#my friend. beloved acquaintance of mine. you canNOT keep doing this one day you will fuckinf kill me of heart attack on the spot

[polycrews]

ddcds. for u (hopefully ur day will b a bit better!)

had to take a second to respond to this because dear GOD this made me lose coherent thoughts. ahem

#asks #ddcd #i. i want to start up a good feral tag ramble but the only thing i can think of is to break down wailing /pos #my friend. beloved acquaintance of mine. you canNOT keep doing this one day you will fuckinf kill me of heart attack on the spot #i keep stepping away from this every couple minutes i haven’t felt this much emotions in eons. please have the courtesy to picture- #-my tone as that of soft awe. i am barely forming comprehensible sentences out here dear god #i’d also like to mention that i am in love with how you draw carapace. it all flows very smoothly and feels correct in an indescribable- #fuck the tumblr tag limit #-sort of manner. #your expressions are immaculate and manage to perfectly encapsulate these two #just. everything in general makes me even more fascinated with. well. [gestures abstractly] #please be ever so kind as to excuse me while i yell into a pillow for half an hour. i will be delivering you all of my money- #-as compensation for this on the morrow. thank you #fave

[buckyownsmylife]

Memory - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky's a vampire but still manages to develop a breeding kink

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, vampire!AU, creampie, daddy kink, mention of blood because of biting

A/N: this is for my darling cousin @whisperlullaby​‘s challenge, and also my own! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. I hope you guys will enjoy this silly idea of a vampire with a breeding kink 💛 I had a blast writing it! Unbeta’ed because I almost died this week and cannot be bothered to stare at my writing for any longer.

Bucky’s P.O.V.

“Okay, let’s play truth or dare!” I groaned as silently as possible at the proposition. One of the downsides of dating someone in college was having to deal with the immaturity of their friends, especially when I was unable to escape yet another invitation for a weekend getaway.

There were only so many encounters a man could refuse before mysterious became annoying, and I knew I was toeing the line, even if my girlfriend never complained.

She understood just how irritating these gatherings could be to me. It would have been easy to imagine if there was a realistic age gap between us, but considering the centuries that separated our birth dates, it was laughable that anyone would entertain the idea of me with a bunch of young adults who only wanted to get laid, smoke some weed and drink their asses off.

Of course, her friends didn’t know my true age, so they only thought I was a little bit irked by their behavior. Y/N knew the truth, and so evidently she tried to get me out of it, but I resisted.

I wanted her to take part in the normal experiences people her age were having. There was already so much that she was missing out on just by being with me - and I wasn’t even referring to the blood that she granted me every night.

I’d accepted to be there with her that evening. I was going to immerse myself in the full experience, if only to learn a bit more about her and those she surrounded herself with.

Her best friend let out a little excited yell when she noticed that we were joining the circle and I forced myself to smile at her. ��Alright, let’s do this.” One of the male friends rubbed his hands before reaching for the bottle, making it spin as I frowned. I thought that was a different game, but apparently I was mistaken.

It landed on a girl I had yet to get acquainted with, and so I disconnected myself from the conversation as I watched my beloved laugh and have fun with her friends. It made me feel warm. It made me grateful I had decided to join.

A few more rounds went by without anything of essence actually happening. I was about to excuse myself when the bottle surprisingly stopped while pointing at Y/N.

She gasped as she stared at the man who was responsible for deciding her fate, and I already knew I wouldn’t like what was coming next. But she was smart, so she avoided the dare that would undoubtedly enrage me, leaving her to answer a question that I also would have preferred not to hear.

“So… Y/N…” He began, taking far too much pleasure at the situation, and by the way she rolled her eyes, I knew she was thinking the same.

“Yes, Simon.” He opened his mouth to say something, but instinctively looked my way. I was trying my best not to let any emotion slip through the cracks of my perfectly constructed mask, but whatever it was that he saw seemed to make him change his mind.

He closed his mouth and frowned, for a second deep in thought, before he sighed and finally voiced his question. “Just tell us one of your kinks.”

It sounded like he was trying to get this over with, and although Y/N seemed just as confused, she cleared her throat and gave him an answer.

“Oh, I don’t know… I guess.. Creampie?” Little giggles and comments rose around the circle, but nothing really stuck out and they were quick to motion her to spin the bottle so another person could have a turn.

It was a different reaction that I was expecting, especially considering what everyone did for much tamer answers, but the explanation for the lukewarm crowd was made clear by a groaned comment from Simon to the man beside him.

“This is no fun now that she isn’t single.” A small giggle resonated by my side, and I turned in the direction it came from to find my girlfriend trying to suppress her amusement behind her palm.

“Something funny, little one?” I knew they’d take notice of the pet name, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to care, and the fact that she smiled openly up at me showed me that she didn’t, either.

“Not at all.” She pulled me closer to deposit a quick peck on my lips and I was sure if my heart was still beating, it would have fluttered at the way she looked at me. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Of course.” Thankfully, the game didn’t last much longer - for us, at least. Somehow, the bottle didn’t land on me once, and Y/N started to yawn, her head resting against my shoulder after the third consecutive “Who would you rather bang?” question.

“I think we’re gonna leave for the night,” she excused us even though I knew she wasn’t really sleepy. She really could be an excellent actress when she wanted to.

We walked up the stairs to where the bedrooms were located, quickly getting in what had been assigned as ours for the weekend. She smiled softly at me as she reached for her backpack, no doubt looking for the one shirt of mine she always slept in, but I had a few things in my mind I wanted to ask her about.

“Why do you like creampies to much?” The words spilled out at me so unusually, considering the silence in the room, it didn’t surprise me that it took her a while to answer. When she did though, I was surprised to find her biting her lip, a look between amused and horny in her eyes when she approached me.

“Dunno.” She shrugged, taking my hands in her and playing with my fingers. I knew it was a way to avoid my intense gaze. “Guess I have a bit of a breeding kink, actually. It just felt too personal to share with those guys.”

The answer took me by surprise as I stared down at her, blinking a couple of times as I made sure to really process what she had said.

“A breeding kink?” I confirmed, and she rolled her eyes in that way I knew she did when she was embarrassed but trying to play it off as annoyed.

“Yeah, you know.” She pulled away from me to sit on the bed, legs dangling off of it almost like a child. “I like the idea of being bred. Even though I’m in no way ready to become a mother,” she added in a serious tone, making sure I understood what she meant.

But I didn’t. I didn’t and I guess it was clear in my face, because she quirked an eyebrow and jumped out of the bed, coming to stand before me once more.

