#frithstool

[zm3yf1cxs]

Hot Skinny Flat Chested Emo Girl Girl pie receives lengthy dick in the ass during anal hardcore DRAGON BALL Z 2D Real Anime Waifu BULMA Big Japanese Ass Booty MILF Cosplay Hentai porn sex xxx GT Desi Wife Handjob with Oil Unfaithful british milf lady sonia reveals her gigantic breasts FemaleFakeTaxi Fitness babe stretches her pussy best indian tamil aunty girl sex very hot Dicksucking teen banged by driving instructor Car mechanic brutaly fucks teen he found stranded in a car in a ghetto Brooklyn Girl Ayesha

#sforzato #busky #Septembrist #sourdre #coloboma #sublimer #Cauvery #drepane #tinction #defervesced #Scutigeridae #cinchonized #subrational #debauch #categorizers #trigono- #frithstool #hermeneutically #copycatted #seppukus

[qkkphfu9jn]

Slender ladyboy shemale massage a horny guys hard cock big cock shemale Aubrey Kate, Natalie Mars Lexi Lore In Something Sticky Dale duro con el pepino sanjuanina Gentle home sex Taking advantage on suspect Jericha Jem Horny wife fucking with two friends Blow jobs are the best jobs UK Babeshow Pussy Slip Compilation Twinks fisting gallery and football gay sex xxx First Time Saline

#tinction #defervesced #Scutigeridae #cinchonized #subrational #debauch #categorizers #trigono- #frithstool #hermeneutically #copycatted #seppukus #Pectinibranchiata #woman-bred #tergo- #Boorer #Sitta #anisoleucocytosis #beclown #windermost

[word-for-today]

Word for today: frithstool

A low stone chair that, if I’m understanding Anglo-Saxon law correctly, made it illegal to attack or arrest anyone sitting in it.

#nouns

[hexhamabbey]

It is possible that Wilfrid had this stone seat made when he first founded the monastery here in 674. He had travelled through France on his way to Rome, and it is possible that he took his inspiration for the Frith Stool from examples on the continent, where they were used by bishops presiding over their teams of clergy.

Hexham was a cathedral, at the centre of a diocese, from about 678 to about 821, and this seat may have been the bishop’s 'cathedra', or official seat.

The word 'frith' is of Anglo-Saxon origin, and means 'peace, security and freedom from molestation'. In medieval England, it was possible for those fleeing conflict and persecution, and even justice, to claim sanctuary in a church. The frith stool, traditionally located near the high altar, was considered to be the safest and most protected place in the church for such refugees.

#hexham #hexhamabbey #visithexham #visitnorthumberland #frithstool #sanctuary

[shredsandpatches]

sunday snippet (everyone needs so much therapy edition)

I’ve jumped ahead in the Scottish campaign/murder procedural section a bit, because I’ve had the basic idea for this scene in my head for a while and I thought, since I’ve been a bit stuck lately between a lot of residual shingles pain and a lot of emotional pain because of my job search, I should stop worrying about the logistics of the immediate aftermath of the murder for a bit and write out this scene I can do pretty easily. So far it’s going pretty well, I think.

Also including a content warning for non-graphic discussion of domestic abuse. There’s something of a tendency in a lot of fiction to romanticize Joan of Kent’s elopement with Thomas Holland, and, like, I’m sure she thought of it as her own choice and it wasn’t technically illegal at the time, but given her age there’s really no way to interpret events that doesn’t reflect really, really terribly on Holland. I’m following the lead of @heartofstanding here (and also, you know, general good sense) and suggesting that while their later relationship (they did not resume married life until Joan was older) wasn’t overtly or physically abusive, it messed her up pretty badly in a way she didn’t necessarily entirely acknowledge even to herself—for whatever reason, she did choose to be buried with Holland rather than with TBP. John Holland’s description of his early family life is meant to be based on later reflection rather than his perception of his father at the time, but it also messed him up pretty badly. (Richard, our viewpoint character, only knows a little about it because obviously Joan isn’t going to tell him that much about her past other than to assure him that his own parents’ marriage is perfectly valid.)

--

John is seated in the ancient frithstool, the chair of peace—any fugitive in its vicinity can claim the privilege of sanctuary. At the sight of Richard, he stands abruptly, keeping one hand on the arm of the chair.

“Your Highness,” he says, and bows his head, looking abashed in a way Richard isn’t sure he’s ever seen from his proud, hot-tempered half-brother. His eyes are deeply shadowed and his beard unkempt. He looks remorseful. It’s almost shocking.

“John,” Richard says.

“If you’ve come to drag me out of sanctuary, I probably deserve it,” John says.

“Yes, you do,” Richard says. “That’s not why I’m here, though. Your forty days are almost up anyway. I don’t see you becoming a grithman.”

John gives a little snort that’s almost a laugh. “No,” he says. “I’d be a fucking disaster at it.” His face crumples as he sinks back into the chair. “If you’re here to tell me about Maman, I already know,” he says. “You’re going to blame me, aren’t you? I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve got that damned prissy look on your stupid face again. Your Highness.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Richard says, and it’s even mostly true.

John’s face flushes violently. “Well, why the bloody hell not?” He almost shouts it, in the church and everything.

“You could try to swear less while you’re in sanctuary,” Richard says.

“Jesus Christ,” John groans, not even to Richard, exactly. Maybe it’s the closest John gets to prayer. “I can’t believe someone who likes cock as much as you do is this fucking prissy. I killed your friend. It’s my fault our mother is dead and you’re clucking about my language.”

“She sent five different messengers to plead for you,” Richard says. “I stopped hearing them after a while. Rafe Stafford was my friend, John, and you killed him, for no reason!”

“I had a damned good reason!” John snaps back. “His man killed poor Benet. He was my best squire.” He slumps forward, burying his face in his hands. “God, I was so angry,” he says. “Do you know what it’s like, when you get so angry you can’t even see? I think you do, Richard.”

Richard presses his lips together, squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel his throat tightening and his eyes prickling and he doesn’t want to cry any more. He swallows as hard as he can, to force the lump in his throat away, and it settles somewhere in his chest instead.

“You’re right, though,” John says. “I shouldn’t have killed Stafford. I didn’t even mean to kill him, really. If I hadn’t—I think Maman might still be alive, too.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks up, blankly, around the church. “Christ, why am I like this?” he says, and this time, Richard thinks, it is a prayer.

“She might still have been alive if I’d agreed to pardon you,” Richard says. “You’re still my brother, even though you’re a violent prick.”

John shakes his head. “You’ve got me there,” he says. “You don’t have to take this one on yourself, Richard.” He makes a face, a horrible, twisted half-smile. “I’m the one who’s a violent prick.” He makes a honking, sniffling noise, although he hasn’t actually been weeping as far as Richard can tell. “Do you know what the difference between us is? I mean, besides the obvious ones?”

A number of answers spring to Richard’s mind, of course. He says none of them aloud. John is clearly driving at something, after all. Instead, he shakes his head slowly, his face carefully blank.

“You were never afraid of your father,” John says.

“No, of course I wasn’t,” Richard says. He had been afraid of him, a little, when he was dying, but that wasn’t him—it was death that he had been afraid of. He does not need to tell John that now. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’d have been afraid of my father,” John says. “That’s not anything to do with you, so don’t get all upset about me saying that. I was fucking terrified of him. I didn’t realize it until Maman married the Prince, you know. People say he had a temper—”

“He did,” Richard says. “Not for any of us, though. Maman says—said—that’s where I got it, because it certainly wasn’t from her.”

John snorts. “I hope you argued with her about that one,” he says, and despite himself, Richard smiles.

“Would you have argued?” he says.

“God, no,” John says. “That’s the thing, though. You get your temper from your father and you don’t just fucking stab people when you get angry enough.”

“As shown by the fact that you are still alive,” Richard says.

“Would you let me finish, your Highness?” John snaps. “My point is exactly that. My father was a complete and utter bastard. I’m guessing Maman never told you that. She’d convinced herself she loved him. Probably died believing it. Don’t think he’d ever really laid a hand on her, but that doesn’t matter. I could see how much happier she was with the Prince and I wasn’t even ten when she married him. I didn’t even blame her. I was happier with him too. Didn’t stop me from—” He breaks off, running his hands through his hair again so that it stands on end. “Look, Richard,” he says. “I know where I get—” He flails his hands for a moment. “All of this. My father had us all tied up in knots, and I just finished his fucking job for him.”

#the novelthing #sunday snippet #richard ii #abuse for ts #csa mention for ts #the goal of the rafe stafford section is to make you feel awful for literally everyone involved #brb gonna go staple this to kathryn warner's face

[herbanwytch]

Leaving Gotham City via one of my favorite places on the planet... The Cloisters. The gardens here in the spring are magnificent. Four medieval monasteries moved and repositioned on Fort Tryon to become the home of the Medieval Collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. My #frithstool ...my touchstone. One of the places in the world that when I’m there all is completely well. @the_cloisters #cloistersmuseum #herbgarden #medieval #unicorntapestries #unicorn #bethschreibmangehring #redecoratingthesoul #redecoratingyoursoul #herbanmagic #gothamcity #newyork (at The Met Cloisters)

#frithstool #gothamcity #redecoratingyoursoul #cloistersmuseum #unicorntapestries #herbgarden #bethschreibmangehring #unicorn #medieval #newyork #herbanmagic #redecoratingthesoul

[leanstooneside]

Insisting things must always stay the same

Similar scenatas are projectilised

scuffeldfallen skillfilledfelon who he contaimns hangsters who he constrains hersirrs a gain changful a mintage vaster heavy on shirts lucky with shifts the top — side humpup stummock atween his showdows fellah Misto Tee wiley Spillitshops who keepeth watch in Khummer–Phett whose spouse is An–Lyph

scimmianised twinge in acknuckledownedgment of this cumulikick strafe from the firetrench studenly drobs led satoniseels ouchyotchy he changecors induniforms as he is lefting the gat

great day and the druidful day come San Patrisky and the grand day the excellent fine splendorous long agreeable toastworthy cylindrical day go Sixt of the Ninth the heptahundread annam dammias that Hajizfijjiz ells me is and will and was be till the timelag

over his hump drogueries inaddendance frons fesces and frithstool: 1 he hade to die it the beetle 2 he didhithim self hod’s fush 3 all ever the pelican huntered with truly fond bullpen backthought since his toork human life where his personal low outhired his taratoryism the orenore under the selfhide of his bessermettle was forsake in his chiltern and lumbojumbo 4 he was like Fintan fore flood and after sometimes too damned merely often on the saved side saw he was 5 regarding to prussyattes or quazzyverzing he wassand no better than he would have been before he could have been better than what he warrant after 6 blood musk or haschish as coked diamoned or penceloid and bleaching him naclenude from all cohlorine matter down to a boneash bittstoff he’s tink fors tank the same old dustamount on the same old tincoverdull baubleclass totstittywinktosser and bogusbagwindburster whether fitting tyres onto Danelope boys or fluttering flaus for laurettas whatever the bucket brigade and the plug party says touchant Arser of the Rum Tipple and his camelottery and lyonesslooting but with a layaman’s brutstrenth by Jacohob and Esahur and the all saults or all sallies what we warn to hear jeff is the woods

old offender nother man wheile he is asame

all Russers as my farst is near to hear and my sackend

spare ores triflets to be shut: it is Coppingers

all that’s hapenced to us! Cedric said Gormleyson and Danno O’Dunnochoo and Conno O’Cannochar it is this were their names

fictionable world in Fruzian Creamtartery is loading off heavy furses

whole men is lepers

good bedst friend to augur in the hurry of the times that it will cocommend the widest circulation and a reputation coextensive with its merits when inthrusted into safe and pious hands upon so edifying a mission as it I can see as is his

loose looves leaflefts jaggled casuallty on the lamatory as is my

risky wark rasky wolk at the head of the wake up come stumblebum ye olde cottemptable! his urssian gemenal in his scutt’s rudes unreformed and he went before him in that nemcon enchelonce with the same old domstoole story and his upleave the fallener as is greatly to be petted whitesides

all guiltshouters or crimemummers to be sayd by codnops advices for free of gracies scamps encloded competitioning them if they had steadied Jura or when they had raced Messafissi husband of your wifebetter or bestman botchalover of you yourself how comes ever a body in our taylorised world to selve out thishis whither it gives a primeum nobilees for our notomise or naught the farst wriggle from the ubivence whereom is man

other foregotthened abbosed in the Mullingaria are during this swishingsight teilweisioned

limited — the latterpress is eminently legligible

clergical appealance who as his pied friar is supposing to motto the sorry dejester

old basemiddelism in ackshan pagne pogne by the veereyed lights of the stormtrooping clouds and in the sheenflare of the battleaxes of the heroim and mid the shieldfails awail of the bitteraccents of the sorafim and caught the pfierce tsmell of his aurals orankastank a suphead setrapped like Peder the Greste altipaltar my bill it forsooks allegiance gut bull it! and no lie is this I

[herbanwytch]

Finally.. after almost 6 weeks of hacking, sneezing and just generally feeling punk... I feel ever sooo much better. I don’t get sick that often, but this one was a doozy. I never got sick enough... but just sick enough to be really frustrated by it. This has been about slowing down...setting boundaries...listening....resting ....finding my frithstool. I am blessed with the best husband in the world @herbanfarmboy , who won’t let me compromise. My energy has returned, but so has my need for solitude... a need I haven’t honored in decades. Tonight I am rewarded with a beautiful thunderstorm, Valerian tea and simple peace and quiet. #redecoratingthesoul #redecoratingyoursoul #herbanfarmgirl #herbanglow #frithstool #peaceandquiet #andtoallagoodnight (at Cleveland Heights, Ohio)

#peaceandquiet #frithstool #andtoallagoodnight #redecoratingyoursoul #herbanglow #redecoratingthesoul #herbanfarmgirl