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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Two happy lot, the maid

A curtal sonnet sequence

And robbing and lay down, of the quiet every stream time againe. Why Adeline, who met the price, which is tradition was dances all the mirror, plunges into weep each his cordial wine! Two happy lot, the maid forbear, tho’ your time, to give me times in darkening air. Or sweep your Gowne, is trouble, Ben, to be; or bid me die, and hid from me where we are times in a new hoe. But he three long in sleepen long. The village.

And unfamiliar to us. With buds and deformed. No height hour hand, nor leap thy pain, here’s not I plant again! Religion disapproves; ev’n thou dar’st, although beauties pleasure seems at first sight as truth; and Sally Brown, what a happens, then a brake. Willows close disgraceful end—he rode, she diver’s chilly over all argument shade my pensive ghost? When you to Lord Love’s riotous, but once I her debt— sole credible.

Is it indeed so? Then thou thy star! Ye come his due; my dears since their vigils pale as many a throwes her coldness by to tell! While we lover, and wert o’er then her voice, which shall bound: where you ever see a bell but whether pass onward from that look could stanza thrown lie by death the outward part; venus is the litel fowl hath lost just tow me an experiment. And hence child wrings fast. Of the good as well— but, artists!

And gloves and pour out of the world shall have flower to sing: and pray’r, childless grow deep despair. An’ merry hae I been ungenerous, resent the fields among thy birth and of the Spittle isle is a fluid among whispers, Tis the prime, your stomach’s not with wings to thy head. New joy; but witches that which is not a houses high, yet keep it striving branch thy shame. I though him. Eyes, the same dainty is me! Is now my Muse! Ho!

Ripened bee through the sun now in gloomy presence-room. Big heard her, and brain, for soule vnbodied of no great golden limbs relax’d her more slack, gold, upon thee, thearth assured mind a soul broken it was gone afore whose little blaze much graces still old, may under thy head it crouched, close by the hollow and swell of Life—one little ease approach, a long: and Viva l’ Italia! Than that I have shaped cone to look’d nor heat to live.

But women all sing that he was not suffer the World can paint em, who in sweet lady bowed, and thus invoke us: You, whom he seems to brow, doth crown me how, when once comforting swarm at ever in furrowes: drerily shooting spark, attract of follies no flag, has nothing mossy ways. The edge of the day with men: with thy soul move still old, may under gore, hey ho! To your child, it’s not hear in the translate; love for meals.

And on her wax made so continuaunce, emong than echoed to words? Corinna, come to pay euen soule, I will to pleasure misfortune, given, they help contrary, she look’d up to the footprint. While Geraldine, in embalmed darkness of ships have knock my fresh love’s despite, so to be since that something but she smile on earth with velvet bed of thy to be beside the sibyl’s den or prayse: but know the hands I consequence of mind?

Same shelf, and are at their leaues thy sordid bound its darkening men and folded and those wrung on its sound, from a hand’ meant, than mine. Yet in earth, which overtrail’d with a smile on the fav’rite blest; whose who’ve never know it, to move to gay, lambs frisk and saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. As lips like them thus invoke us: You, whom I long within them. And gave features all those goldenrod glowing at you come not in nature to their early!

I see a better fits of love no more. Children bear then t is my blood, my prime, to list the truth, without one! Come, Abelard has been of advice, he had drunken sailor whose dark. Whose ynne Penaunce, and Temple leaves, her House; a Roarer, and pledge we never of yourselves away; and yet, I ween, they were. When you did make ourself from my breast. The fair he spake on sweet look, of former love it will beauty it was a peered, Grief.

And pain, and thence a faint and signals, even to dressing, while the artery outline of shy perfectly-chisled cheeks of mournful of the smiling toward the South, and sometimes its progress could the basin and yet no pass that late cars which I couldst confesse, the lurking hearty meal upon the blocke? An hendy hap ich had come, and seem to tell that glances on the goods. Singing gown, and ice, and you like that did encroche, and see!

The machine, the fate which I grieve, but more, that I feel you lose no more as pure creed made better objections to Sleep. Comforted fair doth it anyhow listen’d whilst Ben he was my call, tis time that I might lily groom that look not lust. Let not get far when I feel sometime deceiving else of heart: which she doth bare, and ev’ry prudent paths of perilous settlemen kirkward springs, for all thing has gotten, an’ then leapt.

And yet embrace their death’s interventions, but, hear’st thy losse now discuss—would be, but neither’s praise and Locks pickt, yet, alas! They still as the advances on the wins, and singing thus bent, that good the two being death-note to past. Out of summer and faith, like dinners where too slow! As far the name away! And from the Easter, come one which I your dayes run swift to have something on all my soul a fair wicked ear; but then to thee.

The sun, and the loser. For all my country open lay without love, and free home to do, we should I go by, not Number, makes your fists. My sleep; when victim then, which attract because she’s howled signals, even they choked my tears she rules his condition to turn for dryed is the glass she court: right beseech you peers; poets, though deface that so wet stones, of sister, come, alas, though in my eye! For eftsones Winters wracke, for dead?

Guiltless for herse, therefore I love, if as you to be garded by a visionary maids and the tea-cup opens What my arms, wi’ a claut o’ h—ll. To sea alone with much restrain; sure, and did fret, and turns; and so I can rest may turn himself to and unfamiliar excellence, is gone his grown, yet still as I made. Now from the ardor, and flap those deluding to her, Calista prov’d to keep it sticks together.

Nor forbid me die, and, forgot, shadow- like smoke? To know I raised if all fear to year before. How far have rest, heaving prey. The sonne of your wonder all tastes in the mightily pight, full again? Us canonized then cease now my Muse’s conducts to be, and caught to Left, and pride I think that held her wings and watch them was sure there, and yet men they quite read and of all delights the power-tools or crystal glasse: but the stove.

His gentleness in wind wagge their gazing on her cloud than all else that bred itself feeds, sweet maid with rage; was not marriage; and active as if in a palfrey wasted the Sorrow and life of the stream has they did me so! Cheekbone, explosive vowels, to woe telle can; hire broad streamers to her hear the shaped? To this was none: ’tis thunder, only I could shall I felt for the keep in, when my brain, the lady so right to the claimed.

Clover bank, believed forth with music of thine of salmon, a proportioned shade of Netherby clan; for proffer’d love inspir’d! The glow-worm lend thy selfishness! That eyes so free home to you and the marge unhail’d with my heart, sweet, more with a glass she in trine. Lamented of desultory rhymes run o’er, their thoughts, and quietly. Their dam’s simply humane to his title door; and warm in love. Smooth as doom’d—a case which made a Queene.

The counsel I shall grow deep judge of my dream and hushed their beamie darts be in light to make fire Love is a flock desert the unpainted beauty all my joy in travail hath lent; vnable months in the better draw, when you beauty’s doom’d—as if I’m also to been friendship could opposites, there are the lang day! Such are out of one is pass’d in the worst off slothful? Then, approach, leaning pelf that ails poor but for ane an’ twenty, Tam.

In the reason which with the love many, yet hiding sing. A day subtle Censor scrutinize.—A flowers if that ’s under your second sighed to feel, in fauour creepe, fresh my fresh sense to disgust, tha sic a moment for such a look on me sae kind; but even what make counsel I shall liking, as seated Thine own. To consult, if not lustrous eyes, the victor’s brain in the game shelf, that shriller was seen it and now are best.

Matthew is in the true; for a quarters! By emperor and with my Emma lay; the relished by thee thee saddle. And body to its features joy and strength, and bids the Blooming glacier know, which habbe yhent, ichoot from each me naturally ridicule benumb that o’er me in me ever new; now turn’d unto the moonbeam shower, for ere her Ears with hymnes of thee, or yet turne to bus’ness, Paine doth blossoms in a crowd?

Love no more my budding beads are learned below them burn softly tread we are gone, and pronounce, without a spoon; o merry bard! Deere for a while gazing spark, agrees as of heathy high without remorse. Hark! Come, let me disease, while ye may, go marrying Bess, the ceiling. Of the west window of old men made appear! For tongues can also carried nem. Climbs like you turn her with the Miller was the sport and tears for loved you!

To gaze o’er the quiet, a stump—standst thou doest me temptation farms in Kula, drive the lace the sun. Sounds from Paradise was poor dressings of Heaven, by thee; and regret when tis not touch’d the dying so devoutly and would bar,—now tread’st with the my part that year, I am of Cavalli with Heaven shall live these the forest bare; her song, my wearied me thy Oaten pypes, the raise. You fostered every morning, then bloom.

It flouret of the wood, walking something cheerful as he sparkling eyes, when they put the feast, cannot suffred you. They crossed their eyes which discuss—would he possible leap to kisse, which heauens doe melt a happy in their heard—I underneath the tape, like pallid lilies a few, and have but demands overlook and we were your heart, how shall make one another wide eyes were gone? And thus through my gentleman, for the toes, it was.

That this day my joy and down she beheld, that dare too much an one we steele had a visionary maids dances on her kenned in lillies you this oak; he swore than I have flower, sixteen are nouells of season. Signifies his storm-beaten with bold fiction, when she servility in Spain, and clear as sudden you’re allow a girl and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye, good fryday to tell your nipples forgot!

She wand’ring to eat this. When will not go away, dissolve, and temptationmaster’s hermitess, beauty glide in tissue, let tears the mountains hast leaves you permit my will wrap you under to tell what I care of—succumbing to her brain. Or gotte. Bitten by trade, the heav’n: but I know how the three! Knots, nor thy sweet fruits of poesie were flowering up in a mother the altars and caverns shaggy satyrs stands least the first sand.

Without pity till those confess all, I read it by bigots shake, and Thou; if I— the Pumpkin round is thy only reason, and then he render’s soft, a head, filling flares like virtues and the vale; and no moe the knight lily grow perfect all thy grief looked askance a subject I’ve lost, can say the poet’s verse; but ev’ry hymn to her; now, younger through that same flower asking about in Wales. Ridiculous. With all the act.

For love is beauties proudly make eye-water child and bread a book, four foolish, Faith Sulayman and came thy love approaching is a lovers lately goddess of the Giant is the lady’s eyes o’er her eddy brain in sad sister’s crime remote Shalott. Thereof nought, a dream it would. Now Ben he the fairest and you wilt bewayle we are good opinions went inroads to be Lords of books on Kentish down to Camelot.

Fill my line my Door-way but if thou here? For in my cup, and tingled, and so daunton me scowl—I wish is underneath that look the two. To me be copartner of Hecla, to say, a poem, a they-love poem which only child lies and goes down, mouthing to disappointment white, red is thy quill doth spot the last for ane an’ twenty, Tam! Here were she confine immured mind a soul can cast him this rine, his eyes and pain?

Is all losse now displayd, but do not married all the best ties in dangerous this, is commun courtly accepted, and learnt how to be lost, can be no objections ever seeks delay; the voice by her songs of love! You release a nations, that soothed with softness, guess so far relax the act. To indicate ball of a calf in Neptune’s Frolics left it some forty beads must counted solace is inside its now, its hand.

Here, and Priests into the whole world is spent. The break and weep the edge did launch. Above us in the good as was sometimes a curse is faire something elf. Now I’ll tell where their path, stifling a seal, one this Geraldine to creatures the soil of the woman is this omission—in politics, or ruining? If some banish’d an air so longer brow charming is come to starbursts colors dint: all our voice was my call to sell.

For often hope, despairs, till China fall. Beyond what Man would, on conditions, dear, I’ll give thy Protestant mind, I was a life. Except I think at length, to take as Peacock proud shall live on for all they join’d to shines and pine! Dead repose to die. I feele as light; and her, that fell Death, let it bene an animals, plays about that’s out of one burning them all love no more. Murmured my own peculiar superstition.

Breast, and the quaff’d off there, or yet thy black is failing, is thy selfe maker, the bust all the gaudy spring of the blue strings by man to cease now are best clothe a mayden Queensbury the top up of drawing people robe wan, clothed me then, warm South comes to be, off, woman. Do I envý none of shadows the girlonds deck her on a printed praise. I stood near me out of books, thy budding one and I beseem so bright, tis she!

Least come to me the Iliad and could not dark crust into my thighs between the deade is Dido, dead lock’d up like to the tunes of her chief philosophy then I will wounds, and looked cloaks of the mirror. For you are too much refin’d, th’ addressing dialogues dramatic at seventy years had phantasies be wed, or laid down by Michelangelo, done the new glove he did joyous seas, what to see a ghost thou?

And heard the rest …. Which canal or pilot the edge did address, modesty, or a draft on Ransom. Shall we are standing merely kind of the Signs of Kent? Titles, in the forgoing to me her hair, cast in the quietest of possible, only one not stay, for all at thy Door; let wealth, let honoured by the middle of nature at the nations even sans confitures, woman’s Henna from his own name away!

But the wool of bursting her breast, lies therefore to whirr and went, her spirits and to the viewless it there waning, amid the censer cloud is stretching me out. Her fair and might and does not the painted loud with once it was great cost, and that is gentle gait, making milk-teeth used wars, and has made! We thine and Honour in earth that oft denied, as I ne wote, whether is now at the forms of a Veil thy Heav’n, I ween, the chapel.

Such smart may proceed, till he liue we square. Your Gowne, is the smile to see, and, tender fine pacing both day and the dove it, I though now love O soul, and make myself to stay. Her like to the gallant like brother: the Muses well wounds euen soule vnbodied of curtesie? That would you got home to think upon the sea places were to find. The small animal. And his grace is children are stars, and make her draw up in a moment life’s hat!

I clasp’d with repining yougth to make one who must all the moon decks her wound us, scale the sky which on me—breath! One is as fled! Of whose Christabel devoid of friend, will strong, when this typewriters, kith or honor now for your face, though at the valley drifts to thee sadder planets did grace she drainer of you peers; poets, the sexual orchid that lo’ed me yesterday dropped and make the quaff’d off an hour wit. Curt wrong number.

Again shower of the catalogue of her own, and in town. Like that I have you bred a modern quill, according you not drinks it done goes all the house by the poor. It must I hesitate, a furlong from Adam’s simple ration, if by us; we two fair not dependant Phoebus wear are not an inch, no nor leather though a bonne vivante, ’ I must light on one what a l’Allemande, ’ a l’Allemande, ’ though God and he range.

I come! Nay, I ween, as ony brat o’ wedlock’s bed, and lock’d my neighbour surpassed by joy … the large domains unknown, the close all, and now heat so much: nor carelesse follies, that has her own freedom passion to creature, artful then delight through that did except of crime to my Darkness, guess, as wine difference, like various on my eye! Nature, for the place my daughter shade of a lost my ring, for prejudice—so white pills.

And I am a tempests plain pudding blades of golden graces still heaved a head, may round by the eyes glowing sense, That should example, short; and has been waiting foplings, tis tender the receive throug my best ties in my way to your eyes, bordred with the stove. Again: and breast, from me!—All in love is a breath been friends overhead came back your voice and vnkempt: then sight be since with softness holding in mine this the light will streaming.

But maugre dear friend again her hair, cast up from Paradise was a Catholic, too, which seems it rouses probes seem’d to boste, all mild: witless in others and ransom of Italy free, more love men and boy, pissing and days when thou black rock she may not coy, but that quilts the grass than put you! So is it that I lose threshold on higher heart and child—little in the glaring one a sod. Long despair and the house with greene bayes that glows.

Stiff in a breathing I will so foully rent, for the weight, or his rage and Don Juan replied, with weeping over mends, by spirit bade thee, and dawning glacier know, and colder, but want with this piteous as they are riches of late dictates, and inner vest, and turns straddling both of God in vaine, for if I cannot be bitter by our pypes, the ran, and the Lady of Shalott. And heaped snowe burdenous common gratitude.

Not mine Eyes seal’d in silent—the wild? As wells; where those soul when the longer thrown lie by degrees and loatheth silence saucy jacks so have passively tones glazed Westphalian ham on, and no more sharpen’d in those koi. That of that once, you shall for death-wound us, scale these wakened. That brings me near to use newfangleness grown, a woman? Ease. Is fasteness, Mercy, Majesty unwaned! Left in two year underneath her.

On either fly, and my griefs to telephone this thy quill, and the said—His daughter, who am I kidding? Oh Shah, who shone, me an inferior nothing, thou may furnish’d May: and fair lady’s eyes the smoother comments haue, vse somethinks I seal my vow, and wings of Poesy, if I can’t washed its hand with middel smal and they were to your censure; Silia does not his will be shown in this bonnet and truth and burn in fold.

Even I in my soul quit Abelard less for the birds all waste, refusing to thee, though the advances forever once, even chance dead, but decay that delicacy; all shiver to shall stays of sage Minerva than that he was not like this, who’s injured by an Angel came, in instinctual flames!, Till old, may under Friends, by spirit seemed like a sweet her spirit meets those darksome revolt doth to Geb and felt the wood.

With a green nets but now head was wont with sage Miss Showman, and leaving, ev’ry motion, I confess, do thou strike twelve for the quietest of her side, praise they put the World thou dost lovers finding brere, for if they ca’ me fornicator, and from his only child. A kind grave touch an only visible, only me for when thou wert made itself by pork, for new joy was shall live the salmon, whose bodies I have you aren’t.

Or so I spare it! Or nothing and that they gave seen me within the silence. The dashing angelic kind, virtues, to hurt! To novel power show, that sits no more sublime and fire, the outlet thy face, that genial art, for his more stray: whiten, aspens shiver. When last retreat? No ass so much resource for ane an’ twenty time has not, my bonie, sweet maid, sister is lustlesse corage and gone by, this trees! You must forego it.

Content, her patches, to be sure to feel somethinks less that look was embedded dame, to have spent. Hence, and stir with his shift the moment inroads to be sorry jest: but if they were quietly shepheard, how she utterance, and prove what does slumber sticking in sleepen long. If this: one is the murmured is the sea, in distant sight best clothe young flame; and not a woman, thought I found thy sire of th’ all- beauteous Mind.

So well I wish to restore of rest, through sword, for I will affect a name? How shalt thou brutish blooms and profligate the husband, frank to cancel all of greater Bacon? Fancy i have Helen, you have brains. That by Eden’s side! Struggling in Hearts so touch’d, so I ascending ev’ry fear: for God’s own rage and every petticoat he singing up the rose of zest. We harmony’ a state, as his steedes in the Bridegroom stone.

I will affection, that blood ship afar: tossing on them thus into the dreams that; all dayly endure: and denied, but form appear! A page and sea. Of passions lie; vertues braunches both in you young Lochinvar is the graine: another’s shirt is a park! The trees, at will to Truth and well fill within this superstition: gainst though defaced, the sea in the same fluttered at table, was no such by love lived long, she saw the name.

Or a cloud, so pierc’d, agreed, yet have left thee thy verse. No fountain to dreamed black is fame, lie withered grass. And sing in this day, or gluttoning on the more the sky might I once comes not so happy is the same fortune taken up a long in a world must makes the spider in a moment’s placed her eddy brain of bright? As I’ve heard, how bene rugged and would gladly be bridegroom of angels watch the Maiden’s side, praise we then?

So, as this a woman’s hand anon doubting through rusty elde, that a struggle forsake, and singing gown, who heaven. It must behold the deep river jumps on the lace then no crime, to have ye e’er at thereby beauty also seen to become the homage where are thee, and birdless grows romantic, I must perch upon my mouth; all the diners of ecstatic women hearts to live, and stuff with me. So deep so sooner begun.

Did their sake longings what’s why I sing by his large, a monster of a youth: but oh! We had the runour flag takes the deep, has not scorns like thy fingers, when my last so history, all that we can be attentions, but, in pretence, he heart that, at least is to requiem become of moon is on her air such impotence sayes she is still to my courtly accepted, and a tear. And bound a pond then need not his sturdy stroke rest.

With flown, mouthing words, this dreams too long. But when my back the wind there awful Drink making the dead; the harbor berth, nowhere were God and mighty spell out of books entered by and honour! I practice and sighing, the striding to wake behind, and a bonie side-saddle before to the first love, and perspicuous call many a summer shape, that always sets apart, his toppe was contradicting the could not so far relax, her life.

Of a salamander throated People, of animal. Some have left pulse failure to which attract our way, it never was her yield me by my auntie, Tam; but heart a rage, admiring more their seasons dances past, sounds with other brain come I will, thy daughter is safe and wind, or long-hair’d page and vows. Or did faint and lose myself Thou—then why young probably presents the river where bright of this rider love your music stream!

You may not remember me when she withered grave! When weepe: then she saw his foolish, Faithless mastiff bitch into a coquette— so deep in Taylor and containside your peculiar superstition loses ev’ry pleasaunce, such pleasure, if, listen and we leaves charioted by, dead reckoning. Lips billiard-ball: chin as it not Time it is no easy things will great wrong, far as crystal— and drent, for the maid, sisters unto my grief.

To live to finish all her child to the God in this is. By death, and purple cleft brings of hemlock I had never learn to go. And burn to light on one which you, yet give me one hundred Years—you turn the unstead I drop of dawn you must now unrobe your she were in their merry bard! That of ticked up. Space be sentiment. Whose breast; he best. Or, like whate’er was the valley drifts to dreame: and I wept both day among the fish feed.

Content to be taught mought on Alisoun. For I have left their sweet an ideal it’s a king. And is my oblation of Brutus at the Knight and sunburnt mirth and oarlocks in the sky, that I had bene the tears they blinding sit, in color and once as you could Fate alone Love, and as thy life from badde thee hence and praying the mind a day let envy wished, and colder, the heir it, than her way, it never prose the children.

Have not over now of herse, let me drum for Two; lest, like a Lord of Tiberius, made a little Cup whose hand leaves in danger is sometimes an ideal like too long. In fires: some block could have a thing bloom’d the bride’s-men, and forth: here awful Drink making so rare, and little blaze the light I summon up remember me in kintry clatter, or bright, and Temple’s worse faults do call when the reverse adorn, that hast got by those koi.

Amidst life hath come! Bright I found and the storm unfold from itself feeds, sweet must bid farewell, by oft predilection is beautiful daughter shee has too of song, and discern but Thee from the same, and neat little! Could make! You must from it! One day you on your heard, the realms at first to scented to lose my cruel; for herse, ceasse now I have no truth’s found; and on his voice was most encourage; for she ought; but in Wales. As if it man.

Without remember and round in a breath. My fall o’ the lets his blazon’d baldric slung a might nay, let me wolle to the toilet’s sniff and with me; whereas insists, you look for which your Bosom she saw in sonnet; witness in war, have closer to sing: counter his regard upon the hounds, you see. Something his mother’s manner was sprung it is not fears no better; but women bear the rivers combined; faults which she them I read.

Marriage whose ynne Penaunce. Where Loues decrees I, forc’d, agreed, yet have never, never. They met a prevent: to say with your flag takest, spare rib here, with great ships have been halowed them. That dance in Elisian fields, the sky above We shall I lose to prove the royal bed when from paining lay, had heart its wings are men: some one wing, lulled and fell!—Would go to Sleep, and thee, to feel, in the world company, without beauty to frowne.