“Why is this so weird to you?” She inquired, head tilted in amusement. “You’re over a century old, I’m sure your expectations regarding sexual relationships were related to impregnation for most of your life.”

And I mean… she wasn’t wrong. But I hadn’t thought about that for so long, I guess it didn’t occur to me that there was an actual term for it these days.

“There’s no way you don’t have a breeding kink.” The affirmation sounded almost like a dare, so my instinct was to fight it, wrap my arms around her torso so I’d keep her close to me, but deny it.

“You know I can’t ‘breed’ anyone anymore, darling.” But she wasn’t giving up. Her fingers softly traced my jawline, eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint as she countered, “Doesn’t mean you can’t like the idea of it.”

Even though I didn’t need the oxygen, I inhaled sharply, suddenly fascinated by her every movement, the way she gently unwrapped herself from my arms to slowly unbutton her simple dress, the one she made it look like a fucking gown.

“Think about it, Buck…” Every inch of skin that became exposed to my eyes still had my mouth watering, desperate to taste her all over.

“Wouldn’t you want to see me round with your child?” The question provoked my imagination, playing with her features as I thought about what she proposed. Her breasts fuller, stomach protuberant, and maybe a little feet rubbing against the skin, something I could kiss.

“See me carry your genes, continue your lineage… Wouldn’t you want that?” Her innocent eyes spelled trouble when she stood before me again, close enough to touch.

And I couldn’t deny that the idea did something to my heart - even though it didn’t beat anymore. Most undeniably, it definitely did something to my cock, which now strained against my pants, the arousal that the image of her impregnated by me provoked bursting as I looked at the creature that I loved in wonder and fascination.

“Are you trying to tempt me, doll?” She bit on her lower lip to stop herself from giggling before I pulled it away from her teeth when I took her in my arms again, naked breasts rubbing against my shirt.

“Is it working?” She breathed out, eyes connected to mine while she tried to gather my feelings about her attempt. I pressed her body closer, making sure she’d feel the hardness in my pants before I even voiced it.

“Very well,” I whispered in her ear, enjoying the way my cold breath awakened goosebumps all over her warm skin. She never complained about the difference in temperature, something that I was profoundly grateful for, since I loved to feel her hot blood pumping underneath my fingertips whenever I trailed my digits over her flesh.

“So tell me,” she pressed, still going for seductive even though she sounded slightly out of breath, her desire evident in the way her pupils had dilated. “Would you like to breed me, James?”

A shiver went down my spine at the question and I closed my eyes for just one second, just to relish in this sensation before I opened them to confess, “You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

My hand easily spread her lower lips, middle finger running between them to test her wetness and finding her soaked, like she always seemed to be for me. The knowledge had me smiling as I lifted my hand to taste her before making quick work of my belt, observing her slowly walking backwards towards the bed as I followed, almost like there was a thread connecting us, keeping us close.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned against my ear as he buried himself inside of me and I clutched at his shoulders, desperate to feel every part of him connected to every part of me.

Only he could get me this way. Chest heaving, mouth open just from the simple act of feeling him stretching me open. It didn’t matter how many times he took me, it still burned the same - and I loved it.

“Tell me, doll,” he panted, hypnotizing eyes connected to mine, unwilling to let my gaze escape his hold. “Tell me you’d want to have my child. You’d look so beautiful with your body changing because of me, wouldn’t you want that?”

I groaned, throwing my head back as James fucked me senseless, his cock ramming against my sweet spot over and over again. He knew no mercy, I knew that. I just never anticipated to have such an overwhelming reaction to a silly little kink I never even thought I’d ever get to explore.

“Answer me, little one.” His fangs came into play then, piercing around the nipple that he sucked, galvanizing me into actually responding, “I would, I would, daddy,” while pulling on his hair without even realizing.

He let go of my breasts to look at me with dark eyes - not because he had come in contact with my blood, oh no. It was clear that this was the reaction to the name that escaped me so easily, waving its way into him until it broke the last bit of his control and left him completely undone, only determined to fuck me.

I watched him lick his lips before he ordered, “tell daddy you want his cum inside of you.” Hearing him acknowledge this other secret kink, refer to himself as it had me delirious, unable to formulate any words to obey him, so I opted to hide my face in the crook of his neck, hoping the feeling of my burning cheeks would satiate him.

What a mistake.

“Oh, so now you’re shy?” He mocked, rubbing his jaw against my cheek as I whined against him. “Want daddy’s cum so much but can’t be a good girl and beg for it?”

I came with a long drawn-out gasp right then, my body twitching underneath his as his cock dragged along my walls once, twice, a third time until it spilled his cum inside of my channel. The act was so hot to me that it had me pulling on his hair, whispers of “I love you, I love you,” tumbling out of my lips.

He silenced me with a kiss, still managing to keep on thrusting until I had to push him away because of my sensitivity.

“Spread your legs for me, little one…” He ordered, brushing his tongue over his lower lip in contemplation. “Let me see the mess I left there.”

I was still a bit nervous about the whole ordeal now that the wave of horniness had left me, but I did eventually spread my legs for him, whimpering as he bit down on his own lip at the sight of his spent dripping from my abused pussy.

“Oh, you look so good like that, darling.” I could barely contain my giddiness as he laid down by my side and pulled me to rest on his chest, pressing a kiss to my temple while he caressed my arm. “But one question remains unanswered.” To my almost sleepy hum, he proceeded, “Why do you like the idea of breeding so much?”

That got me thinking, wiping the tiredness off of my muscles like a bucket of cold water. It felt weird to admit it, but at the same time, I wanted nothing more than to bare my soul to the man I loved, to have him aware of every little thing about me…

So I admitted, “I like the idea of being yours… in this very scary, slightly territorial way.” At his silence, I giggled, hiding my face on his chest as I waited for his response.

“But you are mine,” he reminded me, and even as I rolled my eyes, a silly smile painted my lips, loving that he felt like he needed to tell me that.

“I know I am,” I recognized. “It’s just another way I’d like to be claimed by you. Besides, I can just imagine how well you’d take care of me…”

Silence filled the room as we both got lost in the images of what could never be. Me with a fully-grown belly, walking like a penguin as he held up tiny onesies that looked ridiculous in his huge hands.

My heart ached for what could never be, surely, but I couldn’t really grieve a future I’d never have while I was so happy with the man who wanted to give me one.

“I’ll always take care of you.” He kissed the back of my hand, and even though he knew it wasn’t exactly what I meant, it was just enough. “I’m sorry that I can’t ever give you children.”

