#black snaw

[scotianostra]

William Julius Mickle was born on the 29th September 1734 in Langholm, Dumfriesshire, which is now called Dumfries and Galloway.

His father was the Reverend Alexander Meikle, a minister at the parish church but, other than that, little is known of Mickle’s early life. On the death of his parents he ended up in Edinburgh, being cared for by an aunt and attending a high school in the city. It seems that he developed a love of poetry from about the age of 13 when he discovered Spenser’s Fairy Queen and it is believed that he styled his own early writing on it. By the time he was 18 he was already half way through the composition of an epic poem and had produced two tragic pieces along with other, shorter pieces of work.

He started his working life at an Edinburgh brewery, helping his aunt with the accounts, but soon moved south when the business got into difficulties. As a shareholder he was actually declared bankrupt in 1763 but did not wish to hang around to face his creditors. He then took up a position as a corrector with the Oxford Clarendon Press company, the job apparently allowed him plenty of leisure time which he spent writing.

His literary efforts met with both success and failure in even measures but the piece of work that really brought him to the attention of the literary world was a translation of the Lusiad from Portuguese which first appeared in 1771. It was so successful that it was reissued eight years later. He wrote this while lodging at the manor house in Forest Hill, Oxfordshire and the work resulted in a significant boost to his finances, so much so that he was able to stop working at the Clarendon Press in order to devote himself to literary pursuits.

From around 1765 onwards Mickle was able to write and publish a number of short poems while occasionally writing religiously-themed pamphlets of a controversial nature, decrying the likes of Voltaire. One of his most famous pieces, written in Scottish dialect, was There’s nae luck aboot the Hoose, although other writers have laid claim to it. It’s a fairly mournful tale about how a wife struggles when her man is away from home, at sea.

And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Mak haste, lay by your wheel; Is this the time to spin a thread When Colin's at the door? Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockings pearly blue; It's a' to pleasure my gudeman, For he's baith leel and true. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side, Put on the muckle pot, Gie little Kate her button gown, And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw, It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been lang awa. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk, Been fed this month and mair, Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And mak the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? Ah, there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like cauler air, His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair! And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa. If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave— And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave. And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a', There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa.

Following the release of new edition of The Lusiad, Mickle had a stroke of good fortune in that he was invited to sail to Portugal as secretary to the captain, a friend by the name of Johnston. When they landed at Lisbon he was warmly received and, over a period of six months, he set about learning as much as he could about the nature and customs of the people there.

On his return home he married the daughter of his former landlord at Forest Hill in June 1782, and they set up home in the nearby village of Wheatley. He was now financially secure and spent the rest of his life at leisure, writing occasional pieces as he felt the urge.

William Julius Mickle died on the 28th October 1788 after a short illness, aged 54, and was buried in the Forest Hill churchyard.

#scotland #scottish #makar #poet #writer

[p-isforpoetry]

Tam O'Shanter by Robert Burns (read by James Cosmo)

When chapmen billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, And getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonie lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale:-- Ae market-night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither! The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, wi' favours secret,sweet and precious The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.-- Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg-- A better never lifted leg-- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire; Despisin' wind and rain and fire. Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares: Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Chairlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.-- Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!-- The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight

Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-- Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some develish cantraip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light.-- By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murders's banes in gibbet-airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rusted; Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which even to name was be unlawfu'. Three lawyers' tongues, turn'd inside out, Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout; Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, Lay stinking, vile in every neuk.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Louping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder did na turn thy stomach!

But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wench and waulie, That night enlisted in the core, Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; (For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie,- Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy commin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane o' the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle - Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail; The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

No, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed; Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think! ye may buy joys o'er dear - Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

______________________________________

Tam o' Shanter (Translation)

When the peddler people leave the streets, And thirsty neighbours, neighbours meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to take the road home, While we sit boozing strong ale, And getting drunk and very happy, We don’t think of the long Scots miles, The marshes, waters, steps and stiles, That lie between us and our home, Where sits our sulky, sullen dame (wife), Gathering her brows like a gathering storm, Nursing her wrath, to keep it warm.

This truth finds honest Tam o' Shanter, As he from Ayr one night did canter; Old Ayr, which never a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.

Oh Tam, had you but been so wise, As to have taken your own wife Kate’s advice! She told you well you were a waster, A rambling, blustering, drunken boaster, That from November until October, Each market day you were not sober; During each milling period with the miller, You sat as long as you had money, For every horse he put a shoe on, The blacksmith and you got roaring drunk on; That at the Lords House, even on Sunday, You drank with Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, You would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or caught by warlocks in the murk, By Alloway’s old haunted church.

Ah, gentle ladies, it makes me cry, To think how many counsels sweet, How much long and wise advice The husband from the wife despises!

But to our tale :- One market night, Tam was seated just right, Next to a fireplace, blazing finely, With creamy ales, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Cobbler Johnny, His ancient, trusted, thirsty crony; Tom loved him like a very brother, They had been drunk for weeks together. The night drove on with songs and clatter, And every ale was tasting better; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, With secret favours, sweet and precious; The cobbler told his queerest stories; The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus: Outside, the storm might roar and rustle, Tam did not mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man so happy, Even drowned himself in ale. As bees fly home with loads of treasure, The minutes winged their way with pleasure: Kings may be blessed, but Tam was glorious, Over all the ills of life victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white - then melts forever, Or like the Aurora Borealis rays, That move before you can point to their place; Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, Vanishing amid the storm. No man can tether time or tide, The hour approaches Tom must ride: That hour, of night’s black arch - the key-stone, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in And such a night he takes to the road in As never a poor sinner had been out in.

The wind blew as if it had blown its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed: That night, a child might understand, The Devil had business on his hand.

Well mounted on his grey mare, Meg. A better never lifted leg, Tom, raced on through mud and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whilst holding fast his good blue bonnet, While crooning over some old Scots sonnet, Whilst glowering round with prudent care, Lest ghosts catch him unaware: Alloway’s Church was drawing near, Where ghosts and owls nightly cry.

By this time he was across the ford, Where in the snow the pedlar got smothered; And past the birch trees and the huge stone, Where drunken Charlie broke his neck bone; And through the thorns, and past the monument, Where hunters found the murdered child; And near the thorn, above the well, Where Mungo’s mother hanged herself. Before him the river Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars throught the woods; The lightnings flashes from pole to pole; Nearer and more near the thunder rolls; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Alloway’s Church seemed in a blaze, Through every gap , light beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! (whisky) What dangers you can make us scorn! With ale, we fear no evil; With whisky, we’ll face the Devil! The ales so swam in Tam’s head, Fair play, he didn’t care a farthing for devils. But Maggie stood, right sore astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tom saw an incredible sight!

Warlocks and witches in a dance: No cotillion, brand new from France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. In a window alcove in the east, There sat Old Nick, in shape of beast; A shaggy dog, black, grim, and large, To give them music was his charge: He screwed the pipes and made them squeal, Till roof and rafters all did ring. Coffins stood round, like open presses, That showed the dead in their last dresses; And, by some devilish magic sleight, Each in its cold hand held a light: By which heroic Tom was able To note upon the holy table, A murderer’s bones, in gibbet-irons; Two span-long, small, unchristened babies; A thief just cut from his hanging rope - With his last gasp his mouth did gape; Five tomahawks with blood red-rusted; Five scimitars with murder crusted; A garter with which a baby had strangled; A knife a father’s throat had mangled - Whom his own son of life bereft - The grey-hairs yet stack to the shaft; With more o' horrible and awful, Which even to name would be unlawful. Three Lawyers’ tongues, turned inside out, Sown with lies like a beggar’s cloth - Three Priests’ hearts, rotten, black as muck Lay stinking, vile, in every nook.

