexander parts the hair at his scalp, leaning in closely to look for traces of blood. John's eyes flutter closed, but with his sight gone, he can only feel all the more vividly the warmth of Alexander's breath against his ear and the press of his fingertips.

Alexander probes slowly, running his fingers against the skin as though to check for pain. At one point, he loosens John's queue somewhat, so that he can dig into John's hair more deeply; John barely suppresses a grunt. His touch is surprisingly light – delicate. Lingering.

There's a strange peace to it. The noise outside the house – men working, birds tweeting and trilling – fades in and out behind the sound of Alexander's breathing and the light rustling of John's hair. It's been a long time since he has felt so comfortable, he thinks. He could grow accustomed to this.

Finally (in no time at all), Alexander leans back. “No blood that I can see,” he murmurs, and it sounds strangely loud and intimate in the quiet room.

After a moment, John abruptly remembers to open his eyes, and does so hastily, blinking away the blur in his vision.

He swallows; it's almost painful. “Ah-” he almost coughs. “Thank you, my dear.”

Alexander hums a little, pleased – and then, sadly, shuffles away.

John is so busy catching his breath again that it takes him a moment to recognise it when Alexander plucks the letter back up again with something of a smug smile.

“It seems that you were unsuccessful after all,” he says, holding it up. “And thus this letter – which, I remind you, details only the incredible pleasure of this young woman in describing how fortunate she was in attracting my attention, and all of her friends agree-”

Alexander Hamilton is, as John is well aware, a smart man, and could not possibly be surprised when John tackles him again.

[metalpixie-blog1]

My Festival and Travel adventure 2016. Migardsblot- Wolfzeit

Midgardblot Festival 2016 Review/Blog

My personal account of my travels and Midgardsblot festival 2016. And this time its not boring ;)

My hair brain scheme.

(This is my adventure for the summer 2016 it has been titled so if you just want to read about the festival and the music you just go scroll down to the bit you’re interested in.)

So the plan was to embark on a 2 festival one stop off adventure spanning 11 days, well at least in theory. This is coming from a person who can easily come up with hair brain schemes that make complete sense…to her! Bearing mind at this point from the beginning of the year I had already done 3 festivals in 3 months! These were; Ragnarok in Germany (April), Hell fest in France (June) and Ragnard rock in France (July). Yeah…slightly addicted, unmissable line-ups!

Having booked 2weeks off work I wanted to try and do as much with it as I possibly could, staying in Crewe for 2 weeks wasn’t an option! Already having booked one of the 2 festivals it gave me a good indication of a starting point, and I just carried on from there. So it was decided; Norway, then Denmark for a couple days break, then off to Germany for another festival known as Wolfsziet.

A million and one pieces of print outs, emails and other such things I needed to sort out and make sure I had with me as they were conformations of festivals, travel and maps to navigate me. Might have been simpler if I had a smart phone where I could just easily access my emails and retrieve conformation numbers also go on google maps but no this is me and I didn’t even have a credit card. Just three different types of currencies in my pockets of both my cloths and 2 bags, just to be safe. I think as a traveller its more enjoyable going about it where I’m not relying on technology all the time. The week before I had to sort out a couple of errors that had happened whilst booking , a friend of mine had pulled out and hadn’t noticed a few things that needed some attention, this is where it started going downhill before I had even got there. Slight negativity had taking over, and I was tempted to pull out. Mainly due to the fact there was uncertainty that I’d even get to my final destinations and festival and back. Everything was so far up in the air and I didn’t believe it was worth it. Glad I didn’t listen to my head or I would have nothing to write about!

To Norway

The first destination was Norway. Midgardsblot, a modern event based historical Viking lore and culture in Borre Park, Horten. Where actual long dead Vikings buried in mounds located in the area, these where hundreds of Vikings, horses and other such things were laid to rest after a battle. I had heard about Midgardblots first ever festival last year and would have gone if I had the funds. This year I was determined to go so promptly I bought a ticket straight away. My first time not only to this festival but also Norway itself.

Norway is known for having a good few festivals but this one however was completely different and also a massive bonus being it was in August. (No stupidly cold weather for me!) And never ever being there it makes more exciting as you don’t know what to expect. I already had an expectation to this festival having looked at old photos of the following year, and videos and reading posts about it, I was really looking forward to it and still was so clueless to what was going to see.(And honestly the pictures did not capture the sheer beauty and atmosphere in any way)

Not going to lie I was very nervous about trying to find it, countless posts on the Midgardsblot information page which consisted of arranging to meet people at different locations. Briefly I mentioned earlier things didn’t really go to plan at the very beginning due to circumstances. Thinking that things are going to go smoothly on any trip can be construed as naive and you should always be prepared for the worst but sometimes that just part of the adventure and going with the flow is the best advice I can give during such situations. (Plus it makes things a hell of a lot more interesting) Needless to say what happened next for me was completely random but very much welcome, as I was getting in the queue awaiting to board I heard my name… Leigh I turned round and there was a man who introduced himself quite promptly saying he recognised me from the information page. Nice; this means I had someone to get lost with in Norway and sometimes two heads are better than well my head, so that was good. The flight was over and finished with however we were a little late to arrive which ment we had to hurry and get to Horten before it was too late to get travel. I asked my new friend if he knew where he was going, he turned out to be just as sporadic and random as I can be so his answer was “no, I’ll just walk and eventually I’ll get there…” It was then I knew he was a keeper and we were going to have a laugh. Especially when we were told completely different directions to what I had written down in my little travel book which had every single thing I needed to know for my trip and losing it might be a bit of a problem. He just said “I’ll follow your lead” (more fool him!) But we made it completely unscathed and I didn’t get lost…for once! We got to a pub in Horten where we met the master mind behind meeting up and the “celebrity” of the festival, not to mention being serenaded by Folket Bortafor Nordavinden one of the acts of the festival. It was then I knew was I with the right people and had come to the right place.