The guilt in his tone was almost palpable, and I wanted to do anything in my power to make it disappear. This wasn’t what I intended when I shared my sexual fantasies with him. They were just that - fantasies. I wouldn’t trade my reality for any alternative version the universe could offer me.

“It’s alright, babe,” I assured him, depositing a kiss on his chest, right where his heart would be beating for me if it could. “I think the way you want to claim me is just as territorial… and much more final.”

Bucky held me close, breathing me in - even if he didn’t need to do that to survive - before he asked me the last doubt that still hovered in his mind.

“Aren’t you scared?” And as I laid there in his embrace, feeling loved and cared for, I knew the only acceptable answer that I could give him was, “It’ll be worth it.”

#whispers700challenge #my 2k challenge #my fics #bucky barnes smut #smut #vampire au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes reader inserts #bucky barnes fanfiction

[fallin-4-ya]

The Follies and Vices of You

cedric diggory x reader- part ii of series 

based off the novel and film ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

summary: Being the beloved sister of the incredibly wealthy Mr. Potter, you felt no need to rush into marriage. But one day, when you come to meet a new acquaintance, the proud Mr. Diggory, your views of love and follies change.

warnings: none! (gif is not mine, credit to owner!)

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v

‘Maybe it’s that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’ -Jane Austen 

With the arrival of fall, so came the arrival of new companions. Mr. Draco Malfoy, a cousin of your Godfather, came to stay with you and your family at the estate; due to the management of Malfoy Manor, after the passing of his father. These manners having to be settled with Mr. Sirius Black, you had grown quite acquainted to each other over the autumn months.

While with each passing day, came new agreements and new events that had to be attended to; there was just one that you impatiently waited for, the Winter Ball. It was a marvelous party held by the Weasley Family, and was an invitation only event ensuring that only anybody who was anyone could attend. It was rather a charming way of making new friends.

One day, dining with your family and Mr. Malfoy, you received the invitation to the Winter Ball. Unable to hold back excitement, you eagerly stated, ‘Oh, look! Our invitation has finally arrived! Miss Ginerva and I have been at an utmost excitement for this event. Mr. Malfoy, you will come won’t you? There is music and dancing with such a marvelous atmosphere. It really is such a great way to make new friends!’

‘Miss Y/N, nothing would exhilarate me more than attending a wonderful party with wonderful people.’ Mr. Malfoy replied.

‘Splendid! As though I do wish the dreaded Mr. Diggory would not come and spoil the evening-‘

‘Mr. Diggory did you say, Miss Y/N? I haven’t known him to be in this part of the country.’

‘Why yes! He has been a resident at the Weasley Estate since the summer, doing business with Mr. Fred and George. Its unknown when he will be finished. Mr. Malfoy, pardon my asking, do you know of Mr. Diggory?’

‘Yes, my father and his were very closely acquainted. They did much business together when we were children. Mr. Diggory and I were very close friends growing up. He borrowed some money from us, quite some time ago before he inherited his fortune. However, he was unable to pay us back in a timely fashion. We had a falling out quite some time after that.’

You sunk into your seat a bit. Mr. Diggory, a man fed by pride, not abide by the rules of business, you questioned to yourself. Strange, the carelessness of men.

The next day you were expected to attend afternoon tea with Miss Ginny. Taking the pleasure of welcoming yourself into their home you went to the parlor, where tea was normally served. But rather than seeing Miss Ginny, you walked in on a reading Mr. Diggory. He caught your eye and immediately stood awkwardly, ‘Miss Y/N, what a surprise. How are you this day?’ he managed to stammer out.

‘Mr. Diggory, very well. Thank you, may I ask you the same?’

‘Fine, thank you.’ He replied. You both stood not exactly knowing what to say to each other, tensions were rising and words did not come easy.’

‘Er- Mr. Diggory, where may I find Miss Ginerva?’

‘Oh yes. She’s in the dining room. Fine seeing you, Miss Y/N.’

You nodded quietly and left the room, heading for the kitchens. I don’t think I will ever understand the brains of men, you told yourself.

The afternoon went by rather quickly, as you chatted with such a gracious friend; and you could not but help to tell Miss Ginny about the information you found out the previous night.

‘Did you know, Ginny, that Mr. Diggory had relations with my Godfather’s cousin, Mr. Draco Malfoy. A very handsome young fellow. Apparently, Diggory borrowed money from him some time ago and never paid the poor family back. Very questionable if you ask me.’

‘Very questionable indeed.’ Pondered Miss Ginny, ‘Perhaps, you also ought to know as well that Mr. Diggory had a late sister. She was very young when she passed, just shy of fourteen. I heard it was an illness that struck her.’

‘Really!’ you said shocked, ‘A Miss Diggory! How very unfortunate. How sad as well.’

You thanked Miss Ginny for the tea and began to head home. Mr. Diggory was perhaps the strangest character you were to meet.

The ball at Weasley Estate came much faster than anticipated. After dressing in a beautiful silky, white gown and having your hair twisted and plaited into an updo, it was time to go. The general splendor of the ball was much greater than it seemed to be in years prior. The entire ballroom was adorned in gold decorations, and a beautiful orchestra played in the ballroom while numerous couples were dancing in the center. You quickly found your friend Ginny. Between chatting away with her and dancing with the company of Mr. Malfoy and your Godfather, you were having the most wonderful time. While walking through the corridors, arm in arm with Miss Ginny, you were met by the tall, handsome figure of Mr. Diggory.

‘Miss Y/N.’

‘Mr. Diggory.’ You bowed.

‘May I have the next dance?’ he said staright faced.

‘You may.’ You both bowed and you and Ginny scurried to the nearest empty hallway.

‘Did Mr. Diggory just ask me to dance?’ Ginny nodded, ‘And did I say yes?’ Ginny nodded even more excitedly, ‘Well, isn’t that convenient, considering I vowed to detest him for the whole of my life.’ You both broke out into a fit of giggles.

You soon found yourself face to face with Mr. Diggory in the ballroom. The orchestra began playing and the dancing started. ‘Beautiful evening. I must urge you that I’ve never seen a ball be more mesmerizing.’ You observed to start conversation.

‘Indeed. Though I have seen more impressive in my days.’

‘You are quite difficult to please, Mr. Diggory, even more so to make out.’

‘May I ask, Miss Y/N, what you are to mean by that. Or should I expect you to keep your motives most secretive.’ He steadily responded.

‘Nothing of the sort. Just that I find it excruciatingly difficult to make out your character. As while your stature is nothing short of grand, I cannot help but to hear such terrible things about your demeanor.’ You said as you both graciously danced your way across the marble.