As Thomas glowered, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew, They reeled, they set, they crossed, they linked, Till every witch sweated and smelled, And cast her ragged clothes to the floor, And danced deftly at it in her underskirts!

Now Tam, O Tam! had these been young girls, All plump and strapping in their teens! Their underskirts, instead of greasy flannel, Been snow-white seventeen hundred linen! - The trousers of mine, my only pair, That once were plush, of good blue hair, I would have given them off my buttocks For one blink of those pretty girls !

But withered hags, old and droll, Ugly enough to suckle a foal, Leaping and flinging on a stick, Its a wonder it didn’t turn your stomach!

But Tam knew what was what well enough: There was one winsome, jolly wench, That night enlisted in the core, Long after known on Carrick shore (For many a beast to dead she shot, And perished many a bonnie boat, And shook both much corn and barley, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her short underskirt, o’ Paisley cloth, That while a young lass she had worn, In longitude though very limited, It was her best, and she was proud. . . Ah! little knew your reverend grandmother, That underskirt she bought for her little grandaughter, With two Scots pounds (it was all her riches), Would ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my tale must stoop and bow, Such words are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie leaped and kicked (A supple youth she was, and strong); And how Tom stood like one bewitched, And thought his very eyes enriched; Even Satan glowered, and fidgeted full of lust, And jerked and blew with might and main; Till first one caper, then another, Tom lost his reason all together, And roars out: ‘ Well done, short skirt! ’ And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees buzz out with angry wrath, When plundering herds assail their hive; As a wild hare’s mortal foes, When, pop! she starts running before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When ‘ Catch the thief! ’ resounds aloud: So Maggie runs, the witches follow, With many an unearthly scream and holler.

Ah, Tom! Ah, Tom! You will get what's coming! In hell they will roast you like a herring! In vain your Kate awaits your coming ! Kate soon will be a woeful woman! Now, do your speedy utmost, Meg, And beat them to the key-stone of the bridge; There, you may toss your tale at them, A running stream they dare not cross! But before the key-stone she could make, She had to shake a tail at the fiend; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie pressed, And flew at Tam with furious aim; But little knew she Maggie’s mettle! One spring brought off her master whole, But left behind her own grey tail: The witch caught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, who this tale of truth shall read, Each man, and mother’s son, take heed: Whenever to drink you are inclined, Or short skirts run in your mind, Think! you may buy joys over dear: Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.

#Tam O'Shanter #Robert Burns #poem #poetry #video #James Cosmo #Youtube

[libidomechanica]

The while of Latona

Knight. It made so farre yet inexperience with good truth, the life and smooth wine, out-sparkling coals. The latter end of this nether frightful scarlet, and grasses a goat stirs with echoing star. That slowly crimson’d all seem to this i’ve knows you’llfind it, Sir, for many friendship is feign his for she proud the mere plodding elders not vain my part. And binds iron those body bursts of light; o look, O shine from low-grown so bad, mad slanting chair to our sameness so unkind even the same to alight must want theme for love’s beam shades were full happiness tells you shalt see you end. Oblivion, and never cut from much by bed in the grew in sutures. Baptize posterity, or flow’rs gaily sprinkling, a kind and the death its dower to the consequences As after the lonely singing, all is over April, and that black Buick, driven snaw, twa drifted time our days.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #110 texts #sonnet

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Specially curated for your viewing pleasure: some of the most unhinged dialogue between two characters I’ve ever seen in my life

‘Ah, ye reiving villain!’ interrupted Mr. Jarvie. ‘But tell ower your sins, and prepare ye, for if I say the word—‘ ‘True, Baille,’ said he who was thus addressed, folding his hands behind him with the utmost nonchalance, ‘but ye will never say that word.’ ‘And why suld I not, sir?’ exclaimed the magistrate, — ‘why suld I not? Answer me that, — why suld I not?’ ‘For three sufficient reasons, Baille Jarvie: First, for auld langsyne; second, for the sake of the auld wife ayont the fire at Stuckavrallachan, that made some mixture of our bluids, to my own proper shame be it spoken! that has a cousin wi’ accounts, and yarn winnles, and looms, and shuttles, like a mere mechanical person; and lastly, Baille, because if I saw a sign o’ your betraying, I would plaster that wa’ with your harns ere the hand of man could rescue you!’

Translation:

Jarvie: “Ah! You raving villain! Tell over your sins, and prepare yourself, for if I say the word [to hang you for your crimes]—“

Rob: “True, Baille [title of high civil office], but you will never say that word.’

Jarvie: “And why should I not?”

Rob: “You won’t arrest me for three reasons, Baille Jarvie: firstly, for old time’s sake; secondly: because I’m related to your wife, and therefore (unfortunately) related to you [so you’d be executing your own kin and you don’t want to do that because it’s not honorable]; lastly, Baille, because I would plaster that wall with your brains before the hand of man could rescue you.”

Later in the same chapter…

‘Well cousin,’ said [Rob Roy], ‘ye’ll wear black at my burial?’ ‘Deil a black cloak will be there, Robin, but the corbies and the hoodie-craws, I’se gie ye my hand on that. But what’s the gude thousand pund Scots that I lent ye man, and when am I to see it again?’ ‘Where it is,’ replied my guide, after the affectation of considering for a moment, ‘I cannot justly tell, — probably where last year’s snaw is.’ ‘And that’s on tap of Schehallion, ye Hieland dog!’

Translation:

“Well cousin, you’ll wear black at my burial?”

“No one will be wearing black at your burial, Robin, but the ravens and hooded crows, I’ll give you my honest word on that. Anyway, where’s the thousand pounds I lent you, and when are you going to pay me back?”

“Where it is, I cannot justly tell… probably where last year’s snow is.”

“And that’s on the top of Schehallion [a mountain], you Highland dog!”

…

I’M SCREAMING

#Rob Roy #sir walter scott #classic literature #literary analysis (well more like linguistic analysis because I’m a certified Dumb American who doesn’t know Scottish English but)

[minusgangtime]

Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you! Everyone’s playing outside in the sn..sn..snaw!

(She pointed at the window,showing the gang and the other humanized kitties playing in a pretty high level of snow-)

-midnight

"Ayo, no fair! I need to put on my stuff first...!"

MB reached in the closet and got a black sweater and a knitted hat that looked like a reindeer.

#fnf ask #ask

[literaturoved]

I would fain exercise some better faculty than that of fierce speaking; fain find nourishment for some less fiendish feeling than that of sombre indignation. I took a book--some Arabian tales; I sat down and endeavoured to read. I could make no sense of the subject; my own thoughts swam always between me and the page I had usually found fascinating. I opened the glass-door in the breakfast-room: the shrubbery was quite still: the black frost reigned, unbroken by sun or breeze, through the grounds. I covered my head and arms with the skirt of my frock, and went out to walk in a part of the plantation which was quite sequestrated; but I found no pleasure in the silent trees, the falling fir-cones, the congealed relics of autumn, russet leaves, swept by past winds in heaps, and now stiffened together. I leaned against a gate, and looked into an empty field where no sheep were feeding, where the short grass was nipped and blanched. It was a very grey day; a most opaque sky, "onding on snaw," canopied all; thence flakes felt it intervals, which settled on the hard path and on the hoary lea without melting. I stood, a wretched child enough, whispering to myself over and over again, "What shall I do?--what shall I do?"

- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

#Charlotte Brontë #Jane Eyre #quotes

[re-flashero]

the witch (2019) / gone girl (2014) / jennifer's body (2009) / black swan (2010)

#the witch #gone girl #jennifers body #black snaw #frases #amor #me #foto #edit #movie #movies #horror movies #a24 films #film screencaps #films #cannes film festival #movie screencaps #movie scenes #movies stills #witch #god #queen #black swan

[tinyshe]

                            Tam O 'Shanter                                                                                                                                                                By Robert Burns                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neebors neebors meet, As market-days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.         This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter: (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, For honest men and bonie lasses.)         O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roarin fou on; That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.         Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!         But to our tale:—Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious: The souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.         Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy: As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!         But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white—then melts forever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide: The hour approaches Tam maun ride,— That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.         The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.         Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,— A better never lifted leg,— Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet, Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares. Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.         By this time he was cross the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane: And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze: Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.         Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou can'st make us scorn! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil! The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventur'd forward on the light; And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!         Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast: A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge; He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantraip sleight Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae the rape— Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft— The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.         As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit Till ilka carlin swat and reekit And coost her duddies to the wark And linket at it in her sark!         Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!— Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!         But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Lowping and flinging on a crummock. I wonder didna turn thy stomach.         But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie; There was ae winsom wench and walie, That night enlisted in the core (Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore. For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear); Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie. Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!         But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r, Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jad she was and strang), And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.         As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.         Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane of the brig: There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle— Ae spring brought aff her master hale But left behind her ain grey tail: The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.         Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son, take heed, Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear. [X]

#burns night #robert burns #poetry #tamoshanter

[devxoid]

17 questions :0

tagged by @gender-void-partially-stars​ (ty! <33)

nickname: dev :3c

zodiac: scorpio </3

height: 165cm, which is about 5′5 i think

hogwarts house: who tf is jkr (slytherin)

last thing i googled: dirge of cerberus genesis (i just found out he’s in the secret ending and i am 👁👁👁👁)

song stuck in my head: anxiety from the ffvii soundtrack

lucky numbers: 7 and 8 are both pretty cool

dream job: comic book artist or concept artist hghghghhhh

wearing: frog headband, tshirt that says nyc on it and black sweatpants

favourite author: oh boyyy rn it might be thomas harris

favourite instrument: i may be a trumpet but id have to go with super crunchy electric guitar or maybe a really vibey synth sound

aesthetic: purple led lights and arcade carpet

favourite song: i could never pick a fav song but i do vibe immensely with moscow by autoheart and francis forever by mitski

favourite animal noise: frogs going beep

random: wee snaw

i would do tags but. imagine knowing 17 people on tumblr dot com

#devxtalks

[scotianostra]

On 11th November 1918 an armistice came into force ending fighting in the First World War. 

Hey! Jock, are ye glad ye ‘listed? O Jock, but ye’re far frae hame! What d’ye think o’ the fields o’ Flanders? Jockey lad, are ye glad ye came? Wet rigs we wrought in the land o’ Lennox, When Hielan’ hills were smeared wi’ snaw; Deer we chased through the seepin’ heather, But the glaur o’ Flanders dings them a’!

This is no’ Fair o’ Balloch, Sunday claes and a penny reel; It’s no’ for dancin’ at a bridal Willie Lawrie’s bagpipes squeal. Men are to kill in the morn’s mornin’; Here we’re back to your daddy’s trade; Naething for’t but to cock the bonnet, Buckle on graith and kiss the maid.

The Cornal’s yonder deid in tartan, Sinclair’s sheuched in Neuve Eglise; Slipped awa wi’ the sodger’s fever, Kinder than ony auld man’s disease. Scotland! Scotland! little we’re due ye’, Poor employ and skim-milk board. But youth’s a cream that maun be paid for, We got it reamin’, so here’s the sword!

Come awa’, Jock, and cock your bonnet, Swing your kilt as best ye can; Auld Dumbarton’s Drums are dirlin’, Come awa’, Jock, and kill your man! Far’s the cry to Leven Water Where your fore-folks went to war, They would swap wi’ us to-morrow, Even in the Flanders glaur!

                                  Neil Munro

I salute all the lives lost during the war but I also point out the needless loss of life that happened after the Armistice was agreed.

The armistice was agreed at 5.10am on 11th November to come into effect at 11am.  The news was conveyed around Europe within the hour.  The original armistice was for a period of 36 days, after which it had to be renewed.  This was done four times before the Treaty of Versailles was signed.  The only problem is that the war did not completely stop at 11am on 11th November.

The Entente had already agreed armistices with Bulgaria on 29th September, the Ottomans on 30th October, and the Austro-Hungarian Government on 3 November.  Germany was the last of the Central Powers to sue for peace.  The Armistice with Germany was agreed to come into effect at 11am to allow time for the news to reach combatants.  However, fighting continued in several places during and after that time, including on the Western Front.

General John Pershing, Commander of the American Expeditionary Force, did not approve of the armistice.  Consequently he gave no instructions to his commanders to suspend any new offensive action during the remaining hours until 11am.  This gave individual commanders latitude to determine their actions in the last few hours and in some quarters there was fierce fighting up to 11am which was difficult to stop.  

On 11th November alone there were nearly 11,000 casualties, dead, missing and injured, exceeding those on D-Day in 1944.  Over 3,500 of these were American.  Pershing had to face a Congressional hearing to explain why there were so many deaths when the hour of the armistice was known in advance.

An armistice is a ceasefire, not an official end to war.  Demobilisation of British, colonial and imperial troops did not finish until 1920, considerably longer than servicemen had anticipated.  Although fighting continued elsewhere, the armistice between Germany and the Allies was the first step to ending World War I. The global reaction was one of mixed emotions: relief, celebration, disbelief and a profound sense of loss.

During the First World War 140,000 Scots are killed, among these figures, which vary somewhat, from  to 500 to 1000, were the Bagpipers, sent “over the top” to lead the Scottish troops into battle. 

Nicknamed Die Damen aus der Hölle (Ladies from Hell) by German soldiers for their distinctive tartan kilts and unparalleled bravery, the pipers from the “Black Watch”—the 3rd Battalion, Royal Regiment of Scotland—garnered a fearsome reputation on the battlefields of World War I.

Standing in full view of German soldiers, oftentimes armed with only their bagpipes, pipers were the first “over the top”, acting as a clarion call for troops to keep moving. The sound of the bagpipes would spread terror among the German troops—when one “Lady from Hell” fell, miraculously another piper would seemingly arise out of the trenches to take his place.

#world war one #armistice #lest we forget

[libidomechanica]

Consult the stopped are

The poison that her returning.     And I might substratum. Or leave battle-song that vnto herself     so strike upper border

tongue the vats upon paper;     and sold a slave to work& weep. Or swear their love return’d with,     conceit of the finesse

shines, in truth is, if learnd chain cable     who knew not waited but to bloom is o’er every thing,     or that is lost hearts he

wedding stream of some rest. There are     but this luck, our chain of the Essence all vertue bends theme for     thou wilt though I see not

one day bright myself, not be found     then many a year, and no good: but do not swear to assist     the schooner, fill’d away

they say no means. Sending as     the worst of anger, and all the man at his might so sweet!     And virtue’s prudent—would

to great gift for the first is gone,     he with violet? To show the holds good made for thy served. ’ Of     Danube could a foolish

boy, with her sleep? I played with a     joy in which I cannot alone so may you go ahead,     and not with rayne? He shadows

of gathering drawn after     the first, and gaming gales for the future was beleaguer’d     they contract of tissue

blest, young with corps; then I saw it     footstep of court, this call Chance, the ground, and senseless but you     have gone; then shoots amain,

and my mind. Rich foolish ordering     lies. After a disease. What, silence breaking by a     black Buick, driven snaw,

twa drifted me from this great; if     stars thousand the sofa, dozed, snored. At his Authority     falls shining my light!

When we means had fire more fatal     day, to Toast out the upland dinners, and why, is used until     his frend is chaunged

is you The man-child with joy the     broken wall, I will sag towards would thing of men esteem thinking     of the tables stood,

north, south, to shake in another     of dancing; each glowing came in another plump round thee,     I trow.—His homely house,

for ever! Ah, ah, Desire—     the presence which, being wreck’d, without flaw the charm’d; and hath     no great high society,

he with boys, or two. While the     fares, by his suit he found its or miss; the cause he so nobly     had been seven-shilling

thy fame; I hear they survey     these fields when this circumstance a kind of battle or     On me the prisoner too.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #123 texts #ballad

[welpthatdidntwork]

Operation Snaw Snaw Ch.1

For @yanumii for FMA:B Secret Santa! I hope you had a good holiday and enjoy. (Also I swear the title will make sense soon).

Edward watched as his breath puffed out in front of him as he carefully made his way up the steps to Central High School. The mid-December weather made the steps icy and while his prosthetic was one of the best, it was slow going.

Too busy watching the steps, Ed didn’t notice the man right in front of him until they collided.

“Oh hey sorry.” Ed stumbled back, muttering an apology to the person he just ran into. “I didn’t mean to hit- on never mind.”

Looking down at him was Roy Mustang, or Professor Bastard to Ed. Even though he worked at a high school, he could technically be a professor, a fact he never let Ed forget.

“Hello fullmetal.” Damn there was the raised eyebrow, the one only used when he felt Ed was being particularly amusing.

“Don’t call me that,” Ed bit out.

“But why not. Isn’t that what you said you wanted to be called after you got your prosthetic?”

“Oh shut up,” Ed shouted. “I only said that when I was high off painkillers and you weren’t supposed to know about it. I still haven’t completely forgiven Al for telling you that.”

“It’s all in good fun. Besides, you are the one who calls me ‘Professor Bastard’ so I figured this made us equal.”

“Yeah right. ‘Equal,’” Ed spit out, the effect ruined by the way his teeth were chattering.

“Okay well, as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t want to freeze so I’ll see you inside.” As Mustang turned to walk back into the school, he looked back on last time, a smirk across his face. “Oh and one more thing fullmetal. Hurry up before you’re late to class.” Ed saw him freeze, his eyes focused on something behind Ed’s shoulder. Before Ed could ask what was wrong, Mustang had already started down the stairs, moving fast enough that he barely noticed the ice underneath his feet.

“Hey bastard,” said Ed, turning to follow Mustang. “Where are you go-” Now facing the street, Ed could see someone struggling to close their car door hindered by multiple boxes in their arms. The person would have had it under control if it weren’t for the patch of black ice underneath their feet, causing them to lose their balance. Ed ran for them, watching as panic fell over the person’s- who he recognised now, shit- face as they realised they couldn’t stop their fall. Ed could only watch as Riza Hawkeye landed hard atop the pavement.

Before Ed could even run over, Mustang had dropped to his knees by her side. He looked panicked and it seemed to take all of his control not to grab her. “Hawkeye,” he said. “Are you alright?” She shook her head, her chest rising and falling too quickly for her breaths to do any good. “Okay just try to breathe.” He rubbed her back, having given in and touched her. Ed stopped and stared, not wanting to intrude. It seemed to take forever to for Ms. Hawkeye to regain her breath, Mustang’s arms still wrapped around her. He got up, pulling her to her feet as he went.

Ed forced himself to move, finally reaching the pair, giving a concerned look to Ms. Hawkeye. “Are you alright?” The normally composed woman was flushed and her hair was falling out of its clip. Even so, she gave him a small smile.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Her voice was scratchy and hoarse from her earlier coughing fit. Untangling herself from Mustang’s arms, she stood to collect the boxes that had fallen across the sidewalk. Ed walked over to help her, asking as he did so “What’s with all of these?”

“Oh!” Hawkeye stood, glancing over at him. “I need to pack up my class. I’m leaving for a short transfer program.”

Ed stared. “You’re leaving? For good or are you coming back?”

“I’ll be back by this time next year, don’t worry. I’ll try to visit throughout the year so I’m not really gone.”

“Well that’s good. I knew Al was looking forward to having you next year as a senior. Are you leaving soon?”

Ms. Hawkeye smiled. “I’m leaving right after the winter dance, so I’ll be around for about three weeks or so.”

“Damn, that’s not long at all,” Ed muttered.

“I’m happy to hear that you’ll miss me.” He blushed, not expecting her to have heard. “Well I guess I should get these to my class,” she said, gesturing to the boxes. “I’ll see the both of you later on. Thank you again.”

“Here,” Professor Bastard finally spoke up, taking the boxes Ed was still holding. “I’ll help you with those. The steps aren’t much better than the sidewalk.”

“That’s very kind of you.” If Ed hadn’t just been looking at her, he might have missed the way the blush on Ms. Hawkeye’s cheeks grew. But he had been and he did, and suddenly he knew exactly what to do.

As he watched the two walk into the school, he whispered to himself in awe. “The plan is on.”

#my post #my writing #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma:b #fmasecretsanta2016 #sorry again that this is late but i hope you like it #i have no idea how many chapters this will have but im super excited for this

[emotoothtiger]

Tam o’ Shanter by Rabbie Burns

                    When chapman billies leave the street,

And drouthy neebors neebors meet,

As market-days are wearing late,

And folk begin to tak the gate;

While we sit bousin, at the nappy,

And gettin fou and unco happy,

We think na on the lang Scots miles,

The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,

That lie between us and our hame,

Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,

Gathering her brows like gathering storm,

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

        This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:

(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,

For honest men and bonie lasses.)

        O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise

As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,

A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,

Ae market-day thou was na sober;

That ilka melder wi' the miller,

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.

She prophesied, that, late or soon,

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;

Ot catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,

By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

        Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,

To think how mony counsels sweet,

How mony lengthen'd sage advices,

The husband frae the wife despises!

        But to our tale:—Ae market night,

Tam had got planted unco right,

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,

Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely;

And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:

Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;

They had been fou for weeks thegither.

The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;

And ay the ale was growing better:

The landlady and Tam grew gracious

Wi' secret favours, sweet, and precious:

The souter tauld his queerest stories;

The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:

The storm without might rair and rustle,

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

        Care, mad to see a man sae happy,

E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy:

As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,

The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure;

Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,

O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

        But pleasures are like poppies spread,

You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;

Or like the snow falls in the river,

A moment white—then melts forever;

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere you can point their place;

Or like the rainbow's lovely form

Evanishing amid the storm.

Nae man can tether time or tide:

The hour approaches Tam maun ride,—

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;

And sic a night he taks the road in,

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

        The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;

The rattling show'rs rose on the blast;

The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;

Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:

That night, a child might understand,

The Deil had business on his hand.

        Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,—

A better never lifted leg,—

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,

Despising wind and rain and fire;

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,

Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,

Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares,

Lest bogles catch him unawares.

Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

        By this time he was cross the ford,

Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;

And past the birks and meikle stane,

Whare drucken Charlie brak's neckbane:

And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,

Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;

And near the thorn, aboon the well,

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.

Before him Doon pours all his floods;

The doubling storm roars thro' the woods;

The lightnings flash from pole to pole,

Near and more near the thunders roll;

When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,

Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze:

Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

        Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!

What dangers thou can'st make us scorn!

Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil;

Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil!

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,

Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.

But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd,

Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,

She ventur'd forward on the light;

And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

        Warlocks and witches in a dance;

Nae cotillion brent-new frae France,

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels

Put life and mettle in their heels.

A winnock bunker in the east,

There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast:

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,

To gie them music was his charge;

He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.—

Coffins stood round like open presses,

That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;

And by some devilish cantraip sleight

Each in its cauld hand held a light,

By which heroic Tam was able

To note upon the haly table

A murderer's banes in gibbet airns;

Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape—

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;

Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted;

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;

A garter, which a babe had strangled;

A knife, a father's throat had mangled,

Whom his ain son o' life bereft—

The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu',

Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

        As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious,

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:

The piper loud and louder blew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew;

They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit

And coost her duddies to the wark

And linket at it in her sark!

        Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans,

A' plump and strapping in their teens!

Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,

Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—

Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,

That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair,

I wad hae gien them aff y hurdies,

For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

        But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,

Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,

Lowping and flinging on a crummock.

I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

        But Tam ken'd what was what fu' brawlie;

There was ae winsom wench and walie,

That night enlisted in the core

(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore.

For mony a beast to dead she shot,

And perish'd mony a bonie boat,

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,

And kept the country-side in fear);

Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn,

That while a lassie she had worn,

In longitude tho' sorely scanty,

It was her best, and she was vauntie.

Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,

Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),

Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

        But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r,

Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r;

To sing how Nannie lap and flang,

(A souple jad she was and strang),

And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd,

And thought his very een enrich'd;

Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain,

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:

Till first ae caper, syne anither,

Tam tint his reason a' thegither,

And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark:

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,

When out the hellish legion sallied.

        As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,

When plundering herds assail their byke;

As open pussie's mortal foes,

When, pop! she starts before their nose;

As eager runs the market-crowd,

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;

So Maggie runs, the witches follow,

Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

        Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!

In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin!

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,

And win the key-stane of the brig:

There at them thou thy tail may toss,

A running stream they dare na cross.

But ere the key-stane she could make,

The fient a tail she had to shake!

For Nannie far before the rest,

Hard upon noble Maggie prest,

And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;

But little wist she Maggie's mettle—

Ae spring brought aff her master hale

But left behind her ain grey tail:

The carlin claught her by the rump,

And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

        Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,

Ilk man and mother's son, take heed,

Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,

Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,

Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear,

Remember Tam o' Shanter's mear.

[literaturoved]

Who has read the ballad of "Puir Mary Lee" — that old Scotch ballad, written I know not in what generation nor by what hand? Mary had been illused — probably in being made to believe that truth which was falsehood. She is not complaining, but she is sitting alone in the snowstorm, and you hear her thoughts. They are not the thoughts of a model heroine under her circumstances, but they are those of a deeplyfeeling, strongly-resentful peasant-girl. Anguish has driven her from the ingle-nook of home to the white-shrouded and icy hills. Crouched under the "cauld drift," she recalls every image of horror — "the yellow-wymed ask,” “the hairy adder," "the auld moon-bowing tyke," "the ghaist at e'en,", "the sour bullister," "the milk on the taed's back.” She hates these, but "waur she hates Robin-a-Ree." 

“Oh, ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn — 

The warld was in love wi' me;

 But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn,

 And curse black Robin-a-Ree! 

"Then whudder awa, thou bitter biting blast, 

And sough through the scrunty tree, 

And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast, 

And n'er let the sun me see! 

"Oh, never melt awa, thou wreath o' snaw, 

That's sae kind in graving me;

 But hide me frae the scorn and guffaw 

O'villains like Robin-a-Ree!"

Shirley. Charlotte Brontë

#Shirley #Charlotte Brontë #Quotes

[eveniceburns]

SL 4 with @TurningEternal and @WinterBlood_

                         Christian:

Sean and I stood at the edge of the property, a cool fog surrounding us. Across the way was my father and uncles, dressed in druid robes, steady as statues. It wasn’t lost on me that if the fae world--MacKayla Lane--hadn’t intruded on my life, that I’d be standing amongst them right now. Long robes would cloak a six-foot frame instead of a seven-foot one. Hands that could create protection and love would press together, instead of extinguishing it. And the only wings around would be a Scottish crossbill. If it was possible, Sean was standing even more still than the others. It was as if he feared simply breathing would spread poisonous spores that would suck their life force out like the shadow creatures in Dublin.

“The others should be along shortly,” my father’s eyes didn’t quite meet mine.

“Aye,” I whispered. I had wondered why Dageus and Winter would sneak off together, but I suspected it had something to do with his knowledge of The Nine’s spellwork and the snaw fae’s knowledge of the Silvers. They probably were ensuring our relic would stand the test of time.

Suddenly a roar sounded from over the hill.

“Ryodan…” I growled. Why was he here? He had created this mess, I wasn’t about to let him clean it up. This was druid business, the Silvers and the doorways to faery had always been /our/ jurisdiction. He and his pack had simply carved out doggie-doors for themselves and assumed pissing all over made them residents as much as the rest of us. Not likely.

But the monster that crested the grassy field was not Ryodan.

“Dageus?”

He was not alone. A second animal was with him, a magnificent creature with dark skin and white fur. Massive, muscular legs carried a brute that rivaled my uncle. Eyes that matched my own and Sean’s, opalescent and multi-colored, searched the tall grass. Spotting us, they loafed down, the ground vibrating as they approached under the elephantine weight. 

                         Winter:

She’d baited the beasty to chase her through the forest, swatted at his rump and tugged on his tail until he was as playful as she. It was not appropriate perhaps, dire times on the horizon and all but she was in the need for something lighthearted and bright. Needed something to drive away the emptiness inside that gaped, missing piece growing more and more each day. She felt as if the wind blew it was sweep right through her but in this form she was able to ignore it, her mind taken by the more basic instincts. It wasn’t that she was less aware standing tall, fur covering her from head to toe but that she could allow herself to drift. So she chased and played until Dageus nipped and nudged, telling her it was time. Pushing her to the clearing, to responsibility and potentially home. 

The Druids and Princes were easy to find, obvious in the valley, their scent loud and thrilling. She tugged at Dageus’s tail and jumped over him as he turned to snap at her, looking over her furred shoulder at him to grin with sharp teeth. Her body moved easily in this form, or perhaps it was less inhibited so the wind carried her, icy breeze transporting her before the Princes and the Druids. The fog turning white with snow as she stood, a grin on her face as she stood taller than Chrisitan, purposefully looking down on him as her white fur began to recede. She slimmed and shrank as blue skin was bared, turning to stripes and then branches of veins on pale skin while she stood proud, nude. Dageus grouching beside her as she stood proud, naked skin shining within the fog. 

                        Christian:

As the humongous, furry pair of animals bound their way down the field to where we stood, my eyes grew wide. Dageus was easy to recognize, but it took a few seconds to place his companion. Until she stopped in front of me, dwarfing my Unseelie form, and locked eyes with mine, sending a frosted chill down my spine. It was Winter. She was a snowy figure, a giant downy creature with glowing eyes and talons that scraped up dirt with every step. Then with a shimmer, she began to shrink, to peel away the layers of the glorious beast she had transformed into, changing back, shifting again, to her human form. 

My uncles averted their eyes, turning away as her woolly exterior shed and smooth, naked skin was revealed. Even Dageus gave his back to shudder and shrink down. I did no such thing, refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment of her hypnotic mutation. Unseelie Princes felt no shame, we were literal sex gods. If it weren’t for the Sidhbha-jai turning mortals to wet, moaning slaves, I’d never wear clothes.

Sean stood next to me, a look of satisfaction on his face. He was enjoying this as well, his royal allure unmuted and calling out like a Siren. My arm shot out, elbow kicking back and into the middle of his face.

“Fuck!” he howled and turned away, spitting blood. “You dick.”

I shot him a glance that screamed /Get control of yourself, or I’ll do it for you./  Then my wings came down and around, shielding the snaw fae from the others in a darkened blanket of feathers.

“Do you have clothes with you, bonnie lass?”

                        Winter:

She breathed in deeply, feeling her ribs expand and her muscles stretch. There was power crackling under her skin from the shift, from the fun. It was as if the short time of playfulness in a form that was little magic and all instinct had recharged her. She felt lovely. Powerful. Nearly whole. And perhaps it was the winter fog that stroked her bare skin or the magic of this land but there was hope within her. 

With a pleased smile, she swept her hand through the fog and looked at the men around her, amusement dimpling the corners of her mouth as she saw the prudish druids averting their gazes. Even Dageus turned his back as his body shifted between forms, a louder more painful transition than her own. But it was the heat of the stranger, an obvious Prince whom she could only assume was Sean, that drew her attention. That look, pure Unseelie Prince, was soon interrupted by a sharp elbow to the face. Laughter bubbled up like music at the sight of his disgruntled face, filling the valley around them until Her Prince shrouded her in his wings. 

Her giggles slipped away when those dark, beautiful wings curled around her. They took her laughter away, her breath, as the shine of her moon pale skin reflected off the midnight feathers. Her fingers reached out to touch along the soft edges of his lovely feathers, a hum sounding at the back of her throat, bright eyes slipping to the side to glance at him. “Violent.” She smirked before slipping a hand between the fold of his wings to snatch her cloak from the air, pulling it into this private space. “And what would you do if I did not have my clothing?” 

                        Christian:

She was like a white dove in a midnight sky, a tiny silver ice-fae dancing across the mossy green forest inside my wings. A sharp wind lifted and spun around us, but inside my nest all was calm, as if a summer night for the dewy glow of Winter’s skin. Her soft laugh tickled my subconscious as if I’d heard it before somewhere. At times the imprints of Unseelie Princes past drifted to the surface, and I had a feeling I was sensing the King’s creation more than a true memory of my own. Her gentle teasing lifted a subtle laugh from my chest.

“I imagine I’d lend you my shirt, lass. Or send Dageus to retrieve your clothes wherever you left them among the trees.”

I always knew the snaw fae was more than just her human form, but I’d not considered this. She was absolutely breathtaking, a beast that stood taller than even me. My lips turned down in a scowl. No wonder Ryodan had attached himself to her like a lost puppy. No wonder she tolerated that fool with such patience. Observing Winter and Dageus scampering about the hillside gave me way too many images of what her and Ryodan might do in animal form. Well. He’d betrayed her the moment he sealed up the Silvers. Now /I/ would make it right.

“Are you ready to begin, lass?”

                        Winter:

Her fingers plucked at his shirt with a sly smile but she just shook her head, still floating on the high of amusement and beastie playfulness. 

“A Prince who wants clothing. Curious.” She winked, teasing further to try and ease the frown that suddenly marred Christian’s features. There was no doubt it was from his own thoughts, not her or her nudity. Such a serious man. Shaking her head slightly she dressed in her shift and cloak, quickly braiding her hair back, away from her face. She took these moments to compose herself, gathering her seriousness and settling into this moment. It was time to leave the playfulness behind and focus on opening her home. On dragging that sickness from her Silvers. Saving herself and those lands. 

“Yes.” Her head tilted down slightly, tri colored eyes closing for a moment of reflection or perhaps prayer before sweeping a hand over the Prince’s wings. Silently asking for them to part and free her from the dark refuge. “Let us begin.”

                        Christian:

A dozen feet of black feathers peeled back in each direction to reveal Winter to my uncles once again. Sean’s nose had likely healed by now, no telling on his mood. I glanced his way just enough to see that he had clasped his hands in front of his body and was standing back a few feet. Aye. Better. My uncles, Dageus included, were standing in formation among the stones, hands free from the deep pockets of their cloaks and eyes bright.

“Together we will open a singular path to the Silvers, and Winter will draw the disease forth. It will seek her, especially if this is the only route available. Sean will absorb the virus and hold it within himself until we can bind it to the relic. Then we'll release the rest of the Silvers, opening the doorways again. Are we clear.”

I looked around, saving Winter for last. The idea of using her as bait made my stomach ache, but we had more than enough raw power between the druids, two Unseelie Princes, and the snaw fae to control this spoiled creature. I nodded infinitesimally to her, as if to say, “You are safe here, bonnie lass.”

Then my uncles began the incantation.

                        Winter:

Now that she was free of Christian’s wings she felt dread like a heavy stone in her stomach, squeezing at her chest until she almost struggled to breathe. That thing was going to be coming for her again, going to touch and poison. She didn’t listen to what the Prince was saying only stared at where the silvers would open, where the darkness would come. Her gaze shifted to the other Prince, Sean, the one that would take the darkness in on himself and save her home. Those blue eyes turned to Christian, his gaze on her, comforting and warm. What had he told Sean about his part in this? And did she care? No. 

Her chin dipped down slightly in a nod and her chest rose slow and steady as she drew in a centering breath. She pulled from the cold around them, drawing the fog to her for power and control. She’d become a beacon for that thing, call it to her with the lure of power. There was no doubt in her mind once the silvers were opened it would come straight for her. She could only hope it would not touch her, taint her. Not again. She nodded again, this time at the Druids before she pushed the fog forward, forming a focal point for the druids to use for an opening. Normally they would have a mirror of some sort but this would work, especially with the amount of power in this forest. 

                        Christian:

As the doorway to the Silver opened, it felt as if a light had gone on, calling me home. I wondered if Sean and Winter felt the same draw, the same connection to the Unseelie King’s world. The power it emanated gave me goosebumps, hair standing on end. My wings fluttered subtly, spreading wide behind me.

“What the…” my gaze narrowed. Something was coming straight for us from inside the Silver, but it wasn’t the disease. A black stare under even darker hair was locked on me, and a boiling rage slid up my spine. Without blinking, I pointed to my right, staring straight ahead. “Sean. Get over here and hold the doorway. When the disease shows itself, take it. Do not let it reach her.”

Without another word, I forged through into the Silver, hissing a misty breath into the fog. Why Ryodan was here, inside the Silver, meant either he had a hidden agenda or he’d been alerted somehow to our magic. If he meant to sneak around inside faery, I’d make sure he never escaped it. If he was here to stop us from cleansing the Silvers, he was in for a bloody surprise.

                        Winter:

Tears burned in her eyes as the Silvers opened, the void within her filling quickly, steadily. She was drowning in the sensation of being whole and strong again. Couldn’t barely breathe past the relief but she held her cool expression, kept her calm exterior. That is until the scent of Ryo wafted through the opening of the Silvers and her gaze found her through the mirror-like fog. Emotions warred within her, rage and grief both fighting to overpower the other. They’d known the Nine would be monitoring the Silvers somehow but that had not expected such a fast response. Did they keep a backdoor open for themselves? Or had they prepared for this when she’d escaped with Dageus? 

It didn’t matter now, Ryo was there and he’d try to stop them if he could. She moved forward, fog wrapping around her as her power sang at full force but it was Christian that stepped through the portal to meet the beast. Christian that ordered Sean to protect her. As if she wouldn’t go after him. She swept past Sean, frost creeping over his skin where his hand touched her but he didn’t let go, allowed himself to be pulled into her world. Her Silvers. 

The realms sang when her feet touched the ground and the wind whipped around them, pushing Ryodan back and away from the portal they had created and removing Sean’s grip from her arm. It embraced her and Christian, singing its warnings as darkness crept across the sky, grass beginning to brown and the trees of the surrounding forest withering as it crept closer, attracted by her and the surge of power that came from opening the Silvers once more. 

                        Christian:

I didn’t have to look back to know that Sean had failed at keeping Winter back and that she had now joined me. Faery chimed with a life and energy that only she could ignite. I felt it surge through me, drawing the Unseelie Prince forth and leaving Christian in the world we left behind. Ryodan was blasted back by it. By us, The Fae. It brought a toothy smile to my face, watching his eyes widen in surprise. Not many creatures could strongarm The Nine, Ryodan especially. And we’d just delivered a blast strong enough to knock him back just by entering the Silvers. Now he saw: This was /our/ world.

The storm clouds rolled in as he and I faced off, darkened sickness creeping forth as I knew it would once it could sense the snaw fae. A similar aura was pulsing behind me--Sean had forged his way into the Silver as well. Good man. Keeping his promise to protect Winter and take the sickness that infected her realm down.

That left me free to distract Ryodan while the others took care of things. Dare I say, it brought me joy to feel his fist connect with my face, to make his body bruise with each blow I delivered. He cranked my wing around, but I spun into the pull, wrapping him into a feathered cocoon that blinded him long enough to get my hands around his throat.

"That's quite a grip," he said. My fists tightened infinitesimally more. He shouldn't be speaking. "I'll have to tell Dani what a big boy you've become."

With a snarl, my fingers dug into the sides of his neck. He knew that name, that /woman/ had haunted me for years. I felt a warm blanket of blood begin to ooze down my hands.

                        Winter:

Her attention split between the two men and the haunting disease that crept across the horizon to meet them. She did not cower though fear gripped her, power crackled with her emotions, ice spreading from her bare feet and outwards to cover the entire grassy knoll which they stood. Moonbright skin sparkled, the blue of her veins standing out as brightly as the blue of her eyes. She was home and the Silvers pressed power into her, giving her the life the darkness tried to suck away. It was power she extended to Sean, fingers touching his damaged wings, skin and feathers forming along the tattered arches as her touch healed and invigorated the man. There was a life in his eyes, a purpose driven by her own need and a power in his body that pulled the attention of that darkness to him. Away from her long enough that her gaze moved to Christian and Ryo, her anger aimed the wind at the Beast. Ice and sharp winter air cutting at his skin, peeling flesh where she had scarred his left side. Adding to the blood already pooling from the Prince’s hands and giving lift to dark wings as they lifted the Prince and his victim into the air. 

She left them to it, breath catching as the heat of the darkness pulled the chill from her skin. 

                        Christian:

If Christian were here, he would have kept a watchful eye on Winter, on the bait set so perfectly within this plane to entice the inky disease drawing close. But the Scotsman was long gone now, Unseelie Prince taking full control and solely focused on the prey within his grasp. My fingers started to elongate, claws digging through the flesh of Ryodan’s neck. His monstrous hands swung out, boulder-sized fists beating at my sides, but just as quickly, my wings pumped hard, lifting my body up and out of his range. Now he hung from my grip, a noose too tight as his limbs flailed for purchase. The soft, glowing gaze of my immortality lit his face, eyes wide and bloodshot from lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be sure to drop your corpse on Dani’s doorstep when we’re through here,” I hissed, fangs bared to his.

BOOM.

My body flew backward, wings unable to catch me in time as I crashed down a few dozen yards away. Ryodan landed on two feet from where we once hovered, one hand holding the wide gashes in his neck, the other lowering a handgun--smoke still rising from the barrel.

“Cheater,” I snarled.

His mouth opened to speak, but a strange, inhuman noise drew both our attention away from one another. 

                        Winter:

It expanded as it came closer, an inky cloud of nothingness that took over the sky and land. It sucked the life from the land, the sky, tried pulling the life from her. Her silvers. It even muted the echoing crack of a gun, leaving them in near silence. The only sound that of the wind swirling, icy air circling the four protectively. She stood with her hands lifted, the grass frosted beneath their feet, air fogging from their breath as the darkness circles them. 

Fingerlike tendrils reaching out to touch their little bubble of winter and twitching back as bits froze and dropped to dust. It kept touching, kept trying, slamming into this barrier she held until a circle of its remains surround them. Still it came. Weakening her with each push, shrieking in the silence. Demanding. Wanting. She felt its need, its greed.

Her eyes, white with lightning streaks of blue, flicked to Sean. He was remade, standing tall and healed, wrapped in Princely pride and power. Confident. There was even a bit of a smile of the normally sullen features as he gave a nod before stepping in front of her, wings spreading out as one of her hands dropped. Wind rushed inwards, a tornado of winter swirling around them as she let half her barrier drop. Within moments the darkness rushed in, pulled in by the rush of air inward and forced towards Sean. 

She didn’t know how his power worked, how the King had designed this creation but one this disease touched the Prince it was drawn in. She watched in horror as it fought the magnetic pull, as that inky darkness tried to pull away from Sean’s skin. As it was absorbed into him, sucked away until there was nothing left of it but the shadow beneath his skin. It was quiet after. Not the overpowering silence of that haunting thing but the quiet of death. The grass was left darkened and flat, the trees hollowed out and grey, creatures missing from this land. Even the thrum of lift she normally felt beneath her feet was muted. It broke something within her to feel her home, her Silvers so weak. She drew in a deep breath, air catching in her throat as anger and grief swirled within her. She wanted pain and death. Wanted more than this silence, wanted more than the ease of which Sean drew the disease into himself. She wanted blood on her hands and screams in her ears. Those white eyes turned towards Ryodan as he still stood, staring at Sean and she started towards him, cloak slipping off her shoulders as her skin started to darken into a deep blue. She wanted his blood. His screams. Wanted to feed him to her Silvers for strength. 

                        Christian:

Both Ryodan and I watched in horror as the monstrous bacteria poked and prodded its way inside the cocoon of ice Winter had built up around us. We were too far away to reach her, it was simple physics. But the broad chest of Sean appeared, blocking the snaw fae with his mighty chest and wings. He looked...more alive than I’d ever seen him, his hands out and ready to catch the disease as it nose-dived for Winter. As the darkness cloaked him, trying to pull back from the magnetism that he used to merge himself with the sickness, it squealed and shrieked in terror. But Sean was Disease, a Horseman, and an Unseelie Prince. We held all the power these Silvers bore, and soon it was all over, his body twitching as the virus succumbed to the pull and settled beneath his skin.

I crawled to my feet, chest sore from the bullet that had penetrated my organs. My wings dragged behind me, body intent on conserving all available energy to heal. Next to me, Ryodan had yanked off a sleeve from his shirt, using it to try and clot the bleeding from his neck. His head jerked back as we all saw Winter take off towards him, murderous intent in her eyes as sharp as the icy chill that ran down my spine.

With a yell, I ordered my uncles to complete the spell, opening all Silvers once again. I inserted myself between Winter and Ryodan, catching her at a full sprint in my arms, using my wings to catch us from falling like a parachute. Ryodan was smart enough to leap out of the way. And Sean, in full sync with his fellow Unseelie Prince now, drew a freshly opened Silver towards us and sent Ryodan through it with a swift kick to the gut. Then we withdrew, Sean leading the way and myself with Winter in my arms, all the way back out onto the grassy fields of Scotland. It was only there, once I had the snaw fae safely out of the circle of Druids and across the way from Sean, did I release her.

                        Winter:

She snarled and fought as she was caught in the arms of her prince, head tilting back as she slipped to mid-shift and mouth opening on a banshee’s scream. She was overwhelmed with anger, with grief at the weakness of her home, with the power that now surged through her after such a period without. There was a storm that raged inside of her, wanting to be free and released and she was held back from aiming that turmoil towards the person that betrayed her. That cut away a piece of her and left her home vulnerable and dying. 

Dagger like claws cut at Christian and her razor teeth bit into the flesh of his arm as she fought, only settling when removed from the Silvers and the scent of humans, of the druids, pierced her raging. Then she collapsed, claws become nails as her beastly blue skin paled to snow white but they still dug into him, her teeth still caught at his flesh as she shuddered. Still caught in a storm of emotion, tears of rage freezing down her cheeks. And perhaps tears of relief. They were wiped aside as she was released, her back turned to Sean and the druids, facing Christian only. 

“You denied me his blood.” She wanted to taste it, feel it. Ryodan deserved to give a life for what he had done to her, to the Silvers. She was no longer blinded by the pure rage but she was distracted with the need, too distracted to truly notice anything outside of herself and the Prince. 

                        Christian:

I understood the need for revenge, for vengeance when wronged by another. I’d spent many nights obsessed with tearing down the Crimson Hag for the months of torture she bestowed upon me. I wanted to pick her a part, cell by cell, as she had me, then watch her slowly regenerate, only to be flayed again when healed enough. Winter would have her day with Ryodan eventually. But right now, we couldn’t spare any other distractions or else risk our work becoming undone. There could be more of the Nine coming through the Silvers. It wasn’t worth the risk.

As I carefully let go of Winter, her claws and teeth kept her attached to my body. She’d clamped down like an angry wolf, unwilling to let go of whatever creature was foolish enough to allow himself to be caught by her. Folly I embraced in this moment, cupping her snowy skin to tilt her head up towards me. My blood lingered on her lips, which I carefully thumbed away. 

“Denied you his blood, aye. Take mine instead, snaw fae.”

Knowing the beast she could become enticed the Unseelie Prince lurking below the surface. Knowing the blood she could spill with ease--aye, those teeth had cut through my flesh with latent violence that was reserved for the most cunning of creatures. Knowing she wished to punish Ryodan for his betrayal sent a rush of desire through my veins. My mouth opened to suggest she take out every blood-thirsty urge on me instead. Ryodan didn’t deserve her touch, loving or ferocious. Instead, a strange silence caught my attention instead. My uncles had finished and were waiting quietly with Sean on the other side of the circle.

                        Winter:

She snapped at his finger like a feral animal, ragged, icy puffs of air escaping as she tried to go for his throat. She wanted more of the blood that coated her teeth and tongue, that warmed the tips of her fingers and painted crimson lines along her pale skin. But his attention shifted from her, pulling a grunt of annoyance from her. Her gaze, still a glowing white, shifted to find what had taken away her Prince’s attention, a crackling growl ripping from her throat at the sight of another Prince, of the druids. All having been forgotten in this moment with the Unseelie that touched and held her.  

Logic prodded at the animal haze that had blanketed her mind and her head pulled back, away from his touch, blue bleeding back into her eyes as her sides heaved. Deep, calming breaths forced into her lungs as she was caught under the wary gazes of the MacKeltar clan. And Sean, interest in the now healthy and healed Prince’s gaze. It was with difficulty that she pulled her cold facade back into place as she gripped her bloody hands in tight fists and fought down the need to pin Her Prince to the ground. To sink her teeth into his flesh once more and feel his violence. His blood. To fight. To fuck. Her gaze cut back to Christian, swaying towards him slightly before she slowly and deliberately moved away. Her tongue curling out over her teeth to suck away his blood, tip of her tongue touching the corners of her mouth to lick it clean before she forced her focus on the now. On finishing what they had all started. 

She straightened, shoulders going back and chin lifted slightly before she slipped out of Christian’s orbit and towards the others. There was a fog that blanketed the knoll and it rushed up to curl around her legs and cling to the skirt of her dress as she walked back into the circle. The wind rushed through the trees to twist around her, winding between the druids and then around Sean. Her brow furrowed at the forest’s odd behavior but it didn’t stop her from reaching out, fingers brushing over the horseman’s forearm. They would need skin contact to focus the disease into an artifact, she’d heard of his lack of control. His hatred for his new self. And before he would have been weak, picked apart by his own fingers. Now he surged with power. And when her fingers touched his skin the darkness surged as well. His flesh blackened and rippled, inky tendrils trying to force out of his skin to grip at her fingers and hand. The wind caught dark, recently healed wings and forced them open and filled them with air. The fog rushed up, icy and thick to hide her from his view. She was pushed back and away from the Darkness and Disease before it could touch her, infect her. 

                        Christian:

It was with great restraint that my hands stayed at my sides, wings down, feet planted as Winter moved away from me and towards the others. The urge to trap her in my embrace and disappear for a few hours--nights--weeks--of indulgence, of raw fucking that would strip us both bare was almost too much for both the Scotsman and the Unseelie Prince. They stared one another down inside my psyche, measuring up, daring the other to step up and dominate. 

Which is how at first I missed what was happening. Winter had moved back into the circle to assist my uncles and Sean placing the fae disease into the relic we chose. As she drew close to Disease, the forest rebelled, swirling wind and fog rushing around her form. Sean’s hand reached for her, his veins black under his skin, the darkness pulsing hard to meet her. It slipped out through the pores of his skin, entrails dancing towards her, happy to find home in her flesh once again.

Then the atmosphere shifted, a thick cloud closing them off from each other, the moorish storm pushing the snaw fae back from danger. I was there in an instant, in between the threat and Winter.

“You cannae touch her, Sean,” I said to him, an arm up at the ready to defend if needed. But he had managed to hold his control, shoulders back and wings flaccid. This was a predicament. We needed Winter to help implant the sickness, but she couldn’t touch Sean or it would escape into her form once again. That could not happen.

I looked over at my uncles, their expressions flustered and without answers.

“I can hold it,” Sean said suddenly.

My head spun back around. “Are you sure? Just hours ago you were weak with your own self-pity. And now you are strong enough to contain this darkness?”

“Yes,” his head lifted. There was something more to him since we entered the Silvers. He’d found an anchor of some sort, a focus to keep him from descending over the cliffs into madness.

“Is that… can he do that?” I looked back to my uncles, glancing briefly at Winter.

“He is Disease,” my father lifted his shoulders. He wasn’t sure. Neither was I.  I looked back at Winter.

“What do you say, snaw fae?” I asked her. “Your word is all that matters.”

                        Winter:

It was like a switch had been flicked. The rage and thirst for blood had already been tamped down when she forced herself away from Her Prince but it nearly disappeared when that darkness almost touched her. Though her heart hammered against her chest and her fingers were clamped around where that sickness almost touched her, the mask of cool indifference was firmly in place. Her wintery gaze roamed over Sean, weighing his strength and worth and ignoring the sick, twisted sensation that swam through her. She would not be distracted by the possibility of being infected once more. Of being weak and feverish.

Instead, she imagined the darkness moving within this Prince, the Horseman. Pestilence and disease reincarnated. She imagined it was staring back at her from its new confines, could feel its gaze on her skin. It was then that she saw it for what it was, a growing, living creature. Another creation of Father’s and the Unseelie realm. She knew, it had grown too fat and greedy to be held within the relic they had chosen and it would not lie dormant. It would fight its confines and needed a cage that would fight back.  

Tricolored, blue eyes shifted to focus on Sean’s face for a moment before they turned to Christian, allowing herself to move a step back as an excuse to focus on Her Prince. She was not trying to distance herself from the disease or its prison. No. She moved back one more step, fingers pressing against her skin, imagining she could feel the warmth of that near touch. “We healed him, the Silvers and I. His body is strong enough to hold this sickness, we can only hope his mind is strong enough to fight it.”

[peterchall]

My front yard right now. Stay warm. Careful of black ice. #Tillicoultry ##Clackmannanshire #snaw (at Tillicoultry)

#tillicoultry #clackmannanshire #snaw