The journey was tiring which meant we left late to get to the festival which actually turned into an advantage as at the super market we were offered a lift to the festival. However not as smooth when I realised in the queue for the festival I had forgotten my camping pass, luckily they I was allowed to go through. And that’s where it all began…

Just a few tips to travelling to the festival

A tip to those who haven’t been to this festival and are thinking about it for 2017, go directly from the airport on the shuttle to Skoppum, as that will get you to Horten by bus or taxi no problem. If you do end up getting a flight back on the Sunday be aware there are no buses to Skoppum train, there is however shuttle buses but only in the afternoons, so making arrangements to fit that is a must.

Before the music at Midgardsblot

Nothing better than the realisation that not only are you camping next a small fjord sounded by views that can only be described as stepping into an impressionist painting, Where the moon raises reflect so delicately and the trees around the surrounding area are nothing but silhouettes. But also morning noon and night you can cook you food on a bonfire. As some of my fondest memories are being by a bon fire I wasn’t complaining and brought people together with laughter and food. I think one day I just spent ages making cheese toasties to share amongst randoms and friends just for the excuse to do it. Truly magical! Even when it was raining you can look along a field and still have a sense of almost freedom, didn’t matter what the weather was as it created a new way of looking at the surroundings areas.

It wasn’t so apparent where the festival stage and great Viking hall was were at first, as we walked across the grass past the mounds to pitch we didn’t walk past it so it was clearly on the other side of it. Turned out you had to go down a tiny woody area to reach the stage which was great in the daylight…not so great if you forgot a touch at night, made it interesting trying to navigate blind. For a moment I was doing the granny step, where I was going so slow to avoid going into the stingy nettles or knocking into oncoming people.

Festivities and the music

Before any of the music kicked off, it was Folket Bortafor Nordavinden who started the festivities off with a Nordic ritual to the gods, it didn’t matter if you worship them at all it was just there to be positive hopeful beginning to the festival. During the festival there many workshops done by band artist all to do with Viking mythology and history. Any always a recreation Viking battle in between sets. Like the art gallery/museum full to the brim of knowledge and culture but with the added bonus of music. Oh did I mention there was axe throwing? And no before it’s considered it isn’t allowed to do it drunk for various reasons.

As you can imagine Enslaved Wardruna and skuggsja captured the mood of the festival enticing us in pure seduction as we listened and gazed at the atmospheric scenery. All three bands had me from the beginning and whether it was head banging to Enslaved in the rain, dancing next to a fire again the rain to Wadrunna with pleasant company I may add, or just being taken to another place whilst watching Skuggsja, all having a unique effect on me. These three were hands down the best and completely suited this festival, it was truly an honour to watch them.

Other acts were; inquisition, skalmold, L.E.A.F., Kirkebrann, Hamfero, manegarm, melechesh and Tsjuder. And my personal favourites were L.E.A.F for the graceful presence on stage, Tsjuder who dominated the stage with Norwegian black metaly goodness, and could say the same for kirkenbrann also and I’m sure the others were equally as entertaining but I was busy doing whatever one does at a festival that doesn’t involve listening to music.

One such but in a different way, I would like to mention the first band, this band was not for everyone and that was definitely the case for me sorry but my least favourite band was Troll fest.

My favourite moments

Mainly the moments where I was with friends I had met pre or during the festival as they made me laugh and apparently I did the same. And the places whether it was getting lost looking for the super market, sitting by the fjord with 2 Vikings, sitting and gazing at the stars by the bonfire or just laughing in campsite. Didn’t matter where it was fun and full of happiness.

Only one bad moment. I am know to be quite hyper at times (not my fault just how I’m programmed) and as i was sharing a general happy moment with 2 of my friends, a society guard came over and accused me of being drunk! I wasn’t! and I wasn’t causing any problems just being slightly hyper, so i was a little insulted but got over it and enjoyed the rest of my time. So no real worries really.

The silly things that happened in between

It was apparent that I was getting a name for myself and a couple of sayings to boot. The name was “the high girl” and before you say it no not for that reason! It was more to do with the fact that I was next to the fence where people would come and go and every time they passed I would shout in a high pitch enthusiastic tone “hi!!” which actually made me some friends and terrified others. (Truly fun)

“you can have everything I own except the tuna” a comment that I made that could be thought of as slightly rude until you realise it was all in good intension, I needed to make sure i had food to travel but it was a running joke for the rest of the festival.

I know it is somewhat expected at a festival to be somewhat drunk or over excited or just plain loopy, but being drunk while trying to praise an artist and not remember what the hell you might have said is just plain silly and would only happen to me! It happened on two occasion but that one that sticks out in my mind was when was talking to a member of L.E.A.F.

The hike to the super market was a funny moment that me and my two male companions went on. Turns out if you don’t speak out enough then the male directions will take over…and we might be going down the road in a couple of miles in the wrong direction. And in my case in inappropriate foot wear!

In conclusion

The festival was great; the organisation was great, the artists were truly passionate and it was like spending time with family so a return is in order I think.

The next part of my journey The day to leave had come and it was sad, I don’t think anyone wanted to go especially me but I had knew adventures, however there was no sleep involved me even though I tried so getting up wasn’t easy and I was late. On the positive side I could grab a lift from my friends as there wasn’t any shuttle buses and also I didn’t have to catch my coach to the evening. Honestly it was hard to say goodbye to people but I knew I had to carry on, it was time to go to the lake followed by going to Copenhagen…

…..To be continued