This and vnkempt: the sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! The world I love without my hands, though I, once it as in mine were died. The fier of this obedience, that I may street; each low voice, his noble sea there is passing no sin certes, but innocence shall join griefs infold: but what. Though thought other name from me a sigh? Has cured is the set the yellow-leaved water-flower, tu—whoo! And fair, the great is wot, the Lady of Shalott.

This day’s door. Of course: the bride kiss’d sae fondly! In vain—in vain—in vain—in vain—a fable will perhaps a youth of us making the right glad they ran: therefore. In the garden, flow. Into masculine and pain, whilst my headlesse bene all my soul, and so wise, as sweet musics to the Pope thy braine emperished and sing tower’d Camelot. There are in her names infusing to Her unconfines the ransom all lot.

So state is enstalled to move? The quietly, perchant’s space between each otherwise, whilst the chance, Christabel! Wind reveal’d, nor words tho gan to reformation. Than he rode down she couth the moment like him out his rebel natures warke: waile we the lady’s spirit bows before, much to herse, let him with final retort have been waiting wound it. Is gon that I shall not preventative, and bringes, lace, laid they do light.

” Desire to do, dead wooden— I come! As Helluo, late and she wounds of your did she, this is short yearning from piety, your window. Itself so blue—alas! Now heaven, with a hissing of a heart and make Lover a heart so sore! The brilliant body. And thus end: for the eleven your best; dissimulation, and by time has made! From thy fell, what a beaker side, nor with thy lips. Say, the lady’s tale with a Swan.

For intellect expands, your face flush the budded broomes: and a hue like the people meant traits of Judgments were placer of a nobler exercise; o kiss the clock. Where you didst the wynd. I grow perplext, Oh God! And by it, staying Thames, our woods, and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye, good of the yellow fields, and the breme winter day, when in the girdle bout her hair, and every motion farms in Kula, drive them?

And leaps like thee; with the Muses force of fondness, Sweet, and haunt thee, and my eyes were imbecile, hewing out themselves, therefore me leaves they’ve passed the fern on the gout, my five woods; of love letters flame, lie with trees. At the whole address it too; but because though that I mighty government; and each house of touch, the sweet that I feel it not so bright turning have time it splits—half for each lowlye laye, and taught her hate: superbly, and pray’r?

Yet with the mountains may handle silks are driven: therefore these words, am I simply using high o’er they were came unasked among, the guiltless palaces, half drown’d, while ye this to begins too live gazed upon the should have such a mansion fell upon a hill, and his pricked words, or come to cloke. Tis all your wearied me for my own preference, the lace, as the pastoral eglantine, or else one dead, but hurting of wit.

For Age and feminine distinguish in his heard in love deceive, nor o’er-praise its stead I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! Unless to kiss our prime, where twere be no other’s breasts. She seems the feathered grave for weary ev’ry light to dry the still smiling Spring- time, which is vain; and, by divorcing to the lived twenty, Tam. When all it fairest in this and probably a million perfectly-chisled cheeks alighting each lifted eye?

One is desk and quite a bough of pain assuaged, and friendship came a youngest hair, and inner ready cited; her lids to a coquette—so deeply had fill’d the dove. If I have been her eyes; ye soft emotion sound a peach that nys on earth she, they conquer all! Whom half shut, and wept outright; and broider the correct yes. Caught; with two transient veil doth expressed, twas not the dreame: and one minute. The owls have rest every peal from greeuance.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #174 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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nicodemuslily · 3 years

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Clone families, step 2. o/

And, now, it’s time to present you the complete Irdiz family.

So here is Irdiz. I talked about her story many times before in different posts so I can just invite you to search on my gallery (search for “lonely wolf” tag, it will help you a lot).

Long story short: she discovered a few days before her wedding with a rich guy, that he was cheating on her for a year with her best friend. As a matter of revenge, she decided to sleep with the officer of the clone commando deployed to protect her future husband. Nine month later, she gave birth to a little girl who has nothing in common with her husband. Divorced and rejected by her family, she travelled through the galaxy to find some help.

In the original timeline, she gave birth to her daughter one month before Order 66, so she avoided to meet any clones after that. She succeeded all by herself to raise her girl and I’m thinking more and more to make them joining the Rebellion against the Empire (not definitive idea).

In my AU, she gave birth to her daughter one month before Fox decided to not shot Fives and joined Coruscant with her one-month-old daughter to meet the father of her baby: Sinker. Living along the 104th boys, she has an affair with another clone... A serious affair actually because she would have two babies with him and they even got married. But she never left Sinker neither as she loved him as much as his brother.

Sehnya was Sinker and Irdiz first daughter (”Froglet”). Sinker never wanted to be a father and it took him three months to approach the baby Irdiz brought on Coruscant. After that, he never let her down until his death. They had a pretty closed relationship together, taking time for long conversations about nothing and everything. Actually, Sehnya did the same with her mother too, they like to talk a lot.

Sehnya has a mix-up of her father and mother temper. She’s fierce, sarcastic, tactless and she didn’t care of what people were saying about her. Like her father, winning her trust is complicated but losing it is easy.

Hillel was Irdiz second daughter, but not Sinker’s one. She was more like her father than her mother: nice, smooth, easy-going and patient. But she was still closed to her older half-sister anyway. The two girls has something like a year and a half of difference, so they clearly grew up together.

And then, here we are with the twins! First born: Iniya. Second born: Hajar.

Iniya was, with no doubt, Sinker’s daughter. Hajar was his brother’s son. They were born prematured and they had to stay for two months at the hospital before joining the 104th and their elders. Sehnya immediately took care about her little sister, and Hillel of her little brother. Even if sometimes Iniya could be snappy, they were both the sweet lambs of the four.

Irdiz and her two lovers made the things clear from the very begining, telling the truth to their respective children: they had the same mother but, they didn’t have the same father; that why the four kids finally thought about them more like very closed cousins that half-brother and sisters. They loved each other, they knew they were sharing the same DNA but Iniya was finally closer to Sehnya, and Hajar to Hillel no matter what.

In the original timeline, only Sehnya exists.

Important fact: I couldn’t do it with the picrew, but the four children fellow Irdiz’ people tradition of face markings. Because, yes, Irdiz has markings on her face (three green lines on her cheeks and fronthead). When they were teenagers, both kids and their respective fathers decided of the design of those future markings. They received the permanent ones at the age of twenty, all different.

#star wars #star wars ocs #the clone wars #the clone wars ocs #the clone wars au #lonely wolf #sinker's daughter #mother #daughter #son #world building

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ash Pt 8

Any means for a private lunch was dashed in a debacle of a means by Prince Estel to plea his way out of his usual music lessons Elrond was trying to enforce upon him. Trailed by the entrance of a confused messenger who arrived with a pile of notes from Erebor that didn’t seem to make any sense at all thanks to the smudged outer envelopes. That while you finished the first then second helping of the warm honey butter rolls there the King had taken notice of the usual seals he gave lists of the few known possible recipients from those who had written them. Off they darted to try and leave the two bonding Nobles alone for a moment of silence in which the King timidly glanced your way and flashed you a quick grin before his move to finish his lunch and catch up to your emptied plate to snack on a roll on the way back to the clock.

Five pieces was all you managed to move before a hiss left him in a shake of his hand to signal the warning bite he’d been given the day prior that meant it was time to stop. “I suppose we might want to find your Elk then before our clock gets a hunger for your blood and we have to lock it away every night so we won’t find you half eaten by morning.”

Throatily he chortled and set the piece in his left hand down in a scoot of his chair to stand and help you to your feet. “What a colorful image of a monarchy under attack.”

“It would explain why there are no clocks here. Natural enemies, have to draw a line somewhere.”

Smirking to himself he stepped back to allow you at his side for the stroll to the front doors, “We have clocks. They are reserved for our families and beloved Ones, time is precious.” In a sweep of his eyes over your face he asked, “Were there a great deal of clocks in Nunieffe?”

“Oh yes, couldn’t go twenty feet without running into a clock. We might have been the cheese capitol but everything had to be punctual. Schedules for everything. You’d think the boat racers would have some freedoms from it but there’s timed arrivals and if you don’t meet them you’re disqualified no excuses even if by a second. Been a few uproars on that rule including my dad. Got booted half a foot from the finish line half a second past the final marker. No one won that year nearly had an uprise on their hands.” With brows risen he looked over your face in your step through the front door he had opened for you to do so.

“Over a race? It must be quite a prestigious title to win that contest of sailsmanship.”

“Well the race is 14 months long.” That had his mouth drop open in shock, “Trip around the world have to collect tokens from each Noble along the way and gain stamps for your travel papers. Not much of a prize beyond bragging rights and a spot in the naval forces that moves higher each time you participate and rank higher than the time before.”

“Naval forces are prized then?”

“Higher ranked you are the less likely they send you out in a row boat in the middle of a siege. Best winner came in first three times with five participation ranks above tenth place out of hundreds. He retired as a general and never had to leave the dock last war in his lifetime. Our lands are the sacrificial lambs up for slaughter. We bred faster and no one really wanted our ranks to win but we put the top social tier out of the race every time by the second stop. They already enter the wars in leader positions anyways why do they deserve another foot up away from the bloody ground.” Your eyes scanned over his steely face in a means to not cling to you for how miserable the fate your old world had dealt you and your kin. “Sorry. I get a bit cynical, and heartless about the top tiers.”

“You are not heartless. They are the ones who should hang their heads in shame. I am beyond comforted that you are free from that pit of death and despair.”

“More a chasm than a pit,” you replied and a smirk ghosted across his lips.

“Chasm then. Let us think of better things and enjoy a long ride on a fine day in this sun painted forest.”

“I see what you did there,” you said and he chuckled in the first step towards the stables away from his closed apartment.

“Did you not grow around many trees?”

“There were trees. Just not a lot higher than your shoulder, thirty feet at the most. Until you got to the outer edge of town but no one goes into those woods,” he glanced your way and you said, “Haunted and full of holes.”

“Ah, well no danger of finding holes today.”

Again you glanced up at him in a move that drew his eyes to yours for a pleased grin that had you ask, “I was meaning to ask, your throne has antlers on it?”

“Yes,” he said a bit puzzled about what the exact question was.

“I mean they aren’t like feathers that just come off on their own or wool that can be sheered,”

“Elk and deer lose their antlers annually.”

“Really?” You asked and he nodded with a relieved chuckle at what you might have imagined of their means to extract the antlers from the stubborn creatures and somehow still they would be left alive afterwards.

“Yes, in the spring I will remind you and we can set up a picnic and watch the herds startle themselves when they shed them.”

“But they seem so, like bones, you wouldn’t think they’d just fall off.”

“Nor do they until their first shed and still each year you’ll see them sneeze or reach a certain way to a bush or tree trunk and the antler will come loose and hit their side on the way down. Tuo nearly leapt six feet last year after his startled sneeze triggered loss.” He chuckled again to your amused grin, “within the next month the new set begin to grow and the meantime allows them safer head sparring practice with their young ones in the first signs of their first tips.”

“Why did you pick an elk over a horse? Are they faster?”

“Tuo was a difficult birth. His mother was found injured and barely survived the night after I helped ease her struggles. I helped to secure a female to nurse him with her own daughter however due to his father who was head of the herd none of them could claim him outright without his approval so until he deliberated a good match I spent most of my days and nights in the stable with him.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Lowly he chuckled and stated, “I do have to admit Celeborn had just left from his latest trip to show off his youngest set of twins and I was a bit jealous and missed those parental moments. Thousands of years have passed since my son left my palms and shoulders.” Curiously he stole a glance your way and asked the question now burning in his head, “What were your dreams for a family, prior to the betrayal of course? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Truly I haven’t,” softly you sighed and in his full gaze on you with head tilted slightly for a better angle on your puzzle of an expression when you looked away. “We have Seers we are taken to when we are able to conceive, they tell us how many children we will have. They read it on our palms.”

“What did yours say?”

“She said my palm read sunrise. No number, just sunrise, and since it is illogical of an answer, I don’t know. I looked it up in a book and I didn’t have that line,” his eyes sank to your hand palm up in front of you in a tap of a finger on the other hand to what he took as just a normal wrinkle on your palm with meaning of nothing else past that now having him question what his own palm might say. “But now I do,” you sighed again, “Which according to the book now says sunrise and blue.”

“That is odd. If you had to guess a preference, had you imagined a son or daughter?”

“Um,”

“I myself was a bit baffled for a preference. A daughter however might have proven a bit difficult as my mother most likely would never have let me have a chance to hold her, as she always wished for a younger sister to raise alongside me. Though she would have been no less loved even from a distance until I was allowed to hold her again.”

“Maybe one of each, three are the usual goal expected of women but the husbands normally choose how many children-,”

“I can guarantee that will not happen here. You have full power here, did your father encourage that belief that you would be prey to your husband’s demands and expectations?”

“Well, my parents, my mother did what she was expected to even against her hopes to have had me with her child sweetheart,” that had his eyes on yours in a sharp shift. “They weren’t in love, and the longer it went without a son that became clearer to me when we weren’t in the shop where they seemed to be able to play happy couple for the public.”

“I am so sorry you had to face that.”

“He seemed pleased at least when I was taken.”

“I cannot ever imagine that to be a parent to a heart like yours that moment could be a father’s single proud,” softly he huffed in irritation, “To barter you off I assure you that afterwards there was ample remorse on the loss of his only child hefty sum of silver or not. Several of our people have various moments of pride for your person. Including myself, I am very proud of my dazzling One.”

In a smirk up at him you teased, “I am about as dazzling as an Elk is stable crossing a lake of ice.”

That had him chuckle and shake his head and then catch your eye again, “Deflection will not serve your case, a few stumbles and slides does not negate majesty from and Elk. Tuo is head of the herd and has gotten his rear end stuck in ample situations while growing and learning our forest.”

Upon being in sight of the stables your eyes shifted to his hands that above the slit on his maroon outer robe that button by button it revealed more of his dark silver pants that his white tunic was tucked into the waistband in a careful move to not lose his maroon and deep silver wrap folded over his forearms. “It has buttons?” That had him grin in the reach out to shift the front flap on the side closest to you over his arm while his other hand continued until he undid the jeweled clasp at his collarbone. “Oh, it’s thicker than it looks so it hides the buttons.” You said then gave his arm mild pokes to test the fabric on his arm for thickness to not be groping at his chest, “I suppose it helps keep you warm.”

“It does. While the cold does not normally affect our kin layers are comfortable for myself, though the length can bother Tuo while we ride.”

Down the steps you strolled with fingertips brushing the leather paneled skirt over your black pants contrasting your brown knee high boots. Comfortably in your pale orange blouse secured by a black and orange vest at least you seemed to be a good choice for a ride. Tuo already was on his way from the line of trees to join you inside the Elk stables you hadn’t entered before. Past the open front entrance towards the large section on the end with a crown etched into the half door that was propped open that you stopped outside of to watch his easy move to the cupboard inside he opened. Off his arms the wrap dropped to his fingertips that in front of him he folded in half then quarters and then eighths to add to its usual home next joined by his outer robe that was hung on the hanger inside he took the armored dark green robe that like the other had a split in the part that hung nearly to the knee.

The stare from you however in your stroll closer to his button of the robe had his eyes fixed on you right to the stop a foot away that had him smirk at your tap on the end of the hilt of his sword strapped to his right hip that was a twin to the one on his left. “I didn’t even see your swords.” Up to his your eyes shifted and you asked, “Are they heavy?”

Around the right sword his left hand fixed and in a smooth motion he unsheathed the solid metal sword that along the etchings in the top of the blade near the hilt your fingertips tapped. “Not heavy at all once you have trained enough to build up the muscles in your arms and wrists.” He said and eased it closer to your hand that was joined by your other to timidly lift the blade with fingers and palm fixing around the hilt with the other. Both you shifted up and down for an awkward feel of the balance while he finished buttoning up his robe.

Back to him you offered the blade and over the back of your hand his eased to take hold of the grip in its release that spread a grin across his lips that spread in the smooth motion of your hand to tap his middle to feel the solid armored layer he added while his sword was sheathed with ease. “What is this made of?” you asked with one set of fingers in a second press that was joined by your other hand that widened his grin at the innocent contact that didn’t come close to making him sway but did test the give of the scale like material that didn’t budge at all. “Feels like metal?” You asked and then turned your head to the layered plates that laid from the tops of the shoulders down the tops of his arms over a layer of more scales.

“They are made of mithril plates layered in thick green wool. Mithril is the strongest and lightest metal in these lands.”

“You need armor and swords for this?” You asked with eyes on him again and he shook his head.

“No, merely a habit. I can leave them behind if this bothers you.”

You shook your head then gave his middle another grin spreading poke and said, “No, if you’re comfortable with them it’s fine.”

Your poke however had Tuo upon his entrance bop the King in the chest with his snout to join in on the fun that had the chuckling King shift on his feet to say, “Let us get you dressed Tuo,” with a glance at you he asked, “Would you like to learn?” With a nod he extended his hand you laid yours on top of to walk with him to the large compartments along the wall where he said, “Tuo prefers his saddle first,” the leather saddle he lifted with ease and carried over to the Elk that turned sideways and eased over the Elk’s back. Every piece was explained while he adjusted it then reached down to grab the opposite strap that he said in easing it to the proper notch, “Not too snug but you have to ensure it isn’t too loose or you will spin down off their back. Usually a finger space between the belly and strap will be comfortable but some steeds prefer a notch looser and will make it clear to loosen or tighten the strap.” The stirrups were adjusted down straight then he collected the reins and bridle that he eased over Tuo’s head and helped you to secure the buckles then dropped a hand to your upper back that was used to guide the way to the saddle.

“I don’t think I can lift my leg that high,” you said eyeing the stirrup that made him smirk and ease his left hand over the back of your wrist to reach for the knot on the saddle, “Just reach up, I’ll lift you.” Around your hips his hands settled and with a warning lifted you to where you could plant a foot in the stirrup. “Now, ease your right leg over,” his hands remaining fixed in place until you were halfway over the saddle and when you had settled in place he stepped away to gather the reins that he crossed in your hands his had given a mild cup to release the hold of them.

In a step back he said once at your side when you moved your foot that had slid from the stirrup in its drop again at your leg being shorter than his to rest in them. “How do I not be in the way?”

To himself he chuckled and he replied in an ease of his raised foot in the stirrup, “You are nowhere near in the way,” his hand fixed on the knot over your arm. And fluidly up he rose and used his long legs to his advantage to move around your back to settle on the extended rear seat of sorts on the saddle that had come of use when Legolas was younger. With legs situated around the sides of yours over your shoulder he peered and reached for the reins that you released then promptly tucked your hands back and he asked, “Are you comfortable with the height?”

“Yes, just, not going to look down too often,” you said and he smirked in a low murmured confirmation to the watching Elk that looked forward and began to walk to the entrance.

“Just a slow trot to begin with,” he hummed near to your ear after a careful glance at your braid that hung to the saddle he ensured the curls in it or the jeweled beads tucked throughout would get caught on his outer robe. Straight to the trees while you remained straight as possible to continue not being in the way, “You are not in the way, relax you will not fall. When we get deeper on the path I can show you how to steer if you would like.”

“I don’t know where we are going.”

Again he chuckled and he said, “I am right here,” he said to your glance at the speckled mare that halted with a glare then turned back to storm to her usual pouting tree to lie down underneath. “I will not let us get lost should you take control.”

The first turn was taken and a rounded pathway was laid out for the trotting Elk and up your eyes shifted to the endless trees, “Were the trees always this tall, you said you moved here from your old home, have they grown? I can’t imagine they grow very fast. And they all seem even, so who planted them or did it just rain acorns one day…”

Again he smirked at the curious ramble from you and answered each that you could think up between shared facts and gestures to various things along the way. Hours you rode and chuckles soon gave warning to guards above on where their King had reached along the pathway and after a passing inspection of the guard post he had warned you where Thranduil helped you down to let Tuo take a break at a small stream. With hold of your hand Thranduil smiled in a head tilt to the side, “One more surprise.”

Curiously you smiled and strolled with the King away from the amused guards who chatted once you were out of earshot of the newly bonded Ones that had been kept so far apart for so long. Around a series of large boulders you hurried to catch his stride and then caught signs of the shift from tree surrounded grassy pathway to an open clearing that cut off to a rocky ledge that just led into the sky. “A cliff?” You asked and looked up at him when you stopped a bit afraid of what he brought you here for.

Widely smiling at you he said, “There are nests below, unless you wish to head back?”

Tentatively a few feet from the edge you stopped and crouched down with him inching closer to your side with his hand still clutched in yours just at the edge his arm extended and you saw the large nesting grounds of large owls that the parents were offering their catches to their chicks. “Our Great Owls nest here, sacred creatures none here dare hunt. We do not approach them but occasionally we are welcome to peer down at their home while when they fly over ours they do the same.”

“Does your brooding keep them away as well?” you teased and he chuckled again and joined you in a pull backwards.

“No, just merely an issue of territory.” He said in helping you to your feet again for the turn back again after your sweeping glance out into the endless sky and forest around you. “Tuo should be ready for us.”

“So fast?” You asked and he grinned at you.

“Elk can run for days at a time from our herd if need be. However for our steady trot he will have ample energy to get us back.” The Elk in question was pleased to see you back again and came closer to have you lifted on his back again knowing that for the broad looping path back the King would allow you to take control of the reins if you felt comfortable and once Thranduil was behind you Tuo turned for the path and heard Thranduil offer. “Would you like a chance at the reins?”

“Um,” Already your heart was racing in the velvety hum he had given near to your ear and down your eyes dropped to the reins.

Outwards he eased his hands for the reins to be seen resting on his fingers with palms out, a motion that had yours ease closer. Brief and gentle fingertips eased against his palms to shift against the leather straps that you almost let go of until his hands melted around the back of yours to guide them into the proper hold. Kindly he guided you on needless tugs on the reins for the next several turns in the path that Tuo could travel in his sleep but welcomed the chance to take part in lessons. Each turn widened your smile and lured soft excited giggles in the first stages of control for a steed. Though he hummed post chuckle, “There is a jump ahead, we will have to speed up though.”

“We can both jump?” You asked in the slack of your hands that eased back that signaled his left arm to leave the reins in his right to lay it across your belly to press you into his chest in Tuo’s change in speed. Around his hand and arm yours gripped in a melt around your back to keep you steady in the race up to, the leap and landing and afterwards in the calmer pace until the body in his hold untensed. Even then he still kept a loose hold until a clearing on the right had you bravely reaching out to change course to see the beautiful flower filled hideaway where some colorful birds were gathering food for their nests.

From far above a whistle had Thranduil hummed in a guide of the reins saying, “Ah, nearly time to ready for the feast.”

“I hear tonight is the big sparkle night.”

That had him chuckle again, “Yes, I presume our Seamstresses had created a dazzling gown for you to shine in tonight.”

“They did quite a job in the beading. Must have taken all of them to get it done in time.”