‘Perhaps, Miss Y/N, you are to consider that I find it rather difficult to forgive the follies and vices of others.’

‘I fear that I am in no position to mock you for that, Mr. Diggory. But I do ponder over the question as to why so many people think you as proud.’

’’It may do you well to ask yourself why others can be the most quick judge of character without fully knowing what lies beneath their outward appearance. I shall pose another question for you ponder over, said being, why when one has pride, it gives the permission for others to be prejudice towards them?’ After a mere moment of silence between the pair, the dance music came to an end.

‘Oh, and Miss Y/N. Perhaps you are right in saying dancing is a most valuable way to make new friends.’

 You turned your cheek and could not help but to feel your lips tug to a smile. Mr. Diggory was a most interesting character indeed.

(end of part twoooo! hope you guys like it. part 3 will be posted shortly! chat with you all soon!)

tag list: @freddieweasleyswife @truly-insatiable

#Harry Potter #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #Draco Malfoy #sirus black #ginny weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #Fred and George #pride and predujice #jane austen #harry potter fanfiction

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Evocations: XVI

The Chief District Attorney drafts an over-eager redhead with too much to prove, to replace Alexandra within just a few weeks. Liv allows the natural rhythm of the work to sweep her along, pouring herself into it in order to keep the loneliness and the mourning at bay.

Darcie and Alexander check in regularly enough, even after the sale of the apartment is settled, two months after being on the market. She is genuinely touched that they call, but dreads it, too - being forced to sit in her sadness for that brief period every few weeks.

Elliot checks in too, in his own way. For the first couple months he pretends that he is being subtle about it: asking her if she's eaten, glancing at her fridge every time he stops by her apartment, making sure she is the first to nap in the cribs if they have a lull. As Christmas approached, he suggested drinks or pizza outside of work more often. He made it clear Olivia was welcome to celebrate Christmas with his family.

But Liv didn't want company. She didn't want Christmas. All she wanted was her life back, and if she couldn't have that, she wanted to work. So, she put her head down and plodded forward.

It was late in January when the phone call came. Olivia grabbed the phone on the first ring, assuming it was a case about to break. On the other end of the line, though, was Alexander's voice. Immediately, a chill snaked down Liv's spine. The Cabots never called her at work.

"Olivia," Alex's father said quietly, and the knot of tears in his throat was audible, "we lost Darcie."

Liv went stiff in her wheeled chair, fixing her eyes on a pile of paperwork in front of her. She listened to Alexander's soft voice telling her the basic details, all the while thinking of how he believed he had lost his entire family, when Alex was somewhere still alive.

She assures him she will call when she arranges her flight, and ends the call, walking straight into Cragen's office where she tells him she needs time off.

.

.

Alex has never been so sick of a winter as she is of that first Winter in Wisconsin. She has three layers to strip out of as she comes through the door at the end of the day, and Sky impatiently dances circles as she does so, waiting for her dinner.

Her job now is at an insurance firm. Not selling it, thank God, mostly just auditing and reviewing applications. Like everything else she has undertaken, the job is easy and she excels. Her skills are painfully underused in the position, and she is already exhausted with it by January.

Tina, her 'sister,' continues to see her regularly. Behind closed doors, they are acquaintances at best; any hope of having a close friend in the woman had sailed very early-on. Alex is, in fact, surrounded by acquaintances - in co-workers, at the stores she frequents, in her neighborhood. But nobody gets close.

Close isn't an option any more. Every time she forgets to respond for a beat to 'Emily,' every time she sees someone new, Alex is chilled through, wondering if she has been found out. She worries about people asking the wrong questions, about strangers who look at her a moment too long.

Is this the day? she has asked herself a thousand times, Is today the day I die?

In the bathroom mirror, she runs her fingers over the scar from her bullet wound, and tries to convince her reflection that she is Emily now. She practices it like daily affirmations, trying to accept her isolation, her loneliness, her confusion.

Once Sky is fed, Alex reheats some chicken soup for herself (she has refused to cook anything but hot meals since the first snowfall), and takes it to the spot where she has set up her desk and PC. She has gotten into the habit of keeping up with the news in New York, and in Dallas where her parents are; in her email are dozens of newspaper subscriptions she uses to keep on top of SVU cases and other tidbits.

A foot rubs Sky absently under the desk as Alex eats her soup and reads. Outside the doors to her back patio, the snow swirls and flutters with no end in sight to the frozen dairyland's stasis. This is when she sees it.

It rolls up on the screen of her digital copy of The Dallas Morning News:

Beloved Wife of Prominent Local Attorney Passes, Community Mourns

Below it, she reads her parents' names . . . her own name, words that she knows are a part of her real life, but at first she can't make them feel real. Again and again, she reads the blurb about the death of her mother, and the recent death of herself.

My mother is dead.

Mom has died.

Alex repeats the fact, continues to paraphrase it, until she rises from the computer and walks back to the kitchen with her half-eaten soup. Laying the bowl in the sink, she stares blankly into the receptacle until she feels the burn of her fingernails cutting into her palm.

When she looks up from her bleeding hands, her eyes land on the telephone, and she briefly considers calling Jack Hammond and demanding that he give her back her old life. To attend her mother's funeral, to be held by Olivia, to feel something again.

In the end, Alex takes Sky to bed under a thick pile of blankets, and her sleep is filled with nightmares where snow falls in Dallas, and she wanders the streets, screaming for her mother, who cannot hear her call.

.

.

Olivia has never been to Texas, and cannot think of a worse reason for her first trip there as she touches down in Dallas and embraces Alexander Cabot, who seems diminished without the two blondes who have always bookended him.

She moves into mothering mode quickly, encouraging Al to eat and sleep. She keeps a wary eye on his drinking, and makes sure that he is working through any paperwork Darcie left behind. As parents most often do, the Cabots had originally arranged to leave everything to Alexandra. After the cartel case, some reshuffling had occured, and Olivia is touched and conflicted when she finds out that some of it was shuffled to her.

When he falls into a fitful sleep the night before the funeral, Olivia slips silently, curiously into Alex's teenage bedroom. It is mostly intact: the walls showcase 80s movie posters alongside Feminist icons and clippings of political milestones of the decade.

Liv breathes deep of the ghost of her lover in the space, fingers reverently gliding over academic awards and dusty photos where Alex's smile beams out at her. On the bookshelf, she reads titles one after the other - Rubyfruit Jungle nestled right up next to Little Women . . . Jane Rule, Roald Dahl, Beckett, a gathering of strange bedfellows that brings a wisp of a grin to Olivia's face.