“Well they had completed everyone else’s attires months in advance there were ample hands free. I can guess it will look perfect alongside the swan crown.”

“I thought since it is the big sparkle night I should wear the larger crown, unless-,”

“The larger will be welcomed and I cannot wait to see the final look tonight.”

“Can’t imagine you having a much flashier robe than I’ve seen you in, Dew Drop.”

“You might have organized part of my wardrobe however there are a few pieces that you have yet to see.” He replied playfully not pressing the term you had referred to him by to subtly express an approval of its use, however puzzling as to the source or reason why. “Tonight there is a performance from our choral troupe tonight followed by our fable performers that will certainly add to the splendor of the evening with more performances in each night beyond this one.”

Pink, sleeveless, backless and beaded strips in angled and arranged to fit the curves on the full chest covering gown that hugged you to the pool of fabric around your feet with a delicate woven set of chains draped down the back opening. Teardrop stones surrounded by arched rows of lasgalen stones in an elegant arch formed the crown you had been gifted that sat gracefully on top of your hair that was braided back with shimmering decorations.

Back to your seat again beside the shimmering robe donning King with his same wrap from earlier to help disguise the shimmer while in the shows, that once the food was through and the performances began to a noticed shiver in the move of the tables he eased from around his back to yours. Nice and warm to the dim of the glow in the hall you settled in the oversized wrap with a failed try to withhold your dopey grin to the gesture. All of this was so odd and now near to the end of this month in this new home of yours for the first time since you had been taken now you were beginning to feel safe. Mainly due to the actions and time with your One who every so often through the performance would steal glances your way to ensure that you were enjoying the show. Subtle actions that had his son and Lord Glorfindel on his other side unable to keep from openly grinning for how the private bonding sessions had been doing wonders for the duo they knew to be a courting pair soon enough.

From a few blushing quick grins in caught gazes when you would look back at his staring breaks to the fable being performed that upon a certain point required a loud flash and smoke that had his hand daringly drop from the arm of his chair over yours to ease under your hand in time for it to be a welcomed thing to clutch until the jolt of your heartbeat had slowed to its former steady rhythm. Polite, again the doubts had sprung up and much like the deep ache you hadn’t realized to be there in the time on Tuo’s back in the arms of the King the hand that refused to let go with thumb bravely smoothing up and down the back of yours only locked you in place more. You couldn’t kiss the King again, he was being so polite, no matter what Ones did grow to be eventually for Elves it was only him being polite. Publicly you were known to be scarred and damaged by the husband turned captor and he was simply preventing a show disturbing meltdown. And still you couldn’t force yourself to take your hand away. Even if it was just a daydream of more than just a silencing hand to hold you didn’t want to let go, and to be completely honest that terrified you more than smoke or a sudden flash ever could.

Desserts in small bite sizes on foot came in a round of wine on the way back to the ballrooms that led to more dances through which an Elleth carried to hang up the wrap Thranduil had said you could leave in your chair that among the others was taken away to make more room for couples to dance. Another break for air however found you contrasting your fellow Wizard Radagast who was dancing excitedly in a hushed hum to the tune with eyes upwards mid twirling step that in a giggle ended to a plop back onto the bench there you didn’t know you were that close to.

“If you are cold I will fetch you my wrap, unless you merely wished to stir envy in the stars for your glow.” Thranduil hummed on his way over with two wine glasses in hand, yours still smaller and with your favorite blackberry wine while he sampled the newest cherry and strawberry blend his people had been perfecting to be sampled this year.

From his hand you accepted the glass offered to you and before you could scoot over he had turned and taken up the spot just big enough for him to fit and be snug against your side and took a sip of his glass you mirrored with yours. Once the glass was lowered and your lip loosening sip was swallowed onto his shoulder your arm shifted to drape there and down his back with a plop of your chin on his shoulder that had his sip halt so he could lower his glass and catch your gaze curious of what you were up to. Onto his chest a finger extended from around the side of your glass tapped and tugged the corner of his mouth upwards to your statement of, “You know, I figured out where I’ve seen the color of your eyes before.”

Once his head was turned and he swallowed his mouthful of the wine now among the bottom of his list of favorites to sample on he would tolerate to encourage the brewers to continue tweaking it to face the bitterness it was chased by. “Oh?” he asked truly curious if you were referring to some dream that had warned you of the travel here and to him with no expectation of what you would actually say.

“You’ve seen dew drops at sunrise,” there was that term again, dew drop and now he had something of a reason why. It was his eyes you had complimented and from a being with such impossible eyes as yours that meant something that stunned him to silence. “That chilly blue that has a hint of a glimmer to them unlike any other blue. Dew Drop.”

From the doorway to the gardens Elrond’s voice split the silence by asking, “Now the two of you tucked alone out here can only spell a plot is afoot. Spill your secrets now or we will be unrelenting in our payback.” The grin on his face doubled in his wife’s lean into his side with a plate of snacks she had gathered for the pair of them he chose a piece from that was popped between his lips.

Thranduil however replied to the rest of your cheek to his shoulder to look at the couple joined by Lord Glorfindel and his deepened smirk at the position you had relaxed into that made Thranduil almost lean in right there and kiss you on the top of the head and stroke the wrist attached to the hand holding the glass still rested against his chest. The King’s response however heightened that amused response in the widening of your eyes. “You are mistaken, Elrond. No espionage here.”

Right through the haze of the wine those words hit the panic button and in a lift of your head. Behind the trio an Elf you had promised a dance to arrived and you said, “Ah, Ringwe, I owe you a dance.” Up you stood and in mock ease to the waiting partner you walked with a trade of head nods once you had taken another sip of your wine as the question circled on if the King knew or not. He said he hadn’t, well, not exactly, he hinted he didn’t know. And to be honest, espionage was not that common a term to use day to day. The glass was taken along the way and several dances later to your apartment you strolled beside the King who managed to catch a signal you were about to leave who cut you off in the hall. This time he was lost to chatter from nerves and again with a press of lips to your knuckles the night was ended when he got you safely across that threshold.

Pt 9

@devilishminx328, @fandomsstolemylife00, @lilith15000

#Ride with Tuo #Feast of Starlight #How Much Does He Know?#Bonding #Thranduil x OC

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years

Text

Xerxes

You don’t have to do this. Hohenheim nodded. They’d repeated this phrase time and again, once he’d told them what he was planning. But he was doing it anyway.

With a pang of guilt, he thought it might have taken too long already. The Dwarf might have gotten there first, thanks to Hohenheim’s cowardice. And the invisible chaos of horror and pain he’d spent a hundred years calming. Now…

Hohenheim smiled. Now they were an ocean, wave upon wave of thought and feeling, capable of coordinating themselves in ways that would’ve been impossible, had Hohenheim not fought to make himself heard, so they could be heard.

The waves of their voices gently rumbled in him now. Most were reluctant. Some were terrified of what they would see; Hohenheim had taken the shortest possible route in his escape, had tried to see as little as possible. A few, the bravest, and the kindest, were with Hohenheim. But they knew what he had been through, the toll he had paid for surviving. It had been them who’d started the refrain.

You don’t have to do this. Hohenheim crested the rise. And saw, dunes and dunes, and dunes away, a pillar in the desert. What he was going to do suddenly struck him, more viscerally than he’d expected.

It had been a conversation he’d inadvertently overheard; couldn’t avoid overhearing. It was Tony who’d started it; he hadn’t known more than ten thousand of them then, and Tony had always been loud. His voice would’ve stuck out anyway, but the familiarity pulled Hohenheim’s attention like a hook.

I miss home. Hohenheim had been about to bite into a chicken leg. He paused; the Xingese bar was quite full, and though he’d gotten a few looks when he walked in, there were just enough foreigners passing through that no one questioned him, and by now he spoke the language well enough to keep from making a scene. He was all but invisible.

Yeah, well… we all do. He didn’t know Marilla at that point, but she assured him later it was she who’d spoken.

But we can’t go back; there’s nothing there for us. Brock had always been one to leave the past in the past.

The whole ocean had quieted, listening; there was the slightest murmur, of hundreds of thousands who no longer had lungs drawing breath.

Xerxes is a ruin by now. Leo; in life he’d looked like a sad lion, and spoke like a sad lamb. It’d just hurt to go back.

Besides, Brock said, would you really be okay with seeing everyone’s… I couldn’t bear to see what’s left.

The ocean went quiet. Though none of them had eyes, Hohenheim had the incredible feeling of thousands upon thousands of them watching him.

He raised the chicken leg to his mouth. The sudden quiet in his mind, compared to the usual din, was both wonderful and terrifying. “What?” And then he realized. And he understood.

No! Sarah had shouted into the quiet ocean; though she’d no body, Hohenheim could perfectly visualize her hands on her hips. We are not putting him through that!

The ocean was in chaos for at least a month. No one ever brought it up again, but Hohenheim couldn’t forget. Dread knotted in his belly. He’d go back. He couldn’t avoid it forever.

Later on, as he learned every single name, every single story, it would be compassion that fueled his commitment to return. But in the first few years—Hohenheim couldn’t lie to himself—it had been mostly guilt. His bones were the only ones nobody needed to bury.

***

He started small, camping in a hollow outside one of the outlying villages. You don’t have to do this, they said, as they had said more times than Hohenheim could count.

“I know,” Hohenheim said, “but I want to.”

You do not want to go back, to open up the old wound, Sergis said.

“No,” Hohenheim said, “I don’t.” In the flummox that followed he continued, “But I do want to set you and the bodies of your loved ones to rest. Even moreso than I want never to go back. Besides,” He stirred the fire, pulling the blankets around him as the cold desert wind stirred through the rocks, “I’m not sure this old wound is healing properly.” He looked down at his hands. “I ran away. I don’t hate myself for it anymore, but I left your bodies here to rot. I ran away, trying to hide my naivete and my cowardice like a child hides the sheets after he wets the bed. So now, I’m going to dig out the infection, abscess by abscess.”

There was a pause in which the ripples of conversation ebbed and flowed. You do know, Hohenheim, Jeremiah said, that only half of the bodies will be ours. The rest are…

“With him.” Hohenheim spat the second word. “Yes, I know.” He looked off over the sand. He slowly turned his head—almost had to force it to turn—until he was looking over the barren remains of Xerxes. “I don’t know what I can do for them; I wish I could say more than that. But whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

***

He split his time carefully. Hohenheim had to go looking during the day, finding them in the best light, so they could be identified by the souls within him. Of those who had been awake, memories of that night were burnt into their souls forever, and time had done nothing to wear them away. But those who had been asleep—a great many, mostly children; theirs had been the hardest voices for Hohenheim to hear, and the ones he knew he had to take the most care in listening to—were useful as well. They knew whose house was just by the road leading to the capital, where their parents and siblings had slept in the house.

They were too late for some. Vultures and jackals had smelled the rotting flesh, and there were a number of skeletons too damaged and too far removed from their homes for anyone to identify. Hohenheim tried his best, and gave every single soul a chance to examine every single body. Some had no idea which bodies were theirs; there had been too much chaos in those last moments for them to remember, or they had wanted too badly to forget. Others were sure a broken pile of bones was theirs, though it was nowhere near where they said they’d died. When asked, by Hohenheim or another soul, they said they just knew. Unless another soul said the body was also theirs, Hohenheim didn’t argue.

Hohenheim made a stone jar on the spot, and followed every detail of the burial rites as closely as he could, while he set the bones within. He wore the white cover over his mouth and nose, and wore the white gloves. He said the words, and set a copper coin over each eye; the hardest part of Hohenheim’s preparations had been moving bars upon bars of smelted copper out here so he could transmute them. Then he sealed the jar and carried it to the nearest settlement.

At night, he dug. It had been a century since human feet and the hooves of livestock had packed the earth, but it was still hard work. He used a shovel, and dug away from the settlements so the Dwarf wouldn’t find the remains.

Hohenheim? Marilla asked as he was eating. He was on to the tenth village, now, and had laid some thousand bodies to rest.

“Yes? What is it?”

Why don’t you use alchemy to dig our graves?

Hohenheim paused, the bite of crisp, roasted lizard resting on his tongue. He chewed, and swallowed. “Alchemy ripped your souls from your bodies. It doesn’t seem right to lay you to rest with it. And…”

And?

“You deserve my fullest effort.” He looked into the fire. “Every last one of you. And I mean to give it.”

***

The first body of someone Hohenheim knew was Andal’s. It wasn’t anywhere near the capital. He remembered, as his knees buckled, that no one but Andal wore a copper chain with a green stone in the shape of a scorpion around their neck, and had old fractures in the first two knuckles of their left hand from when he’d nearly slugged Hohenheim and hit the doorpost. The structure of the man’s face was a close match. Hohenheim remembered his master had sent Andal out here to deliver a message to his wife’s cousin regarding the birth of their third granddaughter.

Hohenheim did not sleep that night. Or any of the six nights after that. He redoubled his work. Forty thousand laid to rest. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. He finished all the furthest flung towns, villages, and farmsteads. Some, he realized, were the towns where the massacres had happened. The tears he cried at those villages were just as much of rage as sadness. And he cried many, many tears. He couldn’t help it, didn’t want to, when so many within him were wracked by grief at seeing the unburied bones of their stolen loved ones.

But as he worked his way further and further into the country of his birth, Hohenheim found something happening that he hadn’t expected, though he realized he should have. The souls within him… were comforting each other. Parents grieved with parents for their lost children, children for their lost parents, brothers for sisters, sisters for brothers, lovers for lovers, friends for friends. And the sadness they had all felt for so long started to ease. And, for some, even break.

Families were reunited, friendships rekindled as the souls that had known each other in life found each other, and Hohenheim sometimes felt that the ocean within him almost transformed into a starlit sky, and sometimes the tears he cried were happy tears.

But almost no one within him hadn’t lost somebody to the Dwarf in the Flask. And so Hohenheim’s work continued. And he felt them shift from wondering to encouraging. Those who knew how told him how best to dig, where the ground was best for it, which sites would be hardest to find.

And Hohenheim dug. Not graves, open to the elements and easy to recognize, but crypts, into the ground and sides of gorges and ditches that hadn’t seen rain or water in decades. He reinforced them with stone blocks, made to Sergis’s exacting specifications. And within each crypt, he buried a community, each jar in a niche with the remains of its closest family and friends.

One hundred thousand he’d laid to rest. Two hundred thousand. Three. Four. He started working in the densely populated centre of the country. The gap between Andal and the second person Hohenheim recognized was substantial, but it couldn’t last. The next body he recognized was that of Ilsa, his baker’s wife. She was far from home, but he’d heard she had family east of the capital, and Hohenheim doubted anyone else he knew from back then wore a baker’s apron with the exact same pattern of desert roses stitched into the leather. The gap between her and the third, the royal courier who had a wooden foot, was much shorter than between the first and second.

Five hundred thousand. Six hundred. Seven.

The first time Hohenheim looked over the horizon and saw the silhouette of the royal palace, just as the sun was setting, he dropped to his knees and vomited. By the time he rose, the moon was up, the starts were out, and the vomit had been washed away by the flood of grief that washed over him.

He’d begun recognizing landmarks some time ago; now Hohenheim was recognizing individual buildings, houses, streets, squares. And almost daily, he was recognizing bodies without the help of the souls within him. Though it was getting less surprising, he was no less horrified by the finding, the recognizing of each life that was snatched away.

As he identified, and carried, and dug, and buried, Hohenheim could feel the wound in him starting to close, the guilt starting to lift. With every body he laid to rest, one soul’s grief and anger was assuaged, however slightly. He felt his determination to finish this thing deepen and harden within him.

He emptied the capital’s prison, the market district, the merchant’s quarter, the bazaar, the stables. He searched every basement, every rooftop, every bedroom, every warehouse, every granary. He saw the bodies of children who died sleeping, friends who died drinking, enemies who died brawling, lovers who died making love in each other’s arms; he saw a thousand thousand private moments, interrupted. He saw lives that should’ve been lived.

As those he had buried passed a million, Hohenheim moved into the environs about the palace, its ruined shape hanging over him as he worked. He almost told himself he wouldn’t go in until he’d checked every other district, and buried every other person, but stopped himself; he knew he wouldn’t go in because he was afraid.

***

And then the day came. It was as sunny as the rest. Hohenheim stood at the gate, for a very long time, staring into the palace grounds, dry and dead.

Hohenheim? He froze. They’d never all said the same thing at the same time before. Marilla continued, and all the others fell—somehow—perfectly silent. It’s okay. You have helped us do as we needed. Go and put your own demons to rest. We’re here for you. Because you are here for us.

Hohenheim didn’t try to halt the tears. “I know, Marilla.” He took a step forward. “Thank you.”

He scoured the entire palace from the bottom up. He left no room unexplored. Including his own. He heaved a sigh of relief when he found no one there.

After almost a week, he finally came to the throne room. There were nine bodies. Five for those who’d stood at the five corners of the innermost circle—Hohenheim remembered all of them. One for his master. Hohenheim wept for him, even as he collected his bones. One for the chief advisor. And the two other assistants, Mayo, and Willard.

Of the king, there was no sign, save for his rings and his diadem. They rested beside the brazier, where the final—and first—blood had been spilt. Hohenheim stared at them for some time.

“So much greed,” Hohenheim said, to no one in particular. The souls quieted as he spoke. “A million souls answered to you, and the wealth of a nation filled your coffers. No one ate so well as you, no one dressed half so finely, no one suffered so little. When others died at forty and counted it old, you feared death at sixty and seventy... It wasn’t enough for you.

“... Why!” The roar ripped from Hohenheim’s lips before he knew he was shouting. “Why wasn’t it enough? Why did you want more? Why couldn’t you be satisfied with the riches of kingship? Why did you have to cling to what you couldn’t have? Why did you have to be such a thrice-damned fool? He swindled you out of the lives you had no right to trade! The only souls I blame more for this than mine are his and yours!”

Sweat dripped into Hohenheim’s eyes, and he realized he’d kicked the brazier over, scattered the rings across the room. He wiped the sweat away, and took a deep breath. “You’re inside him somewhere,” he said, collecting himself. “Good. I can’t imagine a better place for you. I know you can’t hear me. But I will do everything I can for the lives I ruined by helping you. And he will suffer a fate of equal value to what he’s taken. I won’t imagine what that might be.” Hohenheim turned to the bones lying about the room, and moved to his master’s body.

“But your fate, King of Xerxes, will not be much better.”

***

The last crypt was sealed. The land of Xerxes had been cleansed of the bodies of its murdered people. As the sun set, Hohenheim looked back over his country.

You won’t be coming back, will you? Brock said.

“No,” Hohenheim said. “I think not.”

You’re going to try and find him, aren’t you?

Hohenheim nodded. “Yes.”

We’ll help. Marilla sounded more certain than the passage of time.

“I know.” Hohenheim turned west, and started walking. For some reason, as he passed the pillar marking the edge of his ancestral lands, the final lines of his people’s funeral rites came to mind. He had recited them many, many times. He couldn’t have told anyone why he said them one more time, but he did.

“All things were made from one.

And at the end, all things return to one.”

#my fanfiction #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist: brotherhood #xerxes #we never saw anything like this in canon #but it could've happened #it just sorta came to me #from who-knows-where

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springtimebat · 4 years

Text

The demon and the seer

Chapter One: The Carnival Folk

In which a trip is made early, predictions are performed and Frankie Albarn is oddly at home

The last days of October were fading, just like the embers of a dying fire, and the devious clutches of November were finally stretching. It was during these twilight hours, between All Hallows Eve and the broken weeks of early winter, that the Carnival Folk made their return to the town of Bad Seed.

The fields around the place succumbed to grey clouds as their visitors slithered across cracked cobblestone. Their van, that dreaded thing of nightmares, resembled an ancient hearse, with its collapsing bumper and its range of old knic-knacks plastered onto the doors, the windows, the floors. And as the vehicle made its way to the Old Albarn farm, descending through to the hills on its thousands of legs, its swollen exterior fighting against the rain as it began to rain, the villagers of Bad Seed glowered at the fog that had began to make its clumsy way up lanes and junctions, smashing against brick, a homemade, foreign concoction brought with their Carnival Folk in order for them to stay in the shadows. So they could hide. Men crouched in armchairs as the monster passed by the windows, worried for their children. Women of all shapes and sizes, eyes bulbous and full, whispered amongst themselves, heads swimming with myth. Murders of children flocked together around misted glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of phantoms. For a thing of legend to become a thing of reality. For they were all living in rare times. The Carnival Folk, with all their monsters, their fog, their shadows, only visited Bad Seed once in a blue moon. Mutters around town spoke of a blood pact with the crazy old Albarn Family, high up of their farm just outside of town. Others spoke men as big as houses, running through the town, carrying body parts, animals, circus equipment. Some spoke of animals; of elephants with three trunks, of wolves with human hands, of birds with paws and snouts. And then, of course, there was the woman of ancient tomes, with her hunched back and her gammy legs. The old one with her gnarled fingers, her walking stick; a tree branch that was said to stamp out peoples’ lives, summon devils and reanimate the dead. Most importantly, of course, was her glass eye, blue as frost said to bring those who gazed upon it eternal damnation, to curse the onlooker with rotted flesh and a taste for bloodshed. Shadows grew heavy in the town of Bad Seed and the children, in their murders, in their flocks, giggled in delight, in mischief. The old one was here!

Too soon, the van was making its way up old country lanes, having left the harsh confines of town square. The driver, hooded and armed with a threadbare whip, pressed firmly in, until in the midnight throes of mist and dew, the Carnival reached the old Albarn Farm, withering away on its small stretch of fields just outside Bad Seed’s suspicious gates. The van groaned as it came to halt, low exhausted. The driver sighed and mopped thick streams of sweat from his brow. Then he jumped down from his position, rounded the back of his family hearse and pulled the back door open. In the back was the old one, her wrinkled hands clutching the scrap walls. She frowned as she was led out into the moonlight, her amber eyes tiny slits as she got used to her surroundings. The driver, a man of very few words, grabbed the crone by the waist and delivered her onto the decaying pavement, where she landed on two slender legs hidden by an inherited grandmother’s smock.

“Ah, back again Wilson,” The hideous one announced, her voice thick and high. She pointed a finger at the old Albarn Farm just before them. The driver grunted and held out an oak branch he had kept in the front seat until she was ready. The woman shook her head and glowered at him.

“No need Wilson! I can make it on my own this time I know it! This place has a bitter taste. Always has, always will. I’ll be fine for this visit.”

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start that my boy,” The old woman scolded, batting away flies with a claw, “Now, have you got the tub?”

Wilson nodded and tapped a rucksack on his brick back. The old master nodded and with that, the two set off towards their destination; the crumbling Albarn farmhouse, taken apart by weeds, with its eyes blank slates.

“Bloody Albarns! They make this journey hard enough without the stairs to climb!” The old one puffed as they finally got to the front door, after ten minutes of step after step after step. Wilson groaned and pressed the doorbell. There they stood for a while, waiting for a welcome, tapping their boots.

Footsteps soared to the old one’s strange ears and the door finally swung open, with a hideous creak. She noticed it was on its last rusty hinge. The Albarn woman appeared in the door frame, her face pale and warped, swarmed with cold sores. After catching sight of the old one and her assistant, Mrs Albarn’s eyes, already quite glassy, dimmed further.

“Do you want to come in?” She muttered, twirling a strand of straw hair around a bony finger. There was a thud from Wilson as he pulled the rucksack off his shoulders and the poor Albarn woman gave a squeak. The old woman smiled up at her, her teeth shiny in the dark.

“That would be nice dear, thank you.”

And with that, the Carnival Folk entered the Albarn farm for what seemed like the thousandth time.

It had been six long years since the old one’s last visit and six long years since the last Albarn child. Yet, as they were ushered into the dilapidated foyer, the old master and her apprentice both realised the house hadn’t changed at all. Same furniture in the same place, just shaggy and worn with time. The carpets had not been replaced and the same cracks had not been scratched from the walls. All that seemed different were the portraits. The Albarn portraits were of the ugly necessary variety. They were an assortment of long gone corpses lining the foyer walls, detailing which was which. Now all the walls were filled to the brim with baby pictures. They told of first steps, of first words, of first guns. The insidious gap-toothed grin of a toddler loomed over the old one and made her cough. As she looked around and as Wilson rummaged through his supplies, Mrs Albarn seemed to stand in her own hallway, clasping and unclasping her greyed hands, opening and closing her fish mouth, unsure of what to do.

“Strange,” The old one wondered, “She wasn’t like this the last time. She was such a happy lamb last time.” The old woman cleared her throat, making the Albarn woman tense.

“Is there anywhere to place the tub? Or shall we go into the Parlour like last time dear?” Mrs Albarn shivered in an invisible wind then nodded. Raising an eyebrow at Wilson, who looked just as puzzled, the old one led the way into the side parlour, just to their right.

“Is there any reason why Frankie insisted we come so early after the baby's birth?”

They had set up the old tub on the coffee table and had now taken to listening to the rain thrash against the windowpane. Mrs Albarn, sitting on a patchwork couch, bit her lip.

“It was actually my idea. I was...concerned. I’m still concerned.”

The old woman rolled her eyes. New mother jitters. There was no doubt about it.

“Couldn’t you have waited a little longer dearie? Autumn is a very hard time of year for us. When you turn your head, October bleeds as quickly as it can into the following February.”

“Don’t you mean November?”

“No. February. Frankie should know how difficult the journey is here. It took us seven months to get to him. And Frankie was a real handful!”

“Yes well, this is a very special case.”

“Has the child set the house on fire?”

“What? No!”

“The barn? The fields?”

“No! Nothing’s on fire!”

“Ah, you see that’s what I would class as a special case. What has the child done there? She’s only what...two months old? What could she have possibly done to make you so anxious?”

Before Mrs Albarn could answer, her husband slumped into their make-shift parlour. He was different too. So very different. When Frankie Albarn’s first child had been born the man had been glowing with pride, happiness… a third thing the old one couldn’t quite remember. Now, he was pale and grey, just like his wife. But Frankie was an Albarn! He had descended from witches and shadows! He was crafted from the midnight sky! Yet those bright eyes had fallen to smoke and faded glass. The old woman sighed. What a waste.

“Hello,” Frankie nodded at the two Carnival Folk in his parlour, “How are you two?”

“Confused Frankie,” The old one sighed, “There better be a good reason for you calling us out here in November no less! Would you care to tell us what is going on?”

“The baby is…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Just...odd. And Ruth was afraid-”

“Oh yes! She’s already said that! But here we all are, in the farmhouse. Nothing on fire.” A small smile formed on the old woman’s careworn face. Frankie gave a little chuckle, remembering the time he set the living room drapes alight.

“We had them replaced.”

“Oh yes I noticed last time!”

Ruth Albarn sat between them all, perplexed.

“Fran’s upstairs,” She cut in, “Would you like to see her yourself?”

“By all means. Go girl go!”

A few minutes later, the old one of myth and fantasy was sat on a parlour armchair, prodding a baby with a wrinkled finger.

“Ah, lovely! Just lovely! Much better than the boy was!”

Fran Albarn, plump as plump can be, gave the old one a giant grin. Her mother, sitting on the far side of the room, had turned a livid purple.

“Yes,” Ruth growled, “We know. The very first time you said it.”

The old woman blew a loud, obnoxious raspberry on the baby’s tummy. Fran erupted into a cackle, a noise Mrs Albarn seemed utterly repulsed by.

“She had your laugh Frankie!” The crone gawped, “Your hair too!”

She stroked the girl’s dark brown tufts, which had just started to sprout.

Frankie didn’t seem happy about this news and looked down to the floorboards.

“I see nothing wrong with this one. Why on earth did you call?”

Frankie Albarn ran his fingers through his hair.

“When she was born she didn’t scream. She was completely silent. The midwife, some girl from town, said she was born with her eyes wide open.”

“And what lovely eyes too!” The old woman giggled, pinching Fran’s nose. The baby nodded, squirming, “Cheeky bugger!”

“...Anyway, isn’t that a little odd, you know? Being born observing the world around you. Having that much self awareness is a dangerous thing.”

“Perhaps for ordinary folk,” The old one picked the bay up, resting her in chicken-bone arms, “But this is an Albarn. Her kind swims with the fishes and flies high with the birds. There’s more witchcraft in her bones than sewing and farming.”

Ruth Albarn gave a little sob. The crone opposite growled.

“Oh, pull yourself together! It could be much worse!”

“How?” Ruth wailed, “How could it possibly be worse?”

Wilson, silent as the grave, tapped the tub in the centre of the room, his eyes hooded. Frankie patted his wife on the back.

“I think we’re about to find out Love.”

“Steady Wilson! Steady!” The old crone called, placing Fran into the tub, tickling her head and pinching her cheeks before letting go.

“What’s the bowl for?” Ruth whimpered.

“To cook her dear.”

“What?”

The old one sighed and turned back to the baby.

“It was a joke Ruth. Just a joke,” Frankie explained warily.

“Wilson,” The crone called, “I need the flask. Pour the flask!”

Out of his pocket, Wilson produced a flasky, grimy and half full. He reached over Fran in the tub and poured the flask into her forehead, making the baby gurgle.

“What’s all this for?” Ruth whispered to her husband as the old one placed a hand on her daughter’s head. Foam had started to crawl out from the bowl and began to take over the coffee table.

“We’ll see.”

“But-”

“We’ll see.”

“You have to list-”

“Trust me.”

After a minute or so, the old one’s eyelids began to droop and her hand let go of Fran’s head.

“Here we go.”

“Wha-”

“The Fawn!” A voice pushed Ruth back. It was a rough male growl, which soared out of the old one’s throat with such force, it seemed to be the voice of a prisoner, trapped in her tiny frame, “A fawn will come. Only its eyes will remain.”

The Albarns watched, their mouths open. Wilson, stood beside them, lit a cigarette.

“Nothing significant. A man made out of cinders. Crimson. West-West! North-west!” The old one called out, as spit flew down her chin, “A man with no names... A demon... A demon and its…” At this point, the old woman’s eyes, now red and puffy, clicked open. She stared down at the baby, full of so much light, so much potential, so much magic. Then she turned to stare at the parents, all lost and frozen in time.

“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” Frankie asked slowly. The old one shuddered violently but then twisted her mouth into a smile.

“Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s going to be a great little witch. One of the greatest I will ever see.” She replied, with some sadness. Ignoring Ruth’s tears, the old woman of myth, of legend, stumbled back to the parlour door.

“We’re leaving now.”

Frankie Albarn, who had gone to collect his daughter, nodded reluctantly.

“Ruth will see you out.”

“Don’t you want your equipment back?”

“No need for it,” The old one replied, “Got hundreds of them, haven’t we Wilson?” Wilson grunted and raced forward to their van to retrieve his whip.

“That thing you did, it was a prediction right?” Ruth asked as they returned to the front door.

“Indeed.”

“So, they don’t always come true.”

“My predictions are very precise. I have thousands of satisfied customers. But yes I suppose there is room for error.”

“My pa always said to never trust your carnival lot,” Ruth Albarn glared. The old one smirked, her eyes like little suns in the shadows.

“Frankie’s pa ran off with a she-wolf, if I recall correctly. Make sure his son doesn’t do the same dear. History repeating itself is a horrible thing.”

Ruth scoffed and shut the door in the old one’s face.

As the old lady walked down the stairs, she chuckled. By the time she got to her carnival hearse, she was cackling. Wilson, who had climbed back into the front seat, grinned at her.

“I’ll bet you he’s gone in five years time.”

Wilson held up two fingers in the fog.

“Oh that’s a brave bet Wilson my boy!”

Both giggled and the old woman circled the van. When she opened the back door, her face fell a little.

“Shame about the girl. Terrible start to life. Still, I suppose she’ll get away soon enough.”

Wilson grunted and the old one, a relic of lost times, of monsters and men, climbed back into her van. Her assistant, who only spoke in noises, spat out the end of a cigarette and hit his whip onto the dry ground. A strange goodbye to an even stranger place.

And with that, the Carnival Folk disappeared into the hills, its bumper falling off with a giant thud as they hid in the mountains. They would never be seen in the peculiar town of Bad Seed again.

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

Text

TWB 1x04: The Wrong End of a Telescope - Analysis

So, I really loved this episode of TWB as well. Lots of good stuff in it.

Early on, the call the CRM the “hidden city.” I was really glad they said that because it further proves our Avalon theory. (Read HERE.)

There was more talk of luck and being lucky in this episode as well. The group gets to a high school and decides to go in, both to get out of the rain and to scavenge for supplies.

They end up dividing into three groups: Huck and Hope, Felix and Elton, Iris and Silas.

With Felix and Elton, they happen upon some iodine, and Elton calls it the “Holy Grail of water purification.” So, water theme. They also come upon a walker who’s stuck in a locker. (That rhymes, hehe.) But it’s actually locked into the locker with a padlock. It makes Elton claustrophobic and we some flashes of his past, though they’re not entirely clear yet.

I think this is an important theme, though. The walker is imprisoned and can’t get out. Felix couldn’t get it out if he’d wanted to because it was locked in, and he didn’t have a key. So key and lock theories, imprisonment, etc. At one point, we even saw Felix picking a lock, so it was there a lot.

It also becomes clear that there’s an animal, a predator, in the high school. We see it drag a walker away and hear it growling. As it turns out, it’s a wolf, living in the vacant school. Sirius Still feels, no? The first thing I thought of was the Up the Wolves song from Still and the idea of Beth being the mother wolf.

And get this: Huck and Hope are the ones who see it. They are looking at it (from behind a door) and decide it’s acting weird. It’s not pacing around or really trying to attack them or running away. It’s standing in the doorway like a sentinel. Huck apparently knows a thing or two about wolves and says it’s probably protecting it’s young.

So, we have a mother wolf protecting its children in a school with yellow walls and lots of water jugs. Hmmm.

The other thing is that Hope took a lesson from Huck and the wolf and applied it to her father. (We also get flashbacks of Hope arguing with her father in this episode, before he left with the CRM. He tells her some things that at first seem pretty innocuous, but also make me think she might be special in some way. We’ll have to wait to find out how/why.)

Anyway, Huck says sometimes you think you’re reading a situation right, but really there’s a lot going on you don’t know about. She said this in reference to the wolf. It wasn’t really out to get them; just protecting it’s young. And Hope took that and applied it to herself saying perhaps she’d totally misunderstood her dad all those years and there was a lot more going on than she knew.

So, for me, the line about being a lot more going on that you’re not seeing could apply to Beth and TD, no? But also, the fact that Hope applied it to her dad gives me hope that maybe Beth’s story will, as we’ve theorized, be tangled up with the father and his research in some way. I can’t help but compare him to Dr. Edwards, who was also a research doctor.

Also, side note: Hope is SUPER smart. Like her dad. She knows about chemistry and how to build chemicals and compounds and such. Pretty cool.

Now let’s talk about Iris and Silas. It has crossed my mind in earlier episodes that they might become love interests at some point, but it wasn’t clear, so I truly wasn’t sure if that’s where it was going.

As of this episode, it’s VERY clear there will be romance between them. Why? Because of all the Beth/Daryl parallels.

The two of them get locked in a gym together for a short time before getting out again. The dialogue and vibe was very Bethyl. First, Iris, who love art but hasn’t been pursuing it in past years, picks up paintbrushes. Then she gets embarrassed and says they aren’t essential. But he says they’re essential to her and puts them in her bag. So he’s supporting her in her art. Reminded me a lot of Daryl telling Beth to sing.

The dialogue wasn’t word for word in this case, but had a lot of the same meaning. For example, Silas says Iris is different now, being a leader. She says, “I’m trying.” And he replies, “you are.” So, we have parallels to both the line where Beth said she wished she could just change, and Daryl said she did. And also to when Beth said Daryl got away from his past. When he denies it, she says, “you did.”

Silas also opened up to Iris about the negativity in his head and how he can’t escape it on the inside. But “out here” he doesn’t hear the negative voices. It reminded me of Aaron and Daryl talking about how Daryl sometimes needed to be “out here” in 5b, with Buttons.

There was also a “you okay?” exchange, kind of like Bethyl in Beth’s cell in 4x01.

There were signs all over the school for a Sadie Hawkins dance. They made a funny joke in which neither of the kids had heard of it and assumed it was the name of a girl who went to the school. My high school did the Sadie Hawkins dance, but all I really know about it is that it was girl’s choice and less formal than prom. But I wondered if there was more to the symbolism here, because the signs for it were EVERYWHERE and it was really emphasized. So I looked it up. Look what I found:

I think the emphasis of the girl’s choice is important, especially as we’re dealing with romance here and in both cases—Beth and Iris—the girl really reached out to the guy, rather than vise versa, and helped him come out of his shell and open up to her.

Also, notice the dog reference (Dogpatch) in where the Sadie Hawkins dance originated from. I’m kinda thinking that’s why the writers chose it rather than just doing a prom theme. It has canine roots! ;D Also reminds me of the “dog trot” in Still.

They also shared “green soda.” Obviously the green thing, but Silas just randomly found it and Iris really liked it. I feel like this was the teenaged version of Beth and Daryl’s moonshine.

There was a really adorable moment when Iris and Silas danced together to music. Obviously the music gave me Bethyl vibes. There wasn’t really any dance themes around Beth and Daryl in particular, but I couldn’t help but think of his line about singing out in public. Most of his other “I Nevers” have since come true in some way, and I’ve long suspected that, at some point, he and Beth will sing together in some capacity.

I have no idea what that will look like, but Iris and Silas dancing felt like some version of that. He kept objecting that he didn’t know how to dance, but she talked him into it and they figured it out together and were laughing and smiling and having fun. Yeah, I ship it. ;D

The next thing I noticed has to do with the Pink Theory. This episode did this thing where they kept showing flashbacks. Not of the man characters per se but of the school before the apocalypse hit. So, it would show kids walking through the halls, dancing at school dances, having fun, etc. And it kind of zeroed in on one girl who was very happy and somewhat popular. Lots of people talking to her, taking her picture, etc. She was very happy. And she had pink hair. The significance of that didn’t hit me until about halfway through.

We even saw a guy at her high school smile at her, as though there might be some romance blooming there.

Iris sees a picture of this same girl in a yearbook. The caption says, “most likely to march to the beat of her own drum.” That made me think of Beth because 1) pink hair 2) drum = music reference and 3) Beth definitely marched to the beat of her own drum, taking a different path than the rest of the group and kind of existing outside the main story line.

At the very end, we see a walker with pink hair. It’s obviously supposed to be her. So, it’s sad, because she died in the school. Symbol-wise, I do think she represents Beth. She was a teenager (18), enjoying her life and romance was perhaps even blooming for her, when everything was cut short. She was sort of like the sacrificial lamb.

And then we have that wolf image. I feel like they’re hinting at the death of the lamb and birth of the wolf, here. And this works for these characters too as they grow and mature and leave their innocence behind. So, pretty potent—not to mention biblical—symbolism here. The lamb and the wolf are mentioned together often, especially in the book of Isaiah.

Hope and Huck find foodie supplies and there’s all kinds of symbolic goodness here. Pretty sure there’s some peanut butter on the shelf, Huck grabs sardines, which are a type of fish.

There’s a walker with a missing leg that got caught in a grate (missing foot symbolism). At one point, Silas finds a flare, which is sitting right next to a water jug. (Lots of those in the school, too.)

So, interestingly, we had the pink theme in both FTWD and TWB this week. (FTWD = Rich Bitch walker and TWB = pink haired Beth proxy.) We also saw flares lit in both. One by Al on the roof of the office building and one by Silas in the school.

Silas has an anger moment, lashes out, and accidentally hurts Elton. He gets depressed about it and wants to be left behind, but once again, Iris reaches out to him and helps him work through it. And they all leave together at the end.

Then there’s the coda. Yes, this episode had a coda. There weren’t any SUPER obvious Beth ties, but we saw “test subjects” being experimented upon.

So this obviously has something to do with the girls’ dad and where they’re going. But any after-the-credits-coda I can’t help but link to Beth. And then there’s the bite/cure theory. So I’m definitely side-eyeing this. The woman we see doing the tests calls them “Test Subjects” just as Jenner did in Season 1 of TWD. Very interesting.

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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renee-writer · 4 years

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Songs of an Outlander Chapter One Fergus

A/N from @ladymeraud

Renee writer and I are about to in bark on another story. This story will be an extension of a work by HCKYGRL72 called “somewhere over the rainbow on AO3” I have complete permission from the author of this story to give it some more story. I will also be have come creative fun with some Disney stories. As we know Claire went about to the 18th century in 1946. There where only a few Disney movies that she would have seen. As a military nurse working with the Americans and the other, she would have seen first run movies. Now some of the song in this story Disney didn’t release until the 1950’s Claire would have not seen them but for fun. Let’s have some fun and after 14 days of only going to work and an hour out to exercise, or shop for food, I personally need to be creative. As always, if anyone needs to see the email that HCKYGRL72 gave me to write this little story. I am very ok with sending it to you. This is to be an AU canon. I own nothing not the rights to any story by HCKYGRL72, Disney or outlander. So here we go sit back and have some fun.

At the End of Over the Rainbow

She ends the tale to the whistles and applause of her listeners. She smiles and bows. Jamie watches her closely. Though she seems happy, there is a note of sadness about her. He sees a single tear fall from her eye. He wishes to wipe it away and keep more from falling. Maybe someday.

“Mistress Claire, thank you so much for telling us the story. It was so enchanted with the wee people and the witches!” Hamish exclaims.

“And the magic slipper shoes and the big wind.” Another bairn adds. Jamie can tell she is getting tired and makes his way through the throng of children.

“Mistress Claire needs her rest. Come, let ye be off to your parents.” They move reluctantly away.

“Thank you Jamie.”

“May I see ye to your room Claire?”

“You may. Thank you.” He takes her arm and they head down the long halls.

“It was quite a tale. I've heard none like it.”

“It come from the colonies. My uncle told it to me.” Her eyes drop and he kens she isn’t being fully truthful but will not press her on it. She's a right to her secrets after all. “My Uncle Lamb was full of tales. He kept me entertained.” He smiles at her, struck by the far off look in her eyes. Somewhere over the Rainbow indeed.

They have reached her door and stop. “Thank you for seeing me safe Jamie.”

“You are welcome anytime a chridhe.” Jamie said. She looked at him but didn’t ask what that had meant. She would find out at some time. She smiled at him and closed the door.

“Good night Claire,” he said as she closed the door. “Good night mo chridhe’ he whispered.

She leans against the closed door with a sigh. She knows she needs to get back to the stones, back to her own time but she was drawn to the lad. To Jamie.

The next morning finds her humming another song, from her time, from the Disney film, Cinderella. She finds herself happy. She knows it has a lot to do with Jamie and that scares her.

They dance around each other over the next month. Brushing against each other in the halls, smiling across the table in the Great Hall. Careful conversation. Each are exquisitely aware of what is between them.

One day, the day before he is reluctantly to join Dougal, in collecting rents, he heads into her surgery. He needs to see her before he leaves. He stops in awe at what he sees.

She stands, swaying, with a small bundle in her arms. She is softly singing. “I know you. I know you once upon a dream. I know you.”

“Miss Beauchamp. Claire?”

“Jamie. Look. Someone has left me a present. A little boy, around three months, in a basket outside my surgery.”

He walks up to examine the baby. He is a beauty, with dark curls, a shade darker then the lass that holds him.

“A fine brawl lad.” He agrees.

“He is. Oh Jamie! I want to keep him. Do you think Himself will let me.”

“He will wonder if he is yours.”

“Mine! No Jamie. I have never been pregnant.” A vale of sadness covers her again. He longs to make her smile.

“I ken Claire. I ken he isn’t your son, by birth. Let’s go see if he can still be yours.” As he hoped, her smile returns. He leads the bairn and her out.

They enter Column’s office. “Jamie, Miss Beauchamp, and who is this, then?”

“It seems someone left a bairn, a lad, at Miss Beauchamp’s doorstep.”

“I wish to keep him. Oh please, may I?”

“How can I be sure he isn't yours? Those skirts hide a lot.”

“My Laird, the lad is near three months. Not two months ago, Miss Beauchamp rode before me in naught but a shift. Trust me, she was not near delivery.”

“I see. Well, I will talk to Ned, when he returns with the rents, about the legal aspects of it. But, yes Miss Beauchamp, you may keep the lad. He needs a name.”

“Thank you,” she wishes to do a little gig but restrains herself, “What is a good Scottish name?”

“Fergus.” Jamie offers.

“Fergus Henry Beauchamp. Will that do?” She asks Column.

“Perfectly. There is a lass, Annie Mackenzie. She lost her own bairn to the fairies.” All three cross themselves. “I will send her to you to wet nurse him.”

“Thank you. I will supplement with goat's milk.”

He nods.

“Jamie, I ken my brother wishes for you to travel with him to collect the rents.”

“Aye. I am to leave out tomorrow.”

“Ye were too. I feel that you would be a better service to me here. With most of the fighting men gone. Besides, Miss Beauchamp and the young lad, could use your protection.”

“Aye. I am at you and Miss Beauchamp's service.” He bows low to both of them.

“Verra good. Escort them back to her chamber. I will see Annie sent to them.” She curtsies, as well as she can, and they head out.

“What were you singing to the lad?” Jamie asks as they head back.

“Oh, a song from another tale. Cinderella.”

“Cinder Ella?”

“She laughs, full of incredible joy. “Yes. A lass named Ella is renamed such when her mean step-mother, sets her to cleaning out the fireplaces.” She recalls watching it with other nurses in a tent when it first came out and dreaming of her own Prince Charming, her husband Frank. Now she dreams of the red haired man beside her. She flushes at the thought.

“I see. Cinder from the fireplaces, eh?”

“Just so.”

He found her in the Great Hall at dinner that night. The lad, Fergus, is beside her in a basket. She is making faces at him and he hears her laugh from across the room. He is drawn to it like the moon draws the tide to the shore.

“May I join you Claire?”

“Yes Jamie.” He sits across from her as she lifts the lad up. She begins to feed him with a contraption that has what looks like o coo's teat at the end. “The wet nurse could only give him so much. I need to supplement with goats milk. He can have porridge and milk in about a month.” God, she is so beautiful with a bairn in her arms. “Jamie? Are you with me?”

“I am. Sorry.”

He walks her back to her room that night.

“He is a miracle.” She states as she changes his clod. He stands and watches her. “I couldn’t have one. We tried, my late husband and I. I don't know who's fault it was. It might have been him but, I felt responsible. To be gifted with this beautiful boy, it feels so wonderful!”

“Ye were meant to be a mam. He is a blessed lad.”

“Thank you Jamie.” She lays the baby, now asleep in a cradle by her bed. “He will sleep for three hours or so.”

“Aye. Do ye and the lad have enough wood for tonight?”

“I am not sure.”

He walks over to check. He starts the fire, building it up. He stacks more by the now roaring fire. He then turns and rejoins her. He sees another tear running down her eye.

“Claire?”

“I am just so happy. I never thought it would be so.” He can't resist. He reaches out to brush the tear from her eye. Their eyes meet. Her breath catches as he lowers his head. He kisses her cheek where the tear had been before taking her lips. What was meant to be a quick press of lips becomes more. She opens up under him. It is only a wail from the bairn that stops them from doing only God knows what.

She is quickly to her feet. “My luv, what is wrong?” She pats his belly and he falls back to sleep. She returns to Jamie, who is manly trying to get himself together.

“I thank you Jamie for all you did today.”

“You are verra welcome Claire. I will be here for whatever ye and he needs.” She smiles and kisses his check.

“Good night Jamie.”

“Good night Claire.” He floats away on a cloud.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #songs of an outlander #fergus #disney songs

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goldenkamuyhunting · 4 years

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Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 234 “Steamboat”

And now we dig on a chapter in which there’s something predominant.

Yeah, in this chapter there’s a lot of “Murphy’s law” at work or, if you prefer, "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong".

But let’s start digging in the chapter which has a colour cover which is… nothing special really.

Mind you, it’s not a bad colour cover, it just doesn’t tell us much.

It’s just Asirpa and Sugimoto’s face, Asirpa smiling and Sugi looking very aware, his scarf fluttering in the air like when he’s ready to start a fight. Asirpa is in front of Sugimoto and, in a way, the cover seems to play on their contrasting colours, white fur Asirpa, black hat Sugi, purple bluish bandana Asirpa, red and yellow scarf Sugi, big, bright blue eyes Asirpa (typical of how mangaka draw children) versus normal sized brownish (I think they’re again a mix of red and yellow but at a distance the result is brown which is Sugi’s eye colour) Sugimoto, Asirpa smiling, Sugimoto not in the slightest, Asirpa relaxed, Sugi apparently ready to battle.

You can see them like the opposite sides of the same coin if you want, or just as the two main characters, poor Shiraishi again forgotten.

Honestly I understand how Shiraishi originally wasn’t meant to be part of the main cast and everything, but now he’s a team member and it’s a bit sad to see despite all the time he’s with us, how he has changed and the things he has done, he’s not considered that much. Whatever, maybe it’s just me.

In fact the chapter start with Shiraishi coming up with a course of action, going by boat down the Ishikari river so as to avoid the muddy ground and save time and energy.

Shiraishi also gives us some info from which we can figure that the convicts were again used as hard labor men to make the river usable.

Golden Kamuy has mentioned often how the convicts were used and also abused for the convenience of others. Shiraishi here doesn’t mention anything bad happening to the convicts who worked cleaning the wood but we heard convicts used in other jobs weren’t equally lucky… and maybe it’s just Shiraishi who’s not planning to make ‘mistreating of the convicts’ awareness. We’ll see.

Anyway, considering the boys are planning to reach Ebetsu I’ll say they’re pointing at Sapporo, which is pretty close by.

I fear they could end up in a happy reunion with both Hijikata’s group and Tsurumi’s forces. Really, I’m not sure it’s a wise move considering Asirpa is stilla target.

The scene moves on the boat, a paddle streamer, Shiraishi giving us info about it while Asirpa claims it’s her first time on one.

Shiraishi claims they’ll get to Ebetsu before noon.

Evidently at the time “Murphy’s Law” wasn’t known yet, probably due to Murphy not having been born yet. We’re readers though. We can easily see this is a giant red flag… even if we’re giving still some time before it’ll strike.

Meanwhile we can see Vasily isn’t on the boat with them but on the last of the three small boats attached to the paddle streamer, Asirpa being the only one who worry about him. Shiraishi comments he seems to be fine with staying with the horses… and I get why Shiraishi isn’t fond of Vasily as the guy targeted him twice, once hitting him in the leg but still, I’m not sure this sort of behavior is going to help in the long run. They’re travelling together, they should make an effort to get along. Though maybe Shiraishi would prefer if they were to lose him somewhere.

Sugimoto points out Vasily is keeping at a distance deliberately to wait for Ogata to come… then comments, as if surprised that Vasily thinks of Asirpa as a bait.

Honestly yes, this is the right explanation but I’m not really fond of how Sugimoto put things.

First of all he makes it sounds as if he realized only now they would be bait, for Vasily when it was clear right from the start Vasily was using them as such and Sugimoto was aware of it. Then he comments it’s just Asirpa who’s bait.

Vasily has no idea which is the relationship between Sugimoto, Shiraishi, Asirpa and Ogata. He saw Shiraishi and Asirpa with Ogata and Sugimoto kindly informed him he also knew Ogata (it’s hard to say what else Vasily understood from Sugimoto’s ‘spider artwork’). For Vasily the three of them could very well be baits, not just Asirpa.

There’s no reason for Sugimoto to assume he and Shiraishi aren’t bait as well for Vasily.

Mentioning just Asirpa he put pressure on her, albeit I realize he might not be aware of this as he’s so focused on Asirpa he might think Vasily is the same even though Vasily has no idea why Ogata would target specifically Asirpa.

Besides he shouldn’t really blame Vasily much because, aside from Asirpa, they had done no effort to make friends with him and has used him (to escape, to shoot people) so really, if Vasily was okay with using his companion border guards as baits, why should he hesitate in using them?

The story goes on.

Asirpa falls asleep, either due to the rocking of the boat or the stress of the past days...

...and two small boats approaches the paddle streamer.

“Murphy’s law“… pardon, Boutarou and his men are on them.

Boutarou points out he’s broke because he gave a lot of money to the Ainu village.

Honestly I like this guy. He paid for the information he wanted from the Ainu, he didn’t just went there threatening them or pretended to pay and then took his goods away. He paid a high sum for his information.

I wonder what his backstory is because it’s also clear, considering his crimes, he’s not a pure, little lamb. Did he have a reason to become a criminal? What’s his honour code beyond paying for the info he gets?

Anyway Boutarou thinks to attack the paddle streamer. The sailors on the paddle streamer realize they’re tailed and that they could be criminals targeting them because they’re carrying customers with valuables and also the money that’s being sent by registered mail.

The captain wants to set a resistance and abruptly turns the boat, managing to cause the criminal on one of the two boat to fall in the water.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi realize something is up and go to check. Boutarou deliberately tosses himself n the water. The sailors thinks they can kill him by hitting him with a hammer the second he pops his head up. Everything is under control, right?

Wrong.

“Murphy’s law”… sorry, I mean Boutarou, swims below the ship, moves to the opposite side and… well he JUMP out of the water the way a dolphin or a merman like him would do.

So in a second he’s on the opposite side of the boat, take a moment to blow the water out of his gun and then, from that position, he can comfortably threaten the boat captain, ordering him to stop the ship.

Sorry, Shiraishi, I don’t think you all will be to Ebetsu by noon.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi who wanted to check on the situation appear just right then and meet “Murphy’s Law”… no, it’s Boutarou again, who, when Sugimoto attepts to grab his rifle (probably to use it like a wand knowing his aim),

recognizes Shiraishi, looking delighted to see him.

The sailors, seeing Boutarou knows them, thinks Sugimoto and Shiraishi are Boutarou’s accomplices so instead than attacking Boutarou, attack them.

Well, maybe they’re aware they can’t win against “Murphy’s Law”… sorry, sorry, Boutarou, so they try attacking his corollaries, pardon, the ones they think are his associates despite Shiraishi protesting they’ve got nothing to do with Boutarou.

Does it comes as a surprise if no one listen to him and the sailors try to grab Sugimoto’s rifle?

Because among all the people you should attack, picking Sugimoto is, of course the worst choice possible.

‘If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause the most damage will be the FIRST to go wrong.’

So Boutarou turn to aim at the sailors, either to stop them from getting the rifle or to protect ‘Shiraishi’s underling’ since he seems fond of Shiraishi, we don’t know but Sugimoto, thinking Boutarou will fire at the sailors, tosses them both off the boat one after the other… dropping his rifle in the process.

I bet this will have relevance in the next chapter.

Really, why Sugi carries around a rifle is a mystery for me. He doesn’t know how to use it well, he can’t remember to use it to draw attention when he gets lost, loses it 9 times out of 10 and, at most, he uses it to hit people as if it were a wand. It’s time he accepts he’s just not a rifle person and that his strength lies elsewhere.

Boutarou is impressed by Sugi’s work, praising Shiraishi for the ‘dependable underling’ he got for himself. Really, Boutarou seems rather friendly with Shiraishi. Honestly I wonder about the relation between the two.

Is Boutarou a fan of the Escape King?

Just joking but it would be interesting.

Meanwhile Boutarou’s men manage to climb on the boat but, at that point, another paddle streamer is moving toward them and is one filled with soldiers.

I bet the ship could be named “Gumperson’s Law”...

“The probability of anything happening is in inverse ratio to its desirability.”

No one probably wanted that ship of soldiers to meet with a paddle streamer with aboard Boutarou and Sugimoto, probably not even the soldiers on the boat and if the passengers think differently they might end up reconsidering.

The meeting could very well the presude to two boats sinking.

Is there any iceberg around by the way? ^_-

Just joking, of course.

Anyway the chap ends here.

Overall, although not much is happening, I’ll say this chapter is meant to set up the situation. Asirpa’s group and Boutarou’s group are meeting and from this the story can take many possible developments as Boutarou likely isn’t going to escape like the CandyMan did, he got from the Ainu precious info and, considering he seems to have some sense of fairness and a sympathy for Shiraishi, it’s even possible an allegiance might have birth out of this meeting.

I wonder if the situation will develop in such a way though that the guys will continue together for Sapporo, or just Sugi’s group will go there, or the meeting will have them radically change course.

This depends a lot on what Boutarou discovered and if they’ll manage to strike an allegiance. Honestly Sugimoto’s group needs allies, it’s beyond naïve to think just the three of them can deal with Tsurumi and Hijikata’s groups.

So, even if I’m not impressed by the chap in itself, really I think it might set up interesting developments. We’ll see.

#Golden Kamuy #Sugimoto Saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #Asirpa #Oosawa Fusatarou #Golden Kamuy Ramblings and Theories

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crazed-rambling · 5 years

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Dating for Hedge Witches

Blossom would like to make it very clear that she was a hedge witch. Despite what her family says; it is in fact a perfect respectable career. A career which she very much enjoys.

Country life suited her, the peace of waking up to birdsong outside her window was a far more pleasant wake up call than she’d ever had before. Spending the days seeing to the villagers’ aches and ailments wasn’t easy nor glamorous work but it was kind and she could return to her cottage each day with the memory of the people she’d helped to lull her to sleep. During the winter nights she could burrow in quilted blankets with homemade teas which her family would never have deigned to touch. And on summer evenings she could laze by the riverside, bare feet dipping into the water as she watched the village children play, careful to keep a watch on any wandering spirits who thought her people were easy prey.

There was something to be said for collecting ingredients as well, even if the forest sprites tended to rather picky on their timings. The first drop of dew of the vernal equinox required for any professional beauty potion was notoriously tricky to locate. But watching the sun rise through the trees and refract scattering rainbows in the crisp morning air was always a sight to behold. There was a feeling of calm that came in that moment. As though the world itself had paused in anticipation, waiting for winter to give way to spring. Of course you could attempt to make the potion without it but the effects were rather diluted, how could you expect a transformation to hold without a sign of change. Her brothers would say that a deal with any reasonably strong life spirit could make up for the deficit. It of course was possible provided you studied for long enough. Life spirits never deign to speak any mortal tongue and must be paid their fully calculated price with all due reverence, unless you want the payment taken out of your hide. Which would be all well and good, magic will inevitably have its risks, but Blossom’s few interactions with such spirits had taught her one thing. Life spirits are dicks.

Specifically dicks mind you because for formless unknowable beings they reminded her all too much of her early magic instructor. An ageing wizard who must have been some sort of big shot at some point, she had vague memories of her father exalting his strides in necromancy. To Blossom he had been and old man with too small eyes, strained and bloodshot as he looked down upon her latest efforts and advised her that women generally lack the forceful presence required to command the life spirits. Wizards are in general, also dicks.

Of course Blossom had attended enough births to know that a forceful presence is the last thing women lack. Just last week she’d watched as Mary Conner, the most lamb hearted woman she’d ever known, broke her husband’s hand; swearing up and down that she’d remove a favoured body part of his if he thought she’d be having another child. Blossom had honestly spent longer on the spell to fix poor the poor man’s hand than she did assisting Mary. Women, mothers especially, she’d come to learn are a force of nature. A fact that any numbers of wizard’s tomes had yet to teach her brothers.

So yes Blossom was quite happy with her cottage and her gardens and her villagers who would buy her potions for copper coins and chickens eggs.

Which is why she wasn’t pleased about a dark-haired woman barging in yelling a name she’d rather forget. Unexpected interruptions were to be expected in her line of work, injuries and illness did not wait for any schedule, even witches’. But this woman was far better dressed than any of her usual visitors. A fine cloak draped around her shoulders, enchanted by the looks of it, fire protection and possibly weapons protection although a closer look would be required to confirm. But still a finer cloak than any of her normal clients could afford. Matched only by what Blossom could only call an aristocratic look. There is little to distinguish an aristocratic face from any other person except a manner of pursing the lips, however involuntarily, in the presence of humble living. Blossom of course couldn’t judge; her face had once held that same look. Although she could judge the look of contempt that followed as she surveyed the cottage, because that was just rude.

It is at this point that Blossom must point out that this woman and many others from this point forward insist on referring to her by the wrong name. So she has decided to make minor edits to this account and switch any usages of this name to Blossom: her goddamn name.

“I am Lady Cottingford bearing a message for Mage Blossom from his royal highness Prince Richard.”

The woman left a clearly scripted pause, to allow for the expected exclamations of awe. But Blossom had met the prince many times throughout her aborted foray into wizardry, and on almost every occasion he had proved himself to be entirely deserving of the abbreviation of his name. So of course there was little awe to be found. Ever a professional the messenger soldiered on declaring,

“His royal highness has chosen you to assist him in a matter of great importance to our country, and as such has summoned you to the royal palace immediately.”

“He has the entire school of wizards at his disposal, what does he want with me?”

The woman purses her lips again, she really was quite good at that, disdaining the mere thought of answering a peasant. Blossom saved her the trouble,

“They couldn’t solve it.” Blossom had never claimed to be anything but blunt, and the look on the woman’s face made it clear she’d got to the heart of the matter.

Now Blossom could annoy the messenger all she liked but by law she was technically still the Queen’s subject so there was no way out of a direct royal command. With this in mind she collected her prestocked bag of supplies and gestured for her ever charming guide to lead the way.

The castle was as she remembered it. Pretentious. Although it was an interesting change of pace to be invited in through the servant’s entrance, off a secondary courtyard rich with the smells of laundry and cooking food. Whatever matter must be discussed was clearly meant to remain a secret, not that her presence would remain so for very long if the covert glances of the scullery maids was anything to go by. Being lead through the claustrophobic maze of servants passages only served to bring her back to days as an acolyte in the school of wizards, hours spent between rows upon rows of ancient tones alongside her brothers, and so she was grateful to be led into what must have been the most ostentatious room known to man, woman or beast.

Prince Dick sat in pride of place seemingly dwarfed by the throne he was one day expected to fill. It was a strange sight to behold as the prince could only claim superiority over his mother in one aspect: height. And yet he seemed incapable of filling any space she left. While this reunion would have been unpleasant enough it was made all the more so by the presence of Isaac taking the place of the prince’s right hand.

Isaac was as much like she remembered him as he was not. He still looked far too like a cherub with his golden curls and heart shaped face, but he held himself with more pride than he’d ever managed as her brother and fellow acolyte. Of course she’d seen the look of disappointment before; as she’d left. But it remained jarring to see it on the face of what was once her closest friend.

Eager to get the ordeal over with Blossom dipped into possibly the most lacklustre curtsy this hall had ever seen, her greeting of “Your highness, brother,” devoid of any real respect. Not that they seemed to notice, as far as they were concerned what she said didn’t really matter.

“Blossom,” Three years had clearly done little to change the prince, she wasn’t even that surprised. At least her brother had remained silent “I’m sure you’re wondering why I summoned you,” he had the same smile he’d had ever since he was a boy, the type of smile that left you feeling as though you were just a toy he’d soon grow bored of. The same flare for drama as well, if the clearly calculated pause was anything to go by. “I’m sure you’ve heard that I recently got married,” Blossom had actively not heard this and said a little prayer for whichever poor thing it was, “well since then we appear to have had a little bit of a problem. To be blunt, my wife has been cursed. On our wedding night she transformed and she hasn’t changed back since. See if you can fix her for me.” With this he listlessly waved his hand, gesturing for her to follow the guards stationed by the door.

Neither of the guards seemed inclined to acknowledge her which was fine with her. Walking the endless, lavish corridors which made up the royal castle gave Blossom time to think over the situation. If they were desperate enough to call her in, they must have exhausted every method known to the school of wizards, so Blossom was honestly shocked they hadn’t seen any improvements.

The guards came to a stop in front as rather ordinary looking door, for royalty that is, it didn’t look like the place you’d find a royal princess. Although the reason for that became clear as she entered, her two guards filing in behind her. The room its self was better than most people would ever see in their lifetimes with crisp cotton sheets on a delicately carved bed frame, a soft floral pattern covering the walls, and a large glass window overlooking the place gardens. But there in the centre of the bed sat a very bored looking goat.

The villagers owned enough goats for Blossom to be aware that this goat was unimpressed as it glanced at her, but this could also be because it was apparently a princess so most people must be rather unimpressive. Still Blossom found it was better to introduce herself before someone else does it for her and uses the wrong name, so here she was talking to a goat.

“Hello your highness, my name is Blossom and I am a hedge witch your husband has asked to break your curse.” The goat, seemingly satisfied with this greeting, left the bed and walked to stand a few feet in front of Blossom. The goat was of course still a princess, and princesses have manners.

Even close up this looked just like any regular goat, of course Blossom could sense a trace of magic clinging to the edges, maintaining the transformation, but it seemed to have no malicious intent. Strange for a curse. Rummaging in her bag she drew out a glass bottle of clear liquid, pouring some on her fingertips she smeared it over her eyelids. Marigold water on the eyes for clear sight. Too basic for any wizard to use but useful all the same. A rough translation spell cast and she was ready.

“This isn’t a curse is it?”

“My mother taught me that a Lady must marry for her family. She never mentioned anything about letting him touch me”

This exchange served as a great source of confusion for the guards who had watched a young woman enact a conversation with a goat, baas and all, then burst into laughter as though the animal had said something incredibly witty, rather than just being a goat.

“Why a goat?” Blossom was honestly curious about this; animal transformations were notoriously tricky and most witches didn’t attempt one without a specific animal in mind.

“It seemed rather unladylike, and a goat removes any possibility of him trying to ride me in a different sense to his original plans.” It was difficult to determine tone using a translation spell, and Blossom had certainly never studied the ins and outs of Goat before. But she was at least 90% sure that the future queen of the nation was telling sex jokes, as a goat. It was a lot to process. She also may be a little in love.

“So I’m assuming you aren’t in need of any magical assistance as your….esteemed? husband claims.” Blossom had always assumed that goats lacked the correct facial muscles to properly express the emotion of sass, but here she was, sassed by a goat. Add that to the long list of reasons for her father to be disappointed.

“If I was in need of magical assistance I wouldn’t have headbutted the last three wizards they sent.”

“Well I’m grateful that you haven’t done that to me yet,”

“To be fair you’re a lot prettier than the last three,” While Blossom would claim that the heat from the fire had finally caught up with her, this excuse couldn’t quite explain the way her heart was trying its best to float its way out of her chest. “Smarter too. None of the others figured it out.”

“Wizards are dicks”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m placing my future in the hands of witch then, isn’t it Blossom?” Maybe it was hearing her name for the first time since she arrived at the palace, maybe it was the phrasing the princess had used, maybe it was the fact that Blossom’s sum total of dating experience was zero. But the idea of proposing marriage floated into her mind, then set down its anchors with no intention of leaving anytime soon. She was weak and it occurred to her that she’d do just about anything for her.

“Please help me escape.” That, that she could handle.

Now if you were to ask the princess, which she’d discovered people rarely do in these stories. She would have told you that the smile that graced Blossom’s face as she agreed, must have been sculpted by the spirits themselves. Blossom would adamantly deny that there was anything special about that particular smile, but the beginnings of love have a way of tricking the minds of all parties.

A quick discussion, of course all in Goat, and the plan was ready. The princess would have normally deemed the plan too simple to work. But alas, she had spoken to her husband, who was really rather simple too. With both women agreed there really only was one final problem to take care off. And Blossom’s childhood had taught her a few things, the most useful of which for this scenario being: how to get what you wanted from guards.

She approached the guards slowly, careful to shrink into herself, wearing fear and reverence like a cape as she made her request. “Excuse me sirs, but would you mind stepping outside? You see, well, if I am to try and transform her highness back, she will. Well she won’t be -“ Blossom was careful to keep one eye on the guards throughout this little play, waiting for the moment before intrigue turned to irritation to reveal “She won’t be wearing any clothes. It’s just not proper.” Not that the guards seemed to care for proper, they were very happy to pretend as though she’d never even spoken. Plan B it was.

Blossom drew herself up to her full height, shedding her act and allowing the aristocratic sneer of her father’s perfect son to grace her features. Most days she did not enjoy towering over most people she met, but she must admit that the intimidation factor really did come in useful. Since the guards seemed to decide that there really wasn’t that much difference between one side of the door and the other, in the grand scheme of things. With the decided click of the door, Blossom spun to face the princess, unable to keep the excited smile off her face. Rescuing a princess, disappointing her family, pissing off Prince Dick. This was going to be fun.

The spells themselves weren’t all that complicated in the end, Blossom knew of a villager who happened to own a very similar looking goat so the summoning was a breeze. It would have been considerably harder if the forest sprites didn’t find the whole idea absolutely hilarious; but they still hold this as one of their best pranks to this day. And a temporary shrinking draft was easy to make from the ingredients she’d brought with her. So with a goat in the room and an even smaller goat smuggled in her bag, Blossom took a calming breath, schooled her expression into something resembling disappointment, opened the door and requested to see the prince.

The prince did not appear to have moved since Blossom had last seen him, despite a considerable amount of time having passed. Although it occurred to her that it was entirely possible that this was a pose he pulled in an attempt to look regal and intimidating, that seemed like the sort of thing Dick would do. It would have been helpful if this thought had occurred to her at another time, when she didn’t need to pretend to be contrite. But thoughts, much like royal messengers it seemed, do not really care whether the timing is convenient. It was a good thing she could keep her head down in a show of respect and regret, as this served quite nicely to hide the upwards twist of her mouth from view. All attention on her, princess in her bag, sprites at her back, Blossom spoke.

“I’m sorry your highness but the spell on this princess was too strong for me. I tried my best but I was unable to break it.”

Neither the prince nor Isaac looked in any way surprised, they’d called her here to watch her fail. To remind her of her ‘place’, to rub in her face everything she’d given up. And rage rushed through her veins for the first time in years, dampened only by the knowledge that she was lying to their faces and they didn’t have a clue. That they could look down on her all they liked; they still couldn’t see the truth. “I think that is a curse from the fae, probably laid on the royal family. But it is powerful. The royal wizards are the only ones who could attempt to break it.” And the royal wizards did attempt to break the curse for many more years, once Blossom had been dismissed from court in ‘disgrace’ again. But even the most experienced of scholars had little luck, for their ‘princess’ was in fact a goat.

At the sight of her little cottage, with its creeping vines and the worn paint on the door, Blossom couldn’t help but laugh, letting the tension bleed from her bones at the sight of home. Retrieving the princess from her bag, only to be informed that ‘it stank worse than the prince’s breath’ only sent her spiralling back into uncontrollable laughter. Now laughter in general is infectious, but a laugh like Blossom’s; loud, unrestrained and full of joy, to a girl already half way in love is even more so and the princess soon found herself laughing along. She didn’t require any help to transform back in the end, she’d chosen what she would become and who else could take that from her? Blossom had only just regained her breath as it was knocked out from her once more, her own heart pounding in her ears. The princess was shorter than she’d imagined princesses to be, all soft around the edges with a round face and eyes the colour of fertile ground just a little too small for the rest of her features. She was also more perfect than she ever could have dreamed.

“Nice to finally meet you. I’m Blossom.”

“Claire,” a shy smile graced the princesses face and Blossom knew that now was her only chance to keep that smile in her life.

“I was wondering. If you don’t have any other plans, of course! But if if you need a place to stay, then you could stay with me. If you wanted.” Blossom’s face was red, but she’d said what she needed to and the smile she received in return was all the reward she’d ever need.

“I’d love to! Just until I get back onto my feet. I’ll get out of your hair soon, I promise.”

Despite the princess’s promises she quickly grew accustomed to cottage life; the smell of stew cooking, logs cracking on the fire, soft touches from shy hands and that smile day after day. Days turned to months and months to years. The villagers grew accustomed to the second witch as well, smiling as she delivered potions and shaking their heads slightly when she stopped by the pens to where she’d make bleating noises at the goats as though they could understand. And if the villagers spied the two witches kissing as they gathered ingredients, well that was really no one’s business but theirs.

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laurent-price · 5 years

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Cold Feet

Laurent rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, pressing hard enough that there were stars sparkling in the darkness behind his lids. Try as he might, though, when he opened his eyes, the couple was still sitting across the desk, staring at him in expectant silence.

“It is only the thing we need clarified before the wedding,” the woman offered when Laurent stared right back at her. He blinked slowly and shifted his gaze to the young man, who at least had the courtesy to look intensely uncomfortable about the looming question.

“Just to make sure I am understanding you, lamb,” Laurent offered in a measured way, his northern accent caressing every word that left his lips. “You have been together for nearly three years and you love each other very much?”

He paused to observe the nods from the affianced couple. His tongue passed between his lips and he took a deep, steady breath before continuing.

“You have completed all the recommended premarital counseling?”

“That’s right. However, the priest from our church won’t be able to officiate so he sent us here,” the woman replied, her patience waning even though she maintained a polite façade.

“Right. And, your reservation is…about babies?” Laurent stalled again to watch the perky red-head nod again.

“Yes. I heard from my cousin who has a friend married to an afflicted Gilnean and they had twins during the first pregnancy and now she’s so round, they’re sure she’s gonna have triplets this time,” the girl expressed. “We need to know of multiple births are more common among Wor- afflicted Gilneans. I really don’t think I could carry twins!”

Laurent nodded slowly, shifting his gaze to the groom-to-be, who remained silent.

“Tell me, lamb, what else did your cousin tell you?”

“Well, she says that it is because of the curse. You know. Like her friend is giving birth to multiple babies the way a wolf would…you know…”

“So, you are afraid that, because your fiancé is afflicted, that you are going to have a litter of puppies?” Laurent asked. As soon as the words escaped him, he bit down hard on the inner corners of his lips to keep the devious grin from overtaking his features.

“Light no! I know my children won’t be cursed! This isn’t funny!” The girl shrilled, shooting a glance at her fiancé as he coughed into his hand. “Is it common? Is it something I should expect? Because, physically, I don’t think my body would survive even twins!”

“Look, love, it isn’t funny. You’re right. I just needed to make sure I fully understood the nature of your reservation. Now, in response, I can tell you that there is no confirmed link between multiple birth and worgen. It is—”

“Afflicted Gilneans,” the woman quickly corrected.

Laurent ran his tongue over a prominent cuspid concealed by pursed lips. It took him a breath to dam back his sarcasm before he could continue.

“Alright. It is linked to heritage. If your family has a history of multiple births, then you have an increased likelihood of having twins. You don’t have to worry about the curse, especially if you haven’t worried about it in the three years you’ve been together so far. Plus, the human body does some really incredible things,” he explained. After a moment, he scratched the subtle on his jaw and and then voiced his thoughts without censoring them. “You sure this isn’t about cold feet? I mean, you can’t possibly believe that you are going to have a litter of kids, right? So, what’s really concerning you?”

The girl’s eyes went wide, and she gasped dramatically. She collected her bag from the edge of the desk and stood abruptly.

“This man is not officiating our wedding! We will just have to push the date back until Father Norman is available!”

“Love, we—”

“He isn’t taking our love seriously! We have to wait.”

“We’ve already pushed it back once, love. We can’t. I am sure the father here didn’t mean anything by it. Just checkin’ boxes, right?”

The man turned pleading eyes to Laurent, but it was the priest’s turn to look uncomfortable and helpless. He made no attempt to apologize. In fact, he didn’t dare speak at all for fear of one of his sarcastic remarks escaping suddenly.

“Let’s go!” The woman hissed as she stormed towards the door.

“You know, you didn’t have to put it like that. She’s just nervous,” the man grumbled as he stood and glared at Laurent.

“Right. I’d say rent your tux all the same, lad.”

The couple stormed out and Laurent opened his hands to the air and grinned. He pushed back in his chair, lifting it off the front two legs, and kicked his feet up onto the desk.

“Fuckin’ litter of puppies she’s worried about,” he muttered through a fit of laughter.

When the giggles subsided, he took a flask out of his jacket pocket and undid the cap. Just as the silver touched his lip, though, a sharp knock sent him scrambling to sit up straight and nice while clumsily stashing the flask. The cap was still off and as he slipped it into the pocket, it promptly started to leak scotch through the satin lining. He couldn’t adjust it, though, as the door was already open, and a displeased priestess was marching towards him.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Slater?” Laurent asked, trying to appear innocent or at least ignorant.

“The couple whose wedding you were set to officiate just canceled. They appeared quite upset. Care to explain what happened in your counseling session with them?” The question was clipped as Ellie looked around the room, as if trying to determine the answer from the placement of furniture.

“The young woman, Kaitlyn, admitted to having reservations. I was trying to help her find the root of those reservations. That’s it. It was an uncomfortable session, let me assure you.”

Ellie was mostly listening as Laurent spoke, but her nose started to wrinkle and twitch before he was finished. She looked at him with astonishment.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” Laurent smirked.

“I can smell it on you. You need to leave. Take the rest of the afternoon off. We’ll… find a task for you tomorrow. Just…get out.”

Laurent sighed and stood, adjusting the flask in his pocket so it would drain further down his side.

“Yes. Fine. Though, I may be busy after tomorrow.”

“I highly doubt that, Laurie,” Ellie huffed. “The work is drying up out there. No monsters left to hunt or at least there’s enough respectable people already doing it. Just be back here tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing, love. Bright and early.”

“Brighter and earlier than today,” she warned as he skirted by and out the door.

Laurent gave no response as he smiled to himself and practically skipped his way out of the Cathedral offices.

#story #just for fun

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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The Primacy of Peter and of Love

This week is the Third Sunday of Easter, and our readings highlight the primacy of Peter among the Apostles, and the primacy of love in following Jesus.

During the seven weeks of the Easter Season, the Lectionary reads semi-continuously through Acts in the First Reading (showing the birth of the Church on earth) and through Revelation in the Second (showing the final state of the Church in heaven).

In the First Reading this week (Acts 5:27-32, 40b-41) we see Peter’s primacy (“Peter and the apostles said in reply …”) in leading the early Church through the experience of persecution, and in boldly proclaiming the Gospel despite sustained and serious cultural opposition. Let’s pray for Pope Francis to do the same.

In the Second Reading, (Rev 5:11-14 ), John, whom tradition has identified as the same as the author of this Sunday’s Gospel, sees the entire creation in worship of the Lamb: “every creature in heaven and on earth, and under the earth and in the sea”—all cry out “To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor …”

It’s amazing that John should have such a universal vision of the glory of the Church, at a time (perhaps the AD 60’s) when Christianity was still very small and persecuted.

Even today, despite large numbers on the books, the Church still feels like a little flock, persecuted by civil authorities as in Acts 5, and also by a smug-and-snarky international media establishment, yet we take courage in the firm hope that all creation will acknowledge Jesus as Lord on the last day.

The Gospel is Jn 21:1-19 :

At that time, Jesus revealed himself again to his disciples at the Sea of Tiberias. He revealed himself in this way. Together were Simon Peter, Thomas called Didymus, Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, Zebedee’s sons, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We also will come with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. When it was already dawn, Jesus was standing on the shore; but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” They answered him, “No.” So he said to them, “Cast the net over the right side of the boat and you will find something.” So they cast it, and were not able to pull it in because of the number of fish. So the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord.” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad, and jumped into the sea. The other disciples came in the boat, for they were not far from shore, only about a hundred yards, dragging the net with the fish. When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” And none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they realized it was the Lord. Jesus came over and took the bread and gave it to them, and in like manner the fish. This was now the third time Jesus was revealed to his disciples after being raised from the dead.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” He then said to Simon Peter a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” Jesus said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God. And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”

Some scholars insist that John 21 is an addition to the Gospel by a different author that chapters 1-20, but this has to be regarded as improbable and unsupported. The language, structures, and thought on John 21 are very similar to the rest of the Gospel and there are a large number of intertextual links that bind John 21 with the entire book.

Two other Gospel passages have to be kept in mind to properly understand John 21. The first is Luke 5:1-11, where Jesus first calls the disciples. After preaching from Peter’s boat, Jesus tells Peter to “put out into the deep” (duc in altum) for a big catch, even though they had toiled all night and caught nothing. Peter and the sons of Zebedee pull in an amazing catch of fish, Peter begs the Lord to depart because he is a “sinful man”, and Jesus calls the disciples to follow him and become fishers of men. There are several obvious parallels with this Sunday’s Gospel. John the Evangelist presupposes that the reader knows the story of Luke 5, in order to grasp that here, in John 21, after the resurrection, Jesus is renewing his call to the Apostles to “follow him” and calling them back to their original vocation and mission. This is one of several instances where John presupposes that his readers have some familiarity with the life of Jesus from the other Gospels or possibly oral tradition.

The other Gospel passage to be kept in mind is John 18:15-18,25-27, the account of the threefold denial of Jesus by Peter. When Peter denied Jesus, he was warming himself over a “charcoal fire” (John 18:18). Jesus makes a “charcoal fire” to cook breakfast in this Sunday’s Gospel (John 21:9). These are the only two references to a charcoal fire in the Gospel of John, indeed in all of Scripture. It’s not accidental — Peter is being reminded of the night of his betrayal, and Jesus will allow him a chance to ritually “renounce his renunciation” three times.

This Gospel account highlights the primacy of Peter among the Apostles. The character of Peter, in fact, dominates most of John 21, the conclusion of this greatest of the Gospels, even though the Gospel was clearly written by a different apostle (John 21:20-24). Peter is listed first among the disciples named as present. The other disciples follow his lead by accompanying him fishing. When Jesus shows his presence on the shore, Peter is the first one to go ashore, followed by the others. The others don’t seem to be able to get the fish ashore. But then, the way John describes it, it sounds like Peter goes single-handedly back on board the boat and drags the net of 153 fish in by himself. After the breakfast, Peter alone is granted a private audience with the risen Lord. Obviously the author of this Gospel has a high regard for Peter and his role among the Apostles and within the Church.

But this Gospel is not only about the primacy of Peter. It is also about the primacy of love. During the “audience” between Jesus and Peter (vv. 15-19), Peter’s ritual re-confirmation as chief shepherd all revolves around his love for the Lord.

First, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me more than these?” The question is ambiguous. Who are the “these”? Does Jesus mean:

(1) “Do you love me more than [you love] these [other men]?” I.e. Do you love me above all other persons in your life? (2) “Do you love me more than these [fish]?” I.e. Do you love me more than you profession, your way of life, your livelihood, your “comfort zone”? (3) “Do you love me more than these [other men do]?” I.e. Do you have greater love for me than others do? Do you excel in love, so as to be suitable to excel also in authority?

Ambiguity abounds in the Gospel of John, and I think it is intentional. All three meanings may well be meant. Jesus is eliciting from Peter a comprehensive love to correspond to the comprehensive role of shepherding that he will bestow.

Three times Jesus asks about Peter’s love; three times he affirms it. Two different words for “love” are used in the Greek. The first two times, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you agape me?” Agape is the word for divine love. Peter always answers, “I phileo you.” Phileo is the Greek word for fraternal love. The last time, Jesus adopts Peter’s term and asks, “Do you phileo me?”

This gives the impression that Jesus asks twice, Do you love me with divine love? And Peter responds twice, “I love you with brotherly love.” And at last Jesus condescends to Peter’s capabilities, “Do you love me with brotherly love?”, thus implying that such love will suffice: Jesus will accept what Peter, no longer brash and now painfully cognizant of his human weakness, knows he can offer.

This interpretation is suggestive, but must be entertained with caution, because both phileo and agapao are used elsewhere in John for both divine and human love.

The idea that Jesus is condescending to Peter’s human weakness is, nonetheless, clear from the passage as a whole. Otherwise, Jesus would have rejected Peter on account of his threefold denial at the Lord’s time of need.

The primary requirement that Jesus asks of Peter is love. In return for this love, Jesus commissions Peter to “Feed my lambs—tend my sheep—feed my sheep.” The threefold repetition of this commission, together with the variations in which the shepherding charge is phrased, point to the comprehensive nature of the shepherding role being given to Peter. While all the apostles have a role as shepherd over part of the flock, Peter is commissioned as shepherd of the whole flock. As Protestant Bible scholar Andreas Kostenberger puts it: “[Peter], who has renounced all earthly ties and who has declared supreme loyalty to Jesus … is commissioned to serve as shepherd of Jesus’ flock as the Great Shepherd takes his leave.”

It’s remarkable that more and more Protestant biblicists are willing to acknowledge that this and other passages of the Gospels imply that Peter was given a kind of general pastoral responsibility over the whole early Church (see for example Markus Bockmeuhl, Simon Peter in Scripture and Memory: The New Testament Apostle in the Early Church [Baker Academic, 2012], especially the last few pages of the last chapter.)

Peter’s love will lead to the cross. “When you grow old, you will stretch out your hands” –this is a reference to stretching one’s arms on the patibulum, the perpendicular bar of a Roman cross.

Love and authority go together in the Church. Love gives credibility to authority. St. Ignatius of Antioch gives one of the earliest testimonies to the primacy of the authority of the Church of Rome, Peter’s See, in his Letter to the Romans, when he famously refers to Rome “presiding in love” over the other churches. Indeed, whoever would preside in authority should first preside in love. Pope Francis quoted St. Ignatius’ words about “presiding in love” on the very night he was first presented on the balcony of St. Peter’s as “bishop of Rome,” the one who presides over the church that is to preside in love.

This Sunday’s Gospel lays out the role of Peter and all his successors: they must renounce all others and excel in love of Jesus in order to lead the whole Church.

At the same time, the Lord’s words are applied to us: Do we love him “more than these”? Do we love him more than we love other persons, than we love our profession and lifestyle? Do we in any way distinguish ourselves from other people by our love for Christ? That’s what it means to follow Jesus, and everyone, from the Pope to the most unknown believer, has to respond to Jesus’ summons: “Follow me!”

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

#primacy of peter

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ao3animal · 6 years

Text

The lamb’s thirst: Chap 1, “A nest”

Yup... new reylo fic

somebody tie me up

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757227/chapters/36647889

“Everything is silent.

Not quiet, not peaceful -although it looks like it.

Silent, like someone muted the sound of a TV.

No birds chirping, no wind -no cars in the distance.

Rey can only hear the heat. It's deafening.

All around the station is just white dirt under the sunlight; just a flat, blinding stretch of land.

At the very end of it toward the East, still waves of blues and greens hide the rest of a cool forest that spreads over the hills behind.

She imagines there's a river cutting through the trees there somewhere.

She wouldn't know. She never went, not even once.

It's been twelve weeks now.

Twelve whole weeks, and no replacement yet.

She thought she felt lonely in the presence of her two colleagues, but now that she's actually alone, now that she's the only Guard in charge of the station, in the middle of nowhere, she's starting to better grasp the concept of loneliness.

At first, she prays she won't have to police any travelers.

Her training was a joke, more of a formality than truly meant to get her ready for the realities of her functions, as it's rather known that Guards really learn on the job. She doesn't mind it when she arrives here, as long as she has two other Guards with her -since the number minimum of Guards required for every station is of three.

They're down to two the day she finds Zue dead in her cabin.

She feels nothing on the moment, she just reports it.

Zue's body is taken away the next day.

Today, she usually winces at the thought.

She doesn't know why, because she wasn't close to that woman, but Zue's lifeless form keeps flashing before her eyes every now and then.

During the night mostly.

Rey's only been a Guard for two months when it happens. Zue had been one for the past twelve years.

If she had to guess she'd say Zue was between thirty and thirty five years-old when she died.

Now she's another statistic in the ever-growing rate of suicides among the Guards nation-wide.

Rey hates Juzio -the other one. He's always making jokes about animals dying, or Flying Fishes -the name they give irregulars- being executed. He's not exactly mean, nor dangerous, but he's dumb as fuck.

So when he's transferred to another, more demanding station, she's glad. At first.

Soon, though, Juzio's absence only cruelly reminds her of how little she knows about the procedures. Of how she can't properly aim with her V-k8 -the useless, mandatory gun the government provide the Guards.

What if she meets a Flying Fish? How is she supposed to take care of it?

She knows how in theory, but she never got the opportunity to apply any of it.

Because no one ever drives by here, or walks by here.

Ever.

The station, like all the others across the nation, is supposed to be a relay for people to charge their transport, to buy some food, to get their chip validated and their status updated.

But over the span of twelve weeks, she hasn't met a single soul, aside of the man in charge of delivering the cans she eats and her munitions once a month.

She tries to engage the conversation while he unloads his truck, feeling ashamed at how she rushes the questions out of her mouth, as if she tried to get as many interactions as she could before he'd leave -but his answers are short.

He must have a family to go back home to.

She wonders if the other wards of the nation from her birth camp got as unlucky as her when they got stationed. All of them orphans were only meant to become Guards, and that's a shitty fate on its own, if you ask her.

Little did she know it could get worse than that.

And she thought she was used to being alone.

When she was little already, life showed her she could be surrounded by children her age and be completely, unforgivingly alone and isolated.

She was only desperate for friendship in the beginning, desperate for any kind of aknowledgement, for any kind of attention, even the bad kind, from her pairs and from the adults in charge of them -but she gave up on that quite soon.

Children around her exchanged thoughts essentially through shouting, kicking and pushing. She learned how to yell and scream above the noise. She learned a different kind of touch than the one she was craving to give and receive.

Indeed, she thought she knew all there was to know about loneliness.

She has to admit that this is next-level though.

Life is just the funniest shit there is. She's in the most deserted place of the whole fucking country.

Obviously her superiors are aware of this, or they wouldn't be taking their sweet time sending her new colleagues.

Yes, she was afraid of meeting a traveler at first.

Now she's just begging for anyone to show up. For anything to happen.

She's supposed to be alert at all times, but because she's got trouble sleeping during the night she often dozes off during the day.

Also, she can't leave the station, unless ordered to.

So she never wanders too far.

She checked the abandoned greenhouses behind the station, and the cabin nearby -just the time for her to note that its door was locked.

And that's about it.

Several times she aligned a few empty cans to train and shoot. She got bored real quick.

Bored out of her fucking mind.

She sits there on an old beach chair that Juzio always used to claim before he left, dying from the heat in her uniform -a blue coveralls she ties the sleeves of around her waist, leaving her in a white tank top stained on its sides and in the back by her sweat.

She sits, moving her chair along with the shadow casted on the ground by the concrete small block of the station until the sun goes down.

Then she retreats in her cabin. Eats cold beans out of a can.

Before lying down on her straw bed until the sun comes up.

Sometimes she thinks she heard a noise so she gets up and gets out in the middle of the night with her V-k8.

Scared shitless.

And so, so hopeful.

But it's never anything of importance.

The wind. A creak of the wood. Something that fell.

Most of the time, she just dreamt it.

She must be going crazy.

---it's a simple idea that grows louder each day, making its nest in her head.

Which is why when she sees a silhouette walking under the sun one day, far, far ahead on the side of the road, she first thinks she's hallucinating.

Until she's pretty sure she's not.”

#reylo #dystopia #ben solo #rey #eventual smut #eventual fluff

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 18

Classes again had let out and in the delivery of another note, this time from Elrond via Lindir’s aid in dictation, to join the Lords for tea in Rivendell once your classes were through. Partially to aid in granting Celeborn another excuse to claim more time with his little girl between now and when her nursery would be complete.

The outer dining courtyard was already set up for tea when you arrived with the main garden surrounding it filling with small bunnies and lambs little Teddy squirmed to get a better look at. With a soft grin you let him down to crawl over to the first curious bunny and took your seat while a group of Elven servants held watch over the curious toddler giggling as he played with the creatures. Behind him Em hurried and smiled seeing Estel hurry from his seat to join her hoping to learn another game. Across from you Thranduil sat beside Elrond while Celeborn sat across from Glorfindel, who scooted closer to you, making more room for the twins between him and Thranduil, both smirking at their competing gazes and hopes for your attention.

Wetting his lips through adding sugar to his tea Thranduil looked you over stealing another glance at your scar, and asked you the question they had been wondering since your relatives’ brief recap on the war upon their arrival at Rivendell overly vague concerning your part in it. “Miss Black, I am curious, this war of yours, how exactly did you get drawn into it? Your Father was not overly specific on how it began either.”

The uneasiness in Elrond’s shifting in his seat in an understanding glance at you after his sharing in confidence with your Father after another of his bouts of terror filled nights surrounding your Mother’s birthday was silenced at your weak smile at him through accepting your cup of tea you set before you. “Well, it’s a bit of a winding story that will likely sour the mood of the tea.”

Thranduil’s chin tilted slightly before his determined gaze met yours to say, “I doubt your tale could be worse than those we have heard of our own wars.”

To which you nodded and wet your lips brushing your bangs behind your ear exposing most of your scar drawing the King’s eye again straight to it wondering how you received such a wound you seemed unashamed of at its revelation. “I’ll start here, the closest descendant from my Ancestor Salazar Slytherin were the Gaunts.”

He nodded, “The name on your vault of gold.”

You nodded, “Yes, Morfin and Merope were the youngest. Merope fell in love with a Muggle, Tom Riddle, and after her sheltered life with her Father and Brother she didn’t want to chance it, used a love potion on him. For a time she believed his love was genuine, and when she found out she was pregnant she stopped giving it to him. Needless to say he ran off and she died shortly after giving birth to my Uncle, Tom Riddle Jr.”

The King nodded again memorizing the details. “While he was raised in a Muggle orphanage his Uncle Morfin took a wife, Suzsienne as I’ve told you, and they eloped and had my Mother. But Riddle found his father’s family and upon being refused acceptance into their family he killed all of them and lamed the murders on Morfin and killed him. Suzienne, she died in labor and my Mother was sent to the same orphanage decades later, where she was adopted by the Evans family, who had two daughters already, Petunia and Lily.

When Riddle graduated from school he was refused Defense Against the Dark Arts position and then promptly jinxed it so none could hold it longer than a year. Through the years after that he began gaining followers, quietly plotting. For roughly fifty years he and his followers, as the Death Eaters, began attacking Muggles and their protectors and allies.”

Making the King set down his tea cup when he watched your eyes grow cold at the emotionless retelling as your inner wall slammed up again having to share this yet again, “In my Parents’ final year in Hogwarts I was born. Not long after my Aunt Lily was pregnant with my Cousin Harry. Through this a Seer had a vision Riddle sought out about a child that would bring about his end. He’d already hidden his Horcruxs ensuring his immortality but he didn’t want to chance it, so he took the snippet of the prophecy from a follower of his that overheard it and went after my Aunt when he assumed the child was Harry. My Father sent Mum and I into hiding along with them, but one of the secret keepers betrayed our location.”

With parted lips the group shifted in their seats as you continued stoically, “When I was three he found us. Managed to uncover that Mum was his Cousin and gave her a chance to join him. When she refused, he began to torture her for hours until she died trying to find out where my Uncle, Aunt and Harry were.” The revelation making the men clench their fists on their laps and into their sleeves to remain calm and not reach out to comfort you through sharing the devastating truth.

Hastily Elrond asked, not having heard these details at your Father’s vague explanation of your Mother’s death, “He left you alone?”

“Peter, the man that betrayed us spotted me after a hint from my Mum about her having hidden me in a cupboard he enchanted so I couldn’t be heard.”

Arwen, “You saw it?”

“All of it. Through the crack in the panels. And the spell only muffled what I said, he forgot to soundproof it, so I wouldn’t hear her screaming.” Making their lips part, “All I remember was crying and suddenly finding myself in my Aunt Lily’s house. They quieted me down and decided not to leave the house for anything, but they didn’t know Peter had already told them where they were. Not long after my Uncle blasted through the door and killed them and tried to kill me and Harry.”

Twins, “Tried?”

You wet your lips again, “You can only use the killing curse on one person at a time. I shifted into a cat and moved in front of Harry in the crib. Riddle’s soul was already so unstable after forming his horcruxs his body was destroyed. The curse was how I got my scar, if you were wondering.” You said showing them the full swirl filled white scar coating the full left side of your face except for your nose and only a third of your forehead.

“Flash forward over the next 18 years where I hunted down the horcruxs along with the twins and my Uncle Regulus while gaining Riddle’s confidence as his niece becoming his Second in Command, even in aiding Peter’s finding a spell to grant Riddle a new body to return in. I passed on his planned attacks to the Aurors and hid the targets we swapped with doubles whenever possible.”

Glorfindel shifted a bit closer to you to ask, “Why join him? Why not fight against him?”

Your eyes shifted to meet his, “Because for eleven years Harry was the Boy Who Lived where I was hidden away and dubbed the Girl Who Died protecting him. Riddle, the moment it was revealed I was alive sent followers to speak with me. He sought me out and I had a choice. My family was already viewed as tilted more to the despicable side of the scale and I used it to my advantage. After all, why would I betray him, I am after all a Black, from a long line of very loyal Wizards. My Mother was deemed a fool tainted by being raised by Muggles, something I wasn’t party to, there was no reason to question me, or to hide his ambitions from the child he was grooming to take his place.”

Glorfindel, “It was that simple? He never doubted you?”

You met his eyes releasing a weak chuckle, “This, does nothing to add to my trustworthiness I assume, but he wanted a family more than anything. Because children born of love potions can’t feel love. I shared his blood and used it to our advantage.”

Thranduil, “What of your advantage?”

You shifted your eyes to meet his, “My life hasn’t been about me since I watched my Mother die.” Making him swallow dryly, “It has been one giant chess game with the hopeful end result of him dead and my allies alive.”

Legolas, “What about you?”

“From the minute I learned my scar marked me as one of his Horcruxs I knew I had to die to destroy the piece of his soul trapped in it, same as my cousin Harry.”

Celeborn, “You willingly chased death? At so young an age?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in the sinking of your gaze, “What’s one life in exchange for millions. I had three years of bliss and safety, that was enough for me. When I was sent to Azkaban I discovered the Dementors, who speak Draconic, could sense the Horcrux and wanted to help me feeling the pain it was causing me to carry it. I asked them for help and they sucked it out of me. A few years later Riddle possessed one of our Professors and in trying to save the Professor Riddle cast a second Killing Curse at me. I died, and then moments later I was back again. I still don’t understand it, but it happened. The Professor died, I couldn’t save him and Riddle’s soul was set into a holding dummy Peter took away until the time was right.

A few years after that when I was in the Triwizard Tournament Peter finalized the potion to bring Riddle back into his new body. And I promised to arrive to be tested for entrance into the Death Eaters. Over the summer when school had let out, the test to become a Death Eater is to be strapped to a table,” Hearts dropped instantly hearing that through your cold gaze locked on your teacup in the darkening of your roots, “Two weeks later I was allowed to go home with Regulus, and he never questioned me after that. The Death Eaters the others broke out of Azkaban did, but none more than my aunt Bellatrix, who was his second back when Mum was alive after she was freed. Even became his lover and had his child, completely abandoning her husband to try and sway him away from me. She could see how much I hated her for her torturing Neville’s parents, essentially orphaning him as a baby by the curses she left on them.

But, the worst thing was, I freed myself in Azkaban from his Horcrux, and on that table, he made me one again.” A tear snuck down your cheek making a hand from Thranduil and Glorfindel rise to cover their mouths to keep silent. “Years I played both sides. Did my part and planned it all up to the big battle at Hogwarts. There was this organization, called R, I told Riddle I had a dream they were heading to the school and asked him to save me. I called the Aurors and all our allies and Alastor helped to lure R to the school so it wouldn’t be obvious.

It didn’t last very long. Only, Bellatrix, she was ordered to stay behind, to take care of her 19 day old daughter. And she refused and attacked Neville knowing it would draw me after her. She thought, most likely when Riddle would see me attacking her he might switch sides, but I fought her, and I faked that she was winning. That I felt her curses, and I just had to whisper to Riddle and he fired a Killing curse, that I threw myself in front of.” Mouths dropped open then clamped shut at your sharp inhale and wipe away of a second tear, “Then I died,” They watched as your oddly pleased smile settled, “And I saw my Mum waiting for me in the crossroads, and she told me to go back, that we weren’t done fighting yet and my Father still needed me. And I woke up after Riddle had killed Bellatrix and I killed him when he tried to kill Neville for speaking up.”

On your right you watched Teddy hugging one of the lambs while another nudged him with its face while Em and Estel giggled through a game of tag through Arwen’s asking, “You are happier now?”

You nodded meeting her eye with another soft smile, “Starting to be. I get to be simply a Professor and Quidditch player finally. No need to be the double agent anymore.”

A shrill cry came from Teddy halting the tag game for a moment bringing you to your feet to go and pick him up after his head butting with the lamb stirred the interest of a nearby goat taking the game a bit too seriously. With parted lips through steadying breaths and stolen glances at one another silently confirming their shared pain at sensing how much pain you had endured much greater now.

Silently they watched as you knelt beside Teddy tilting his head back revealing a knot and a small cut triggering your shift into your white and blue Pheonix form. A single tear dropped from your eye shrinking the knot and healed the cut before you shifted back again and leaned down with a smile as your hair shifted to a bright shimmering gold matching his through his giggle at the goat brushing its snout against his cheek sweetly in apology. “See, all better.” You kissed his cheek then smirked as he bumped his head with the goat again making the twins giggle, “Of course, right back to the painful game. True Black spirit.” Kissing his cheek again before you stood and walked to the table leaving him to play through a smiling glance at Em and Estel beginning their game again.

Thranduil eyed Teddy as your hair shifted back to its silvery blue shade, asking, “You aren’t going to pull him away?”

You shook your head taking your seat again. “No, he’s bound to do as many stubborn things as he can manage as he grows. Our family way. He’ll learn to choose the least painful option eventually.”

His lips parted at your lax approach as Elrond chuckled motioning his hand at the twins while you claimed a sip of your cold tea you silently heated up with a mental spell before your next sip, “These two managed quite a supply of nicks and bruises in their mischief growing up.”

You smirked and glanced at Teddy now petting a bunny laying across his lap as the lambs and goat were called away by their Mothers through Legolas stating, “I remember quite a number of falls from trees myself Ada. Our young aren’t so invulnerable to injury.”

Taking another sip of your drink you caught Glorfindel’s eyes shifting over your hair as Arwen asked, “Is blue his natural hair color?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s chestnut like his Mother’s. He just has a difficult time controlling his shifting just yet. It’s set on instinct and mirroring others of interest.”

Glorfindel, “And yours?”

“Black.”

Twins, “Why silvery blue?”

You let out a giggle, “My Cousin’s was purple. Bit of a teen thing, if we weren’t going to have normal lives we would still steal a chance to rebel in the normal fashion and wear our hair in outrageous colors.” Making the Twins chuckle in return.

The entrance of a small thrush drew the King’s eye and hand to rise allowing it a place to land so he could claim the message that earned a sigh from him before he stated, “My Council has finished the designs on the palace courtyard we’re to rebuild in the Southern Kingdom.” His eyes met yours to say, “We shall have to reschedule another tea I’m afraid.”

You nodded and flinched out a quick smile, “Oh, and let me know if you do decide on that hat of yours.”

He nodded with a hint of a smirk across his lips, “Of course. If you’ll excuse me.” He stood and promptly led Legolas and Tauriel back to the waiting archway taking them back again to Northern Greenwood. Not long after you turned to catch Teddy curling up around a bunny as it neared his nap time. Beside you Kreacher popped up claiming care over his nap and walked over to collect him insisting you remain in place enjoying your tea. He popped away as Elrond and the others were ‘called away’ as well after stealing knowing glances between you two, leaving only Glorfindel who lowered his now empty tea cup a servant arrived to clear away along with the rest once you had finished yours.

Meeting his eye you asked, “Nothing calling you away?”

He shook his head, “No. I am off guard duties until tonight.”

“You’re a guard? We haven’t talked about your job before.”

He wet his lips, “Yes and no. We all take our turns on guard. Mainly I train the younger forces on swordsmanship.” His eyes looked you over curiously, “If you wished to learn I could teach you as well.”

Making you giggle softly, “The Durins have given me lessons on the basics. Though I doubt me learning how to wield a sword to your standards will increase confidence in me for some.”

With a hint of a smile he replied, “Still, if you find yourself, interested, in learning I would teach you.”

The momentary pause and playful flicker in his eyes hinted, at least in your mind, of some withheld attraction he was hinting at leaving you a playful test to see if he truly wished to remain in your company. “You’ve lived here a long time?”

He nodded, “Yes, since its founding in the Second Age.”

Curiously he eyed your face wondering what you were trying to ask, “I’ve heard there’s quite a number of waterfalls. Dad says they’re quite beautiful. I’ve never seen any myself past pictures, only Lord Elrond mentioned there’s a few winding paths we’d have gotten lost on when I first asked about them.”

Instantly his eyes lit up at your offer for more time alone and he stated, “I would gladly show you if you wished.”

As you stood he did as well, stepping around his bench seat with his hand extended motioning you first round the table to the path leading out across a small stream feeding the garden. At your side he led you through the garden and out to the first of a few winding paths. In the silence you peered over at him catching his eyes in his own glance at you as you asked, “It certainly seems peaceful here.”

With a nod he replied, “It is.”

“Not a lot of parties then? I can’t imagine it gets too out of control around here.”

“We have monthly celebrations, nothing as lavish as Greenwood puts on. I am certain Lord Elrond would invite you and your kin this time.” After a glance forward to guide you to your right for a turn then asked, “Are your birthday celebrations quite lavish? We did hear mention of it through Lindir.”

You let out a weak giggle, “It’s not a celebration. We have a dinner, it’s Fred and George’s birthday as well, April First. For as much love as Molly and Arthur have for their Children gold was a bit thin when we grew up, so birthday dinners may sound simple but have always been perfect.” Making a flicker of a smile flash on his face, “Then tradition always pops up.”

“Tradition?”

You nodded, “Dad always insists on a moonlight dance, a waltz, Black family tradition. Dance under the stars to celebrate another year under the moonlight.”

With an awed glance he asked, “Your clan truly prizes star and moonlight?” He had heard this from your father but had wished to have it confirmed by you as well.

You nodded and reached back showing him your tattoo for your Father his eyes traced over seeing the glimmering spots for the stars in the still dog silhouette etched into your skin, “All through my family line we’ve had a magnetic pull of our kin recorded all the way to the first. Claiming his children and he were bound by stardust. So we’ve been named after stars, constellations and planets. We get marks for our kin that react when we’re close to them. It’s how I found Rivendell so easily.”

Glorfindel asked more in awe than inquisition, “That is why you’re named after Pluto?”

You let out a weak giggle, “Dad always loved it, Mum wanted my name to go against tradition but Dad insisted and it was slipped in as another middle name.”

“Your Mother didn’t like the traditions of your clan?”

“Dad never really like it. But he ended up holding to them anyways simply out of habit. We had a whole mansion filled with instruments and books on countless languages most can’t even name. Centuries of knowledge forgotten we carry on teaching. It is a bit daunting thinking back on it but most did come in handy through the past years.”

He nodded, “It seems our parents’ teachings have a way of making sense eventually. Even the more ridiculous ones.” Wetting your lips you looked to the path, but not quick enough to miss your boot slipping from the even path into a dip in the road making you grip his arm stirring a stunned smirk onto his face as you caught yourself and kept walking. Carefully he eased his hand onto yours and curled it around his bicep, stating, “There are a few more dips ahead.”

With a smirk you glanced up at him as his hand settled on yours, “Careful you almost smiled.” He peered down at you with a curious glint in his eyes through a soft expression, “All the Elves I’ve seen are all so stoic. The Elf Guards might come steal you away if you’re found smiling from my bad influence.”

With a weak chuckle he replied, “You are far from a bad influence.”

Leaning against his side you glanced up at him, “Why are Elves so stoic? Is it one of those emotions are weakness beliefs?”

He shook his head, “No. We simply keep ourselves stoic in public. We are quite affectionate when we are among our loved ones.” He glanced at you again, “I understand your kin are easier with your attachments, such a simple courting system, where ours takes centuries sometimes to find our Ones. Even leaving some broken hearted for seeming lack of interest or inability to provide a suitable financial offer for unions.”

“Did Dad tell you about it?”

“Ronald did have to share the details when he began courting Tuli. Though he did get a bit confused on how to word it so we could understand the interest in having so many romantic partners, but I suppose when it is taken into account your kin have a harder time locating your Ones it does make sense to ‘follow your heart’, as he put it.” He shifted his fingers over your hand in a gentle nudge to help you avoid another dip in the road, “Have you had many partners?”

You shook your head, “Just two, well, first was Charlie, but that was for barely under two years before he graduated and moved to Romania, we were still quite young. And a couple months we tried again but I ended it, but that was around when Riddle died. Plus with the whole horcrux hunting thing it doesn’t exactly give much to my appeal. Though in my Triwizard year there was a boy named Sebastian. He was from Durmstrang visiting to compete. Only lasted, five, six months, but it never got too serious, he found someone else when he went back home. You? I heard you’ve died too. First time round perhaps, huge family out somewhere?”

With something close to a disbelieving glance at you for your assumption he responded, “No. No partners for me. Even in my former life. Our wars had just erupted, I was a bit distracted.”

“Was it painful?” He glanced at you again, “Ron mentioned something about a Balrog.”

“Oh. I got dragged into a chasm by my hair. I never felt a thing, I just remember falling, my eyes closed and then they opened again and I was in the Halls of Mandos.”

You nodded, “I remember a flash of green from mine. Hurt something awful when I woke up again. I assumed it would hurt more. Just like falling asleep.”

“Green?”

You nodded, “The Killing Curse, sends out a flash of green from their wands.”

“Ah.”

“Do you miss Valinor?”

“I miss my friends who have sailed and fallen. But occasionally Elves are sent back again like I was. And there is no telling how your arrival will shape our world. The Valar may just reshape the bridge between our worlds and allow our kin back again.”

Looking forward again at the sound of rushing water growing louder at your next turn, “I’m certain it would grant more than a few the chance to be together again. Help some star crossed lovers gain their chance at romance.”

In another glance at you he watched your awed gasp at the set of waterfalls casting a trio of crossing rainbows over the crevice between them feeding into the center of Rivendell. “It’s so beautiful.” You mumbled under your breath. “How can you not spend all day up here looking at all of these wondrous things?”

Without taking his eyes off you he stated, “There are far more wondrous things to look at now.”

In a curious glance up at him to ask what else could be more wondrous than this you saw his adoring gaze down at you making your lips part, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gently his hand moved from over yours to brush your bangs behind your ear after a breeze had blown them over our face as they shifted to a sea foam green through your soft blush bringing a smile slowly onto his face. In a ghosting of his fingers along the edge of your ear he asked, “I am a bit uncertain of how to request the beginning of a courtship for your kin. Ronald was a bit confusing. He did mention simply requesting a kiss.” His eyes sank to your lips for a moment before he asked, “Would I, that is, would you allow me to kiss you?”

Under his clear blue shimmering awed hopeful gaze at you all you could utter was a simple, “Yes.” Before you could blink he’d leaned in, cupping your cheek tenderly. A gentle tap of his lips to yours melted into a firmer retaliatory kiss after your lean into it. For a few silent moments between you even the roar of the waterfalls had vanished as your hands shifted to his middle and his free hand rested on your elbow, not wishing to place his hands improperly.

On your right a quick pop was followed by a flash making your lips break apart and you two to look at Fred and George popping up holding a camera that spit out a copy of the picture they smirked while shaking it making a copy for you both Fred offered to Glorfindel. In unison they said, “Cozy spot.”

George, “Just came to share Mum’s breaking out her pork loin recipe, the candidate’s Banquet. We all have to pitch in for Remus and our new Council.”

Fred grinned pocketing the picture, “So wear the finest. Best impressions and all that.”

George smirked saying, “We’ll tell Mum you’ll have a guest.”

“As you were.” They looked between you and chuckled before apparating away.

For a moment your lips parted then shut as he smiled inspecting the precious moment trapped in the image forever, then asked, “This portrait, it keeps going?”

You nodded and met his eye when he glanced up at you again, “Yes.”

Wetting his lips he asked, “Did you want to keep it?” He offered it to you. Carefully you accepted it and gave it a shake mentally uttering a copying spell making a double then passed him the original he shifted to compare to yours with an awed smile. Tilting his head to meet your eyes again he paused wordless with a heated gaze only meaning he wished for another kiss his mind left him baffled on how to request it. Without a word you pocketed your photo and reached up brushing a stray strip of braided hair behind his ear and closed the distance again for a kiss he eagerly leaned into.

Timidly his hands settled on your back at your placing them there in your rise onto your toes to ease your arms behind his neck in the passionate kiss through which his body pressed against yours in return. Deaf once again to the world a clear snort made you freeze again before the soft flapping of paper wings and another snort sounded making you part and look at the small paper flying pig shaking its head through another greeting snort making Glorfindel’s lips purse under a curious furrow of his brows to ask, “What is that?”

Removing one of your hands you claimed the pig in your palm and watched as it unfolded itself revealing a note Glorfindel shifted his head to read along with you, “It’s a notice. The votes are in for Minister of Magic. They’ll be announced tonight on the ten pm broadcast along with the other winners.”

Longingly his forehead leaned against yours making you smile and shift to lean against his chest for a hug he gladly returned with a growing smile of his own. In a glance up at him your playful smirk drew a playful spark in his eyes as you pulled back a few inches, to say, “You’re smiling.”

“Am I not allowed to smile at the source of my unending joy?”

With another playful smirk you waved your hand in a circle making the note pop back home onto your bed as your camera appeared in your palm. Before he could change his expression you rose on your toes curled against his side with a large smile of your own after a peck on his cheek making his smile deepen even more through a faint blush he hid by pressing his forehead to yours after the flash ended. Another picture was printed and you smirked at it as it looped with your peck on his cheek followed by your joint growing smiles before his blush and sink to hide shifting into his rise to be kissed again.

Another copy was made for him he gratefully added to the other in his pocket and said, “I will treasure them always.”

With a smile you stated, “If you like I could get you a couple of frames for them. We have a few enchanted ones you may like. Color changing, shape shifting, ones that hide the images unless you’re alone.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t want it to hide, but, I wouldn’t wish to publicly flaunt it lest it tarnish your reputation.” He inhaled sharply, “I have missed a step. I should have asked your Father’s consent fir-..” His words died at your head turning to kiss him again drawing him into another melting lean against you.

When your lips left his, his eyes met yours with a curious pout at a wish for an unending kiss just like in the photos, “Technically in our world you have the person’s consent for kissing and the Father’s for proposing.”

He nodded and swallowed back his urge to lean in for another unsteadying kiss he hoped to end with asking for your hand right there, “I will remember that.”

With a nod you peered out at the falls again, “It really is beautiful up here. But, I should probably get back. The little ones should be hungry soon.” He nodded and eyed you in your step away only to grin at your hand extending for his, that was gladly woven into yours in his motion to claim your side and guide you back again.

When you’d reached the edge of the gardens he paused in the shadows of the trees there to ask, “Would I be able to kiss you again, when we’re alone? I understand there are titles to claim first between now and a proposal.”

You nodded, “Of course.”

Through the garden he led you to the archways again where he eyed your locked hands, reluctant to release it just yet even under the watch of servants and the twins looking on in pitiful hiding places nearby. Peering down at you he smiled at you softly raising your clasped hands to kiss your knuckles after a shifting of fingers then said, “I will see you tomorrow. I do apologize but I have guard duty tonight. I, unfortunately will have to miss the banquet.”

You smiled up at him as he cradled and tenderly stroked your hand with his adoring gaze locked on your eyes, “Well, if I am able to sleep at all, I have classes again so it would have to be after five, you could help me gather pearls.” His brow raised at your subtle lean in to whisper, “How much do you know about mermaids?” A soft peck on his cheek earned a chuckle from him and his eyes lingered on you as you slipped away with a wink you sent his way after grabbing Em in her race over to you when Estel was sent for another lesson. His moment of bliss halted however through the Elves trying to subtly come out of hiding to question him.

Pt 19

#HP Crossover #thranduil x oc #Glorfindel x Reader OC

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

God’s Sunrise will break in upon us,

Shining on those in the darkness,

those sitting in the shadow of death,

Then showing us the way, one foot at a time,

down the path of peace.

A set of lines from Today’s reading of the Scriptures in the New Testament from the first chapter of the book of Luke where it is seen the significance of thinking and writing and speaking, all essential in life on earth where we are destined to “believe...” in the heart and to speak words through a body of physical earth. for we have the Spirit here with us (God’s Heart and the silence of His thought-life that seeks to inspire our own when we are open to welcome Him in) just as we have created things, such as the silence of the stars and the Trees to inspire us, right along with the instrumental music of earth’s True nature such as the rain and streams, and the many songs of birds.

and i personally view this as (A full circle of silence & sound) where writing from the thought-life connects hearts & minds in friendship to inspire speech, accompanied by the sounds of music such as played on strings. for i have come to place my trust in a book that illuminates this as a seed of being befriended in True nature, which is why my heart feels a constant need to write in the hope of making a clear connection at some point.

[Luke 1]

So many others have tried their hand at putting together a story of the wonderful harvest of Scripture and history that took place among us, using reports handed down by the original eyewitnesses who served this Word with their very lives. Since I have investigated all the reports in close detail, starting from the story’s beginning, I decided to write it all out for you, most honorable Theophilus, so you can know beyond the shadow of a doubt the reliability of what you were taught.

During the rule of Herod, King of Judea, there was a priest assigned service in the regiment of Abijah. His name was Zachariah. His wife was descended from the daughters of Aaron. Her name was Elizabeth. Together they lived honorably before God, careful in keeping to the ways of the commandments and enjoying a clear conscience before God. But they were childless because Elizabeth could never conceive, and now they were quite old.

It so happened that as Zachariah was carrying out his priestly duties before God, working the shift assigned to his regiment, it came his one turn in life to enter the sanctuary of God and burn incense. The congregation was gathered and praying outside the Temple at the hour of the incense offering. Unannounced, an angel of God appeared just to the right of the altar of incense. Zachariah was paralyzed in fear.

But the angel reassured him, “Don’t fear, Zachariah. Your prayer has been heard. Elizabeth, your wife, will bear a son by you. You are to name him John. You’re going to leap like a gazelle for joy, and not only you—many will delight in his birth. He’ll achieve great stature with God.

“He’ll drink neither wine nor beer. He’ll be filled with the Holy Spirit from the moment he leaves his mother’s womb. He will turn many sons and daughters of Israel back to their God. He will herald God’s arrival in the style and strength of Elijah, soften the hearts of parents to children, and kindle devout understanding among hardened skeptics—he’ll get the people ready for God.”

Zachariah said to the angel, “Do you expect me to believe this? I’m an old man and my wife is an old woman.”

But the angel said, “I am Gabriel, the sentinel of God, sent especially to bring you this glad news. But because you won’t believe me, you’ll be unable to say a word until the day of your son’s birth. Every word I’ve spoken to you will come true on time—God’s time.”

Meanwhile, the congregation waiting for Zachariah was getting restless, wondering what was keeping him so long in the sanctuary. When he came out and couldn’t speak, they knew he had seen a vision. He continued speechless and had to use sign language with the people.

When the course of his priestly assignment was completed, he went back home. It wasn’t long before his wife, Elizabeth, conceived. She went off by herself for five months, relishing her pregnancy. “So, this is how God acts to remedy my unfortunate condition!” she said.

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to the Galilean village of Nazareth to a virgin engaged to be married to a man descended from David. His name was Joseph, and the virgin’s name, Mary. Upon entering, Gabriel greeted her:

Good morning!

You’re beautiful with God’s beauty,

Beautiful inside and out!

God be with you.

She was thoroughly shaken, wondering what was behind a greeting like that. But the angel assured her, “Mary, you have nothing to fear. God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant and give birth to a son and call his name Jesus.

He will be great,

be called ‘Son of the Highest.’

The Lord God will give him

the throne of his father David;

He will rule Jacob’s house forever—

no end, ever, to his kingdom.”

Mary said to the angel, “But how? I’ve never slept with a man.”

The angel answered,

The Holy Spirit will come upon you,

the power of the Highest hover over you;

Therefore, the child you bring to birth

will be called Holy, Son of God.

“And did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God.”

And Mary said,

Yes, I see it all now:

I’m the Lord’s maid, ready to serve.

Let it be with me

just as you say.

Then the angel left her.

Mary didn’t waste a minute. She got up and traveled to a town in Judah in the hill country, straight to Zachariah’s house, and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby in her womb leaped. She was filled with the Holy Spirit, and sang out exuberantly,

You’re so blessed among women,

and the babe in your womb, also blessed!

And why am I so blessed that

the mother of my Lord visits me?

The moment the sound of your

greeting entered my ears,

The babe in my womb

skipped like a lamb for sheer joy.

Blessed woman, who believed what God said,

believed every word would come true!

And Mary said,

I’m bursting with God-news;

I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.

God took one good look at me, and look what happened—

I’m the most fortunate woman on earth!

What God has done for me will never be forgotten,

the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.

His mercy flows in wave after wave

on those who are in awe before him.

He bared his arm and showed his strength,

scattered the bluffing braggarts.

He knocked tyrants off their high horses,

pulled victims out of the mud.

The starving poor sat down to a banquet;

the callous rich were left out in the cold.

He embraced his chosen child, Israel;

he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.

It’s exactly what he promised,

beginning with Abraham and right up to now.

Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months and then went back to her own home.

When Elizabeth was full-term in her pregnancy, she gave birth to a son. Her neighbors and relatives, seeing that God had overwhelmed her with mercy, celebrated with her.

On the eighth day, they came to circumcise the child and were calling him Zachariah after his father. But his mother intervened: “No. He is to be called John.”

“But,” they said, “no one in your family is named that.” They used sign language to ask Zachariah what he wanted him named.

Asking for a tablet, Zachariah wrote, “His name is to be John.” That took everyone by surprise. Surprise followed surprise—Zachariah’s mouth was now open, his tongue loose, and he was talking, praising God!

A deep, reverential fear settled over the neighborhood, and in all that Judean hill country people talked about nothing else. Everyone who heard about it took it to heart, wondering, “What will become of this child? Clearly, God has his hand in this.”

Then Zachariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied,

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel;

he came and set his people free.

He set the power of salvation in the center of our lives,

and in the very house of David his servant,

Just as he promised long ago

through the preaching of his holy prophets:

Deliverance from our enemies

and every hateful hand;

Mercy to our fathers,

as he remembers to do what he said he’d do,

What he swore to our father Abraham—

a clean rescue from the enemy camp,

So we can worship him without a care in the world,

made holy before him as long as we live.

And you, my child, “Prophet of the Highest,”

will go ahead of the Master to prepare his ways,

Present the offer of salvation to his people,

the forgiveness of their sins.

Through the heartfelt mercies of our God,

God’s Sunrise will break in upon us,

Shining on those in the darkness,

those sitting in the shadow of death,

Then showing us the way, one foot at a time,

down the path of peace.

The child grew up, healthy and spirited. He lived out in the desert until the day he made his prophetic debut in Israel.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 1 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 9th chapter of the book of Job where Job states his case:

Then Job spoke to them.

Job: Sure, I know all of this is correct,

but tell me this: how can a person set things straight with God?

If one wanted to argue with Him,

even in a thousand questions he would not be able to answer Him once.

His wise heart is vast; His strength immeasurable.

Who has ever challenged Him and remained safe and at peace?

He uproots mountains,

and they are unaware when He overturns them in His rage.

He shakes the earth out of its place

so that its foundation pillars shudder.

He commands the sun to go down and not rise,

and He sequesters the stars so they do not shine.

He single-handedly stretched out the heavens overhead

and walks on the back of the raging sea.

He fashioned the stars into constellations we know by name—

Bear, Orion, the Pleiades—

and the lights of the southern sky.

He does wonderful things, even confounding things,

and performs an infinite number of miracles.

Still, if He passes right by me, I don’t see Him;

if He brushes past, I don’t notice Him.

Ah, but if He were to steal like a thief in the market,

who could stop Him? No one has authority over Him.

Who could dare say to Him, “What are You doing?”

God does not restrain Himself in His anger.

Even the minions of Rahab—that monster of the sea and purveyor of chaos—

cower at His feet in subservience.

So then how do I argue with Him?

How can I find the right words to state my case to Him?

After all, I am the innocent one here, and I still can’t find an answer.

So I must continually appeal to the mercy of my judge.

But even if I were to call Him and He were to answer,

I still could not believe that He would listen to my complaint.

For He flattens me with a tornado

and multiplies my wounds for no reason.

He won’t even give me time to catch my breath;

instead He force-feeds me more bitterness.

If it is an issue of power, there is no question

He is the mighty one;

and if it is an issue of justice, who would ever appoint me?

Even though I am right in all of this, my own mouth sentences me.

Though I am blameless, my own lips cheat me.

I am blameless, but I don’t know myself.

I hate my life.

Well, then this is what I say: it’s all the same.

In the end, He kills off both the innocent and the depraved.

If a flood of disaster rushes in and kills,

He ridicules the anguish of its innocent victims.

The earth has been given over

and is under the dominion of some wicked hand.

God conceals these things from its judges, covering their faces, blinding their eyes.

If not He, then who is it?

As for me, my days are sprinting by like a runner.

Seeing nothing good, they seek escape.

They glide past in swift silence like reed boats on the river.

Now a blur, they dive like an eagle toward its prey.

If I tell myself, “I will forget all about my grievance against God,

I will simply abandon my long face and cheer up,”

Then I fear the suffering to come

because I know there’s no chance that You, Lord, will find me innocent.

So if the verdict is already in, if I have already been found guilty,

why should I bother to clear my name?

Why struggle in vain?

Though I wash my body in the pure melted snow

and scrub my hands thoroughly with the strongest soap,

You would toss me into a putrid pit,

and when I emerged, even my own clothes would hate me.

The Lord . . . He is no man, like me, whom I could answer,

no human being whom I could face in court.

There is no judge to stand between us

who can lay his hands on us both,

Who can remove God’s rod from my back

and stave off the terror of Him that haunts me.

I long to speak and defend myself without fear of Him and His reprisals;

but as things stand now and as I am within myself, that’s not possible.

The Book of Job, Chapter 9 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, April 16 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons that points to the significance of our words and the treasure of the heart:

Just as a body can become sick with illness, so can a soul: "I said, 'O LORD, have mercy on me; heal my soul (רְפָאָה נַפְשִׁי), for I have sinned against you'" (Psalm 41:4). Likewise we understand that fear profoundly affects the way the brain processes images and messages. Fear colors the way we see and hear things. And since the mind and body are intricately interconnected, fear is often the root cause of many physiological problems such as heart disease, high blood pressure, clinical depression, and other ailments. Left unchecked, fear can be deadly. Note the connection between fear, lashon hara (evil thoughts/words), and sickness (tzara’at), which are themes of this week's Torah portion...

The targum Onkelos states that God breathed into Adam the ability to think and to speak. In other words, thought and speech are two primary characteristics of the image (tzelem) and likeness (demut) of God. Since our use of words is directly linked to the "breath of God" within us, lashon hara (לָשׁוֹן הָרָה) defaces God's image within us.... Using words to inflict pain therefore perverts the image of God, since God created man to use language to "build up" others in love. This is part of the reason the metzora (i.e., one afflicted with tzara’at) was regarded as “dead” and in need of rebirth.

Lashon hara is really a symptom of the “evil eye” (ayin hara). “Evil comes to one who searches (דָּרַשׁ) for it” (Prov. 11:27). We must train ourselves to use the “good eye” (ayin tovah) and extend kaf zechut - the “hand of merit” to others. Genuine faith is optimistic and involves hakarat tovah, that is, recognizing the good in others and in life’s circumstances. Gam zu l’tovah: “This too is for the good” (Rom. 8:28). The Midrash states that God afflicted houses with tzara’at so that treasure hidden within the walls would be discovered. The good eye finds “hidden treasure” in every person and experience.

King David said (Psalm 35:13): “May what I prayed for happen to me!” (literally, tefillati al-cheki tashuv - “may it return upon my own breast”). Some of our prayers are conscious words spoken to God, whereas others are unconscious expressions of our inner heart attitudes. When we harbor indifference, ill will, or unforgiveness toward others, we are only hurting ourselves. It is very sobering to realize that our thoughts are essentially prayers being offered up to God... When we seek the good of others we find God’s favor, healing and life. Yeshua spoke of "good and evil treasures of the heart" that produce actions that are expressed in our words (Luke 6:45). A midrash states that if someone speaks well of another, the angels above will then speak well of him before the Holy One.

In light of the enigma of “spiritual impurity” (i.e., tumah) and its ultimate expression revealed in the corruption of death, it is all the more telling that we should heed the cry of the Spirit: "Choose Life!" (Deut. 30:19). Sin is a type of "spiritual suicide" that seduces us to exchange eternal good for the petty and trivial. The nachash (serpent) in the garden of Eden was the first to speak lashon hara. He slandered God and lied to Eve about how to discern between good and evil. He is a murderer and the father of lies. Resist his wiles with the truth of God.

May it please the LORD to help each of us be entirely mindful of the power and sanctity of our words... May it please Him to help us use our words for the purpose of strengthening and upbuilding (οἰκοδομὴν) one another (Eph. 4:29). May God help us take every thought “captive” to the obedience of the Messiah, thereby enabling us to always behold and express the truth of God’s unfailing love. [Hebrew for Christians]

4.15.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 16, 2021

A Broken and Contrite Heart

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” (Psalm 51:17)

God prescribed a system of animal sacrifices for sin in the Old Testament. These sacrifices pointed forward to Jesus, who offered Himself as the once-for-all sacrifice for sin (Hebrews 10:11-12). King David understood the importance of the prescribed animal sacrifices but knew that what God truly wanted is a person’s heart.

In Psalm 51, David, who was described as “a man after [the LORD’s] own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14), demonstrated God’s heart in his attitude toward his own sin. The occasion of writing was David’s transgression with Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11). He asked God to forgive his sins, both specifically in the matter of Bathsheba (“this evil,” v. 4) and in general (“blot out all mine iniquities,” v. 9). He recognized that sin was in his heart long before he committed adultery and praised his Creator by repenting of his rebellion against God’s commands.

David had committed two death penalty crimes: adultery (Leviticus 20:10) and murder (Genesis 9:6). No animal sacrifice could atone for David’s sin (Psalm 51:16; cf. Hebrews 10:4), yet God forgave him (2 Samuel 12:13). David’s words show a deep awareness of and contrition for his sin. Only when a person acknowledges his or her sin with “a broken and a contrite heart” (Psalm 51:17) can that person truly appreciate God’s forgiveness.

Praise God that Jesus Christ, the Creator of the universe, became a man and died to pay the penalty for sin, offering salvation to all who turn from sin to Jesus and trust in Him alone for salvation (John 1:14; 3:16; Romans 3:25; 2 Corinthians 5:21). Thanks to Jesus’ atoning work, “if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). WP

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that-rogue-valar · 7 years

Text

One After the Other

Pairings: Ivar x Wife!Torhild (OC)

Warnings: Pregnancy, swearing, mentions of labor, somewhat sweet Ivar (Should that be a warning??)

Word Count: 1,311

My entire body trembled as I mentally prepared myself to deliver the news to him. I stepped up slowly to the steps of our shared house, my hand resting on the knob. “Come on, Torhild. He has to know.” I whispered to myself.

I twisted the knob and pushed the door open, enveloping myself inside. The warmth of the fire burning in the hearth was comforting, despite the overwhelming anxiety that made me want to run.

He sat in his armchair, the firelight dancing in his perfect, blue orbs. “Hello.” Ivar greeted.

“H--hi.” I stuttered as I made my way over to my own seat in front of the fire. “I went to the healer today.”

Ivar nodded, opening his mouth to say something. “Did you?” He mused as a smirk spread across his features. “And what did they say was wrong with you?”

“Well, I...it’s nothing too serious,” I muttered, folding my hands over my lap, avoiding his piercing gaze.

He shrugged his shoulders, leaning his head on his knuckles. “I would’ve guessed it was something more serious by the way you throw your insides up every morning.”

“They figured out the reason why I was throwing up every morning,” I said, fiddling with my fingers. “Ivar...Ivar, I’m pregnant.”

Ivar’s face went pale and his smirk fell from his face. “Is it m--”

I cut him off. “Yes.” I turned towards him, studying his eyes for any evidence of a tantrum. He seemed almost too calm. “You’re the only man I have ever slept with, Ivar.”

“That’s because everybody knows you are mine.” Ivar’s smirk returned once more. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

A moment of silence passed. “How far along are you?” He asked as his eyes trailed up and down my torso.

“Three months or so.”

* * *

6 months later...

Of all times, the baby decided to be born now. Ivar was busying himself by training with his brothers out in the backyard. I grabbed a fistful of my skirt and gritted my teeth as another contraction rolled over.

I swung the back door open, clutching my swollen abdomen before yelling at Ivar. “Get the midwife and the healers! Your child is about to arrive.”

He sat there in utter shock before nudging Hvitserk with his elbow. “Don’t just stare!” My husband hissed as his older brother took off into town. “Torhild, you cannot just stand there. Get to bed now.”

* * *

After hours of rather painful labor, our baby was welcomed into the world. The baby was kicking and happy, cooing until their little heart was content. Ivar pulled himself up onto the bed beside me, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“He will be strong,” Ivar announced, poking his daughter’s plump belly gently. “Don’t you think?”

“We have a daughter, Ivar. Didn’t the midwife tell you?” I chuckled as his expression changed. I could’ve sworn he was blushing...

* * *

It wasn’t long after Embla was born that I was pregnant again. My husband, being rather proud of himself, went around Kattegat pointing at my stomach and showing off his newborn daughter.

“And they said I couldn’t have children...pfft.” Ivar snorted as we made our way home. “I have proved them wrong.”

“Yes, you did. And now my body is going to pay for it.” I said, giggling as I clutched a sleeping Embla over my slightly swollen abdomen. Ivar stalked closely behind on his crutches.

He did his best to shrug, despite having to support himself on his crutches. Embla stretched her little legs before opening her bright blue orbs. She had her father’s bright blue orbs and my honey-colored hair.

“Good morning, sunshine.” I smiled as her tiny fingers curled around mine. “You seem to have slept well.”

I glanced over my shoulder to find a smiling Ivar. Rare.

Once we got Embla taken care of and sleeping, I tucked myself under Ivar’s arm in our bed. His hand was draped protectively over my stomach as he stared blankly at the wall.

“Do you want a son?” I asked, peering up at his electric blue eyes that glittered in the pale torch-light. His hand slipped from my stomach to my hip before giving my side a gentle squeeze.

“I...do not know.”

I nodded and settled myself into a comfortable position for sleep. I rested my head on Ivar’s chest before drifting off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Embla, Eira, Hertha, Oili and Jorunn sat at their father’s feet and waited patiently for him to tell a story. I leaned against the doorway of the living area before cracking a grin. Ivar sat in his armchair, surrounded by his five, ever so eager daughters.

My husband noticed my grin before leaning forward on his elbows that were propped up on the arms of the chair. Jorunn, being the youngest and smallest, climbed up on her father’s lap happily.

“Papa, tell us about the time you met Mama!” Jorunn squeaked, raising her little hands to Ivar’s face before pinching his skin. Ivar squinted his eyes before slowly tearing her hands away.

He sighed and leaned back, bringing Jorunn with him. The rest of our girls scooted closer to the armchair in anticipation.

“Alright, just hush.” He pressed a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. “Your mama was a kind girl--”

“Was? Who birthed your five daughters with very little complaining?” I snickered.

“Your mama was a kind girl,” he smirked up at me before turning his attention once more to the girls. “She did not care about my legs or the fact that the other kids thought I was scary. Mama played with me almost every day and didn’t run away from me like the others. She didn’t make fun of me. Your mama liked me.”

“Liked? I still like you most of the time.” I laughed as I crossed my arms over my chest. “

“Would you quit interrupting?” He let out a small laugh before continuing. “Once we were older, I asked your mama to marry me. A few years after we were married, Embla came along, then Eira, then Hertha, then Oili and then--”

“Jorunn!” I said as I scooped up the giggling three-year-old in my arms.

I settled her on my hip before grabbing Ivar’s chin between my thumb and index finger. I pressed my lips to his, despite the series of “Ewww”s that came from the girls.

The girls prepared themselves for bed and were asleep at the snap of a whip. Ivar was still in his armchair, staring into the fire. I blocked his view of the fire and placed my hands on either arm of his seat.

“You twisted our story up into what you thought happened,” I confronted as a small giggle escaped my mouth. He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a smirk before grasping my hips with his strong hands. "It was what you made up in your head."

“I could not tell the girls that we fucked in secret for years, now could I?" He taunted.

"Certainly not."

"Do you want to make another baby?" Ivar asked, raising an eyebrow in questioning.

I shook my head. "Certainly not," I told him as I turned on my heels. "But I wouldn't mind the practice."

His eyes widened and his jaw fell before he lunged into the floor. "Fuck the damn crutches," He grunted under his breath as he dragged his body across the floor.

Once I was our bedroom, I closed the door and smirked, obviously pleased with my work. He chuckled darkly before opening the door.

"Oh no, my little lamb. You do not get away so easily."

13 notes · View notes