Finally she sits down on the narrow, creaking bed and picks up the tattered stuffed penguin at the pillow. The sigh that pitches from her is swollen with melancholy.

"His name is Shivers," Al tells her from the doorway, and Liv jumps at the sound. He fills the doorframe with his height and heavy sense of his grief.

"Of course it is," Liv sniffs with amusement, giving the flightless bird another once-over.

"You should have him," Alexander furthers.

The amount of restraint that Olivia has to employ to keep from confessing that the man's daughter is still alive is utterly monumental in that moment. She binds it, snuffs it, locks it away again and again. No confession comes, just a smile for Alex's father, and a nod.

The morning following the funeral, Liv flies out of Dallas with Shivers in her suitcase, leaving behind her a dozen yellow roses on Darcie's grave.

.

.

In mid-April in Wittenberg, much to Alexandra's dismay, the ground remains frozen. Most of the snow slowly melts, however every now and then, a light dusting of fresh flakes comes down in the morning or overnight, then melts with the climb of the sun.

She has lost weight through the winter months, and the sharp planes of her face in the mirror are painful to acknowledge. No proper mourning of her mother had come to pass; Alex had simply filed the knowledge away as a part of the life she lost, and continued the monotonous plod forward in the strange play she now acted in each day.

Before April gave way to the slightly warmer thaw of May, the insurance firm where she was working threw a social mixer - to break up the long change of seasons, they explained. Tina, who was concerned about Alex's weight loss and isolation, had pushed hard for her to attend, even if it was just to get out of the house for something other than work and errands.

So, on the evening of the mixer, Alexandra found herself at a local drink lounge called Doubles, quietly sipping a Shirley Temple. Her co workers were made up mostly of the usual office-job types: clad in off-the-rack suits, soft-spoken and nerdy, often shy, and unfortunately not very interesting. Alex stayed hugged to the bar, drinking and trying to decide how long she had to stay in order for her escape to be considered polite rather than asocial.

"Mind if I join you?"

The man that belonged to the voice was from the Claims Adjustment department of the firm. Alex had seen him around now and then, perhaps even passed polite words with him - but she couldn't recall his name. She waved her hand in the direction of the stool next to her in reply, and he settled in.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he chuckled, watching for the bar tender to free up so he could order a drink.

"I'm not so great with names," Alex told him apologetically.

"Well, I remember your name - Emily." He had a great smile, and he flashed it at her. "Mine is Greg."

"Thanks for reminding me."

He called to the bartender for a rum and coke, then checked if she wanted a refill, which she declined. "Where were you before Wittenberg?" he asked.

"Tulsa, Oklahoma," Alex told him, pulling from the pool of lies and backstory that she had been taught in October.

"Ah," his green eyes twinkled with amusement, "That explains it then."

"Explains what?"

"Why you seem to disdain Wisconsin winter so much."

"I didn't realize it was so obvious," Alex smirked.

He laughed, wrapping both hands around his highball glass. "Were you in insurance there?"

"No. No, this has been a big change for me," she admitted softly.

"Do you miss it?"

Alex startled. "Oklahoma?"

"Whatever it is you left behind."

The blonde paused, her blue eyes locked on the liquor in her glass. "Yes," she confessed, "I do."

They stayed at the bar, drinking slowly, while Greg asked her innocuous questions that were neither boring nor bothersome. Alexandra could feel herself relaxing, loosing herself from the lonely exile she had been prescribed. Before the evening was over, she even caught herself smiling at him, wanting to laugh at his simple jokes.

When the event began to empty out, she declined his offer for a ride home, and was genuinely surprised when he accepted it without pushing back. Neither did he ask her for her number, or to see him again. Alex wondered on her taxi ride home if perhaps she had misinterpreted a man's intentions for the first time since adolescence.

Her worry was quashed, however, when Greg reappeared at the office beginning of the week, and asked her if she would like to have lunch together. She agreed, and it slowly became a regular thing.

By the time he finally asked her on what could be considered an actual date, Alexandra was anxious at the idea of going back to being alone.

She considered the long winter, in which she hadn't put up a tree or celebrated the holidays. Considered the death of her mother, and the nightmares that had followed, leaving her breathless and shaking. Alex even considered the ring, somewhere back in New York, that might never find its way onto the finger of the love she had been forced to abandon.

Facing down the idea of that isolation for the rest of her life was too much to bear.

Alex said yes.

#law and order svu #svu #olivia benson #alexandra cabot #alex cabot #olivia x alex #cabenson #evocations #hearteyes4mariska #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfic

[kneamet]

Delusion (4/5)

Trigger Warning: alcohol

Summary: she was the only girl in his band whose singing he loved so much. She was the person he truly respected. Andy Miles was someone Hank Williams had an unrelenting obsession with.

Chapter Four: The Song

POV Hank

"Fred wants me to go play in Cincinnati," Williams interrupts the laughter of his friends, tightening his grip on the half-drunk bottle of lager. Taking a sharp sip, Hank closes his eyes tightly against the bitter taste and takes a sharp breath.

He doesn't want to think about what will happen when he says that he will go alone. Seeing Andy's burning and devoted gaze will be a moment for him that he will never be able to forget. The guy knew that he would be tormented by this, because he definitely did not want Miles to completely cease to respect him.

Respect is hard to get, especially from someone you truly love. So often you just want to forget about everything and become one with this person.

Hank rarely respected anyone or paid any attention to them. However, he did not care what others thought of him. No, sometimes there was a feeling in his heart that he should take everything for granted and not try to get the approval that he had been looking for since childhood, and respect, but just stop trying to do something. Perhaps it would be better to do nothing and forget about your dream.

Such thoughts often crossed Williams ' mind, but he certainly didn't want to be forgotten. There was this thin thread in him that should never break and turn his longing and desire into dreams worth forgetting.

"Yes? When?" There's genuine interest in Andy's voice. Was she really interested in the fact that he was able to break through at least somewhere? Few people in his life were interested in questioning and admiring.

His mother, no matter how much he loved her and appreciated her, just needed to show her best side, like, "look at me, this is my boy." All Audrey needed was his money, which was impossibly small and why he was trying to get on TV, and fame, thanks to which she would show her belonging to the rich world.

Every time he thought about her, Hank realized that Audrey was becoming more and more repulsive to him. And why hadn't he noticed what he was seeing before? Was he really that stupid before?

"Next week," shaking his head, Williams takes one last sip, paying attention to the people he knows, but still lost in thought.

"I'm all for it," Don says, adjusting his glasses and raising an eyebrow, looking at Hank expectantly, waiting for an answer to his earlier question.

His mind is racing with doubts about whether to continue to have a conversation that does not please him. Excitement seeps into your head, forcing you to strain your brain in search of answers.

Pushing back the wooden chair with a slight accompanying thud, Williams stands up without breaking the oppressive silence. The mind is tormented with thoughts of what should have been kept silent and not started this topic, but said before leaving.

Hank sighed as he grabbed a half-liter bottle of the chilled lager that could be found in Andy's refrigerator at any time of the day.

"Listen," Hank puts the liquor down on the table and leans against it, drawing attention to himself and shoving his hands in his pockets. Doubts eat at him from the inside, but he knows that it would be better to say it now than to put it off for later. Who was he, anyway, to screw up so often? "The thing is, Fred wants me to try playing with the other guys this time," he says with difficulty. There is a certain dryness in his throat, even after he has drunk an entire bottle.

"And what did you say to him?" Andy interjects, looking at the guy with a shrewd look, and Williams is sure that she definitely knows what he wants to say to them.

"That's up to him," Hank looks away, ashamed, his lips pursed. It had been a long time since he had found it so difficult to say something that might offend people. He was so used to his bluntness in talking to strangers that it became very disturbing to talk like this to acquaintances, and especially to his beloved.

"I don't like it," Hank shakes his head at Helms ' comment.

"Yes, me too."

"I didn't think you'd like it. But it's necessary," Hank says, opening the bottle and taking a sip, jerking his hand sharply and heading for the chair, feeling the way Andy is looking at him.

"Maybe you don't need us at all," Miles asks, playing with his hands, referring to himself and the other guys in the group. Her gaze is directed down and the guy sees how doubtful her voice is. Unsure and confused.

"Look, it doesn't mean anything. It's just that Red Foley's band is already there, and Fred wants to record us right away, " Andy Hank counters, interrupting her nonsense. What made her think he'd decided to abandon the band so suddenly? So suddenly to abandon his beloved, who had struck him in the heart?

"How lyrical that would sound," Williams thought, grinning as he lowered his head.

"And that doesn't mean anything?" Don retorted, raising his voice slightly, and Hank finds it hard to keep his temper in check. Why can't they understand that he's not leaving them, but just leaving to record a song? And would their voice have decided anything?

This is the world of show business. You'll either have to turn around or give up. There is no other way out and there will be no other way out. Either it's a lie, or you'll have to go to great lengths to become famous. Although what does famous even mean? How is this measured?

"I don't need this shit."

"Yeah, me too," he interrupts, looking straight into his eyes and seemingly pushing down the hole. Hank staunchly holds the intense gaze, but looks away, sighing loudly.

"What's he up to?" Miles intervenes again, standing up and taking a position where he doesn't support anyone, stopping a possible future argument and giving Hank an expectant look that tells him to apologize and continue.

Williams nods softly and almost imperceptibly to the girl, sitting down on the sofa and taking a sharp sip that refreshes his throat. Closing his eyes, he takes a few breaths, as if preparing to say something contradictory and indecisive.

He is grateful to Andy for suddenly intervening in their conversation and stopping the guy from wanting to snap. She's not the person Hank has been looking for for a long time. A person who can support you.

Isn't support and understanding the foundation of a relationship? Isn't that what you need to rely on when you get in touch with a person?

"I want to sing “Lovesick Blues”," Hank says, knowing that his friends might respond. His hands tremble with the pleasure of finally becoming meaningful and important to someone, even after singing a song that doesn't belong to him.

After all, since when did rehashing a song become something to blame? He'll just adjust it to suit himself.

"He's not going to like her," Don says, a little wistfully, touching the red hair that's always gelled up on his forehead. "It's not even your song," he says, his voice sounding grim, and Williams can feel his breath coming in short gasps. He does not like the words of his friend, because he understands that he is right. But why not try to get this song?

"Yes, that's right. But now it will be mine, " a mocking grin appeared on the guy's face. They will hardly understand his desire to perform this particular song, but for Williams it was a bit of a boost and an indicator of the memories that he would have been happy to dive into again. They meant too much to him.

The phrase was accompanied by silence. There was tension in the air. It was getting uncomfortable.

"I'm coming with you."

***

POV Andy

Hank was subject to the influence of others, and especially women. His mother, Audrey, even Andy. She knew that, and she knew that he could not refuse her to go with him. After all, he would hardly be able to say no to anyone.

Clenching her teeth tightly and frowning, Miles felt a subtle pain in her head and touched her temple, as if trying to stop a migraine from appearing. The pill worked badly again, although she hoped that at least her head wouldn't hurt, otherwise she wouldn't be able to help her friend with the performance.

With each treatment, she hoped that the pain would subside and the euphoria would come to their turn, but they increased and she did not like it at all.

However, addiction is something that cannot be controlled. Each time it will hurt more and you just need to accept it.

His lips tightened, and his heart began to beat in his head, trying to drown out all his thoughts with its pounding. It cut off all conversation outside, leaving only the beat of a heartbeat.

“Well, let's get started,” Hank's voice suddenly rings out, interrupting Andy's thoughts. She pays attention to it, but the rhythm is still audible and it drowns out half of the speeches.

The girl's gaze is clouded and the head is again visited by a disgusting, making you regret what you took, pain.

His lips tremble, and the excitement takes over completely. It's the first time she's going to record a record and release it with Hank, and that's the day she had to take the pills. I just had to be patient.

A slight shiver ran through her palms and she looked at them, swallowing slightly. Nothing ordinary, just fingers wrapped in a gauze bandage. It was really convenient, and she didn't understand why no one was using it.

For the musician, the most important thing was to take care of his hands, because they played the most important role in his life, in fact, being "bread and salt".

"Hank, this song is sad, it doesn't fit. It has a different rhythm. All these notes are played too long, " Fred's familiar voice says, and Miles turns his attention to the men. Rose shoves her hands in her pockets, her posture expressing some dissatisfaction with what Hank wants to do.

Andy frowns and walks over to them with a quick stride, his guitar slung over his head, his attention fully captured. Raising her hands in the air as if to show reconciliation, she looks at Mr. Rose.

"If we like a certain note, we prolong the sound," she takes a sharp breath and looks at Hank, who doesn't take his eyes off her. Was he worried that she might anger someone? Or was he just shocked that she'd gone against him? Grunting in response to his thoughts, Andy shrugs, shaking his head.

"Look, I'm on the show and I'm singing this song, I'm walking off the stage and throwing my hat back on the stage. Then I'll do an encore, " Williams says, and the girl smiles at him. A light, pleasant laugh is heard from Rose.

"Scoundrel," she can't help but grin, "knew he'd agree."

As if enduring a moment of deep thought and intrigue, Fred sighs and nods his head humbly, as if admitting defeat. Although what a defeat, if it was immediately clear that he would agree. I've probably been thinking about it for a long time.

"Okay, I'll have a cup of coffee. You both have fifteen minutes," Andy presses his lips together, a smile showing through them. After a quick glance at Hank, who was staring in disbelief at the door that had just closed.

"Thank you, sir!"

He squeezed Williams ' hand reassuringly in a tight grip, realizing how much he needed the touch to express support at the right moment.

Indirect and weightless touch was for them, as a way of not only support, but also attention. Andy knew about the difficult childhood of the guy, and because of what he so wanted to achieve recognition and fame. His dreams that he would be great and be remembered for a long time, as a person who achieved something new in music, were completely similar to hers.

"Okay, Lovesick Blues. Nothing complicated, " addressing the men who were tuning the instruments, Hank, without letting go of the girl's hand, goes to the microphone and in his usual manner moves his shoulders.

Miles can feel the excitement and the joy radiating from his friend. She knows that this is going to be the most crucial moment of her and Williams ' lives. Either they can break into the world of show business, or they will have to continue trying to sing on the radio in the early morning and be content with not getting enough sleep.

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Andy felt the headache slowly begin to fade and almost disappear. Was it a special, new defect that appeared, or was it just the calm before the storm and after that the stomach would start to ache violently, literally bursting, because with each reception it became more and more impossible to endure.

"Isn't all this stuff equally easy?" Asks, although it's more like a statement.

Her pupils dilated, and she immediately felt uneasy. Not only did my stomach begin to give off a slight ailment, but I also heard an insult in the direction of the song. It was unpleasant to listen to such words, so also the address of a song that is dear to her friend.

If he's not happy with the songs, why did he become a musician at all? Isn't that the beauty of music? The fact that it is diverse and everyone has their own taste in it. Everyone can choose what they want to listen to. But to say that the blues is bullshit is a very harsh statement.

"What, I'm sorry?" Her reaction was immediate. Her fists were clenched tightly, and her face was scowling and indignant.

"Andy, don't..." Hank's eyes were hopeless and pleading, as if telling her that she should clean up and calm down.

Miles looked at him, shaking her head with a sharp sigh, as if to say that she agreed not to do something she would regret later.

"I got a feeling called the blues, oh Lord

Since my baby said goodbye..."

***

An unobtrusive soft singing accompanied the rain, beating an unpleasant rhythm on the roof, but sometimes falling in time with the mumbling of an elderly woman. The knocking was not irritating, but calming.

"Are we so hungry for the old days," she sang with a small smile, swaying and looking at the little children who were half asleep.

"That we'd actually go back in time?" She continued, touching her daughter with her hand and running gentle touches through her tangled short hair.

"Good night, Andy," the woman said, her soft lips brushing her daughter's forehead. "Sleep well, Ben," her sweet lips brushed his cheek.

[if-the-crown-fits-translate-it]

Duchy Conversation 4

[27/03, 4:29 AM GMT - 27/03, 6:13 AM GMT]

[The following transcript details the conversation is between one of the Crown ARG Discord members and Duke on Twitter]

Donti: “Hi! How was your day?

Its me again :)c

((If its late or youre sleeping dw about responding :p))”

Duke: “Forgive my tardiness, my embroidery was enchanting me so that my ears laid unaware!

How do you do, Donti? It is the Duke speaking. I must say, my sister has quite the opinion of you!”

Donti: “Oh its great to talk to you again Duke :D I hope I left a good impression! Is your embroidery going well?”

Duke: “It is going quite splendid! The Crown truly does spoil us, giving my sister and I such rich-coloured thread. Truly we are fortunate for his generosity and love.”

Donti: “Ohh! Good colors always make embroidery fun! What are you making?”

Duke: “I must ask though - as a sheep yourself why must you graze on such nimble hearts? Wolves are not supposed to concern themselves with the opinions and thoughts of prey such as yourselves but Prince is but a pup, why must you all be so cruel? I am quite interested in the answer, you see, because it is I who saw the tear tracks down faers face and I who heard the drums of despair in this household.”

Donti: “Oh..

Are you talking about blunt anon?

All of us are very angry at them, whoever they are.

I promise they do not reflect us as a whole.”

Duke: “To answer your previous question however, I am making a rose for Baroness. I do feel horribly for how I was unable to aid her with her spoiled dress so I do hope this gift soothes her and shows that there is no ill will from I to her.”

Donti: “Thats nice! Baroness loves flowers and nature! Thats super thoughtful of you. Im sure she'll love it :D

But back to Prince... Are fae ok? we're worried about faem.”

Duke: “"Blunt anon" is quite a peculiar name I must say. Indeed that is the scoundrel I speak of. It is wonderful to hear that you all are not that way - frankly, if I suspected you were the one to make Prince cry I would have simply neglected to respond, as is customary when one deals with enemies of one's family. Prince is currently recuperating, poor thing. A bleeding heart only leads to death and yet fae still has not learned that yet. I do wish you to send out a warning if you would be so kind - do let anyone know that if they ever treat Duchess in such a matter they will swiftly come to regret it. A gentleman does not revel in violence but she is my most dearest sister.

I thank you for your kind words however, I do indeed hope she enjoys my gift so - do not tell the others but she may be the only one in this family I can truly connect to on an intellectual setting, besides my sister of course.”

Donti: “Ill tell people not to be rude to Duchess. Not that they would.. Im pretty sure they like her :D”

Donti: “"Blunt anon" came when people would send... Rude asks to people. It was originally just blunt questions. But it escalated to... What happened to Prince :( We're trying to find them, but theres only so much we can do

Oh wait! have other people reached out to you all yet?”

Donti: “I know some of my good friends have talked to duchess.. But not to you yet!”

Duke: “Ah, indeed people have reached out and only Duchess was there to greet them. It pains me of course but I found myself with activities to do throughout the day. Schooling is still important to Duchess and I so that took up quite a bit of time - do not tell Crown but I was indeed spending time taking in the beauty of ballet instead of working purely on my Latin. Tea time too is an important affair, especially for I, and then it is always important to spend time with ones sister! So alas, you have been the only one I have graced with my thoughts and feelings out of your crowd of sheep.”

Donti: “Hm. I like the name sheep... Its a little kinder than "plebs"

You seems to like a lot of.. Elegant things! (I hope thats the right word) like embroidery and ballet! Where did you learn such refined taste :oc”

Duke: “Where did I learn such refined tastes? They have always been apart of me, you must understand. The Crown helped unlock those parts that I kept buried deep away and help nurture them. Oh such a brute I used to be! No care for the finer things in life, only one-upping my beloved sister. To think I used to slide in the dirt just for a measly point - bah! Truly I am in much debt to the Crown, for without him I still may have been a unruly fool.”

Donti: “... You played sports before you met Crown?”

Duke: “My sister and I both did, yes. It does not do well to dwell on such miserable times, Donti. This is why little one you are still a lamb.”

Donti: “Oh! If you don't want to talk about it, you dont have to! ^u^ Friends dont force their friends to talk about uncomfortable things!

Hm... But if the plebs are sheep... And I am a lamb... Who is the shepard...?”

Duke: “How sweet! Tell me, little lamb, who do you think the shepherd is? Or if there is one at all?

If you are a little lamb then I must ask, is there a Mary to be found alongside you as well?”

Donti: “Hm.... I think from our perspective the shepherd, (or shepherds in this case) would be our lovely mods :D

But from your point of view? Its most definitely Crown!

Andd.. Im assuming a Mary is a leader... Little lambs follow Mary after all... Hm. A lot of us have shown leadership at some point in time or another! It really depends on the scenario!”

Duke: “Intriguing.

It depends on the scenario you say?”

Donti: “Yep! People take charge depending on whats happening, and sometimes theres no leadership, just us discussing and working through it!

Why do you ask?”

Duke: “When the flocks have gone and left and all there is is the gentle bobbing of the water, who do you trust to save you from drowning? While you thrash and scream and feel yourself weaken who do you look towards for guidance? When the taste of salt kisses the interior of your esophagus whose name is on the tip of your dying tongue?

For I, it is the Crown, as he saved my sister and I from exactly that fate - but who is it for you?”

Donti: “Hm.. As a "flock" we all support one another.. That way, we can have multiple points of support! One person supporting that many people would be very stressful for that one person, you know”

Duke: “Of course.

Even then in a home all parts play along and join in the symphony but even with that, some are still load-bearing.

Who would be your load-bearing walls? All I ask is for some simple names, you understand. My curiosity is much like a cat, you see. Only satisfaction may truly bring me back.”

Donti: “Hm.. Are you asking for the names of my friends?

Well. There's Jack and Raeva, whom Duchess has spoken with, I think. Llyr, Ren, and Luna are also friends of mine. But I try not to burden them.

They are not so much load bearing pillars, but more of frail walls to shield me from the cold.”

Duke: “The drifting breezes that bring forth frost and tremors truly are such tiresome times. That you have shields is wonderful and it does ease my heart, but I do feel as though I must impart some wisdom else I'd be an unfavourable acquaintance - do try and build yourself a roaring inferno, little sheep.

Have so much fire around yourself that the winds cannot glance your way and even the Grand Archer Yi looks on with fear.”

Donti: “... And what if the fire burns me?

What then?”

Duke: “Do you think yourself unable to control the flames?”

Donti: “...Yes. Flames are temperamental, after all. When the inferno's dried up every last bit of water and eaten all of the wood, what will it turn to?”

Duke: “You want the answer to be yourself, I can see you reaching for it with an outstretched palm. Here is the truth: you can quell flames easily with just a few words. You can breathe in the ash and let the smoke dissipate. You do not have to be burned.

Ah, but these are just fun matters to think about. Do not dwell on my words too much. I would hate for you to overthink just simple pondering.”

Donti: “...Ill take your words to heart, friend. Even if it's just banter.

How do you know this?”

Duke: “Do not cause yourself concern with such a thing. In case I have caused you to distress then please do take this video as repentance. Isn't it so lovely how she spins?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqejv_BQ7Zg”

Donti: “Oh! that is a pretty video.. I wonder how long it took for her to make it so effortless..?

Do you dance?”

Duke: “Such an exquisite form of art. The mastery she has put forth would bring others to shame and ruin. A true professional since birth. I myself do not dance in this way - my sister and I are well versed in the waltz and ballroom dance as is customary for our statuses - but ballet alludes me. Alas, if only that was the direction I chose for my life to go but no matter - I have embroidery, poetry and oil painting to keep me truly green from envy.”

Donti: “Those are very enviable hobbies! I imagine you're skilled at them too! As for ballet... Ive heard that in order to dance that way, one has to go through great pain. I'd hate for you to experience that”

Duke: “A bit of suffering is always worth the pain if beauty and joy can be received in the end, do you not think?”

Donti: “As long as youre happy, I suppose!

I’m sorry to cut this short, but its getting late for me! And probably for you too ^^

I hope you rest well!”

Duke: “I hope you have humble dreams and a quiet rest. Goodnight, little lamb.”

#on:twitter #by:duchy #by:duke #if the crown fits

[cutesilyo]

if music be the food of love (play on) — a fruk fanfic

But he wasn't France right now, not in the soft morning light of Calais. Far from the bustling city life of Paris and his obligations as a nation, he was only a young man in love.

A day in the life of Francis Bonnefoy, featuring his piano and his soppy affection for Arthur Kirkland. Domestic fluff.

Also available on AO3 and FF.net

---

Arthur was used to living alone, so Francis often found his lover singing to himself.

To lead a better life I need my love to be here, he heard from the garden. Arthur had always sung his most tender when he was taking care of the roses, he knew; he'd wax poetic over any flower, of course, but he could go on for hours and hours about the one he loved most.

He could see Arthur through the windows, meticulously inspecting each and every bloom for the slightest hints of tear. He was wearing one of those ridiculously huge gardening hats that, at this angle, was covering most of his face. Together with horrible posture and his frumpy sweater, he cut quite the awkward figure. Yet still, Francis could picture his piercing green eyes, the slight flush of his face, that odd little upturn of his too-long mouth during those rare times that he felt relaxed and at peace.

They've had more than a millennia to get acquainted with each other, more than long enough for them to recognize the things that stayed constant: bright eyes, sorrow, and the empty promises of immortality; England and France fighting with each other, and Arthur and Francis simply having to live through it. There was a loneliness there that he couldn't put into words, not on his own.

Each one believing that love never dies, Arthur sang. Each note hung in the air a little too long.

Expecting him to come in soon, Francis quickly boiled a kettle for the Englishman's morning tea before leaving the kitchen. He could spend the whole morning looking through the windows, but the ambience demanded he partake a more active role than just sitting around. He was the country of love, after all. And today, he was so full of that confusing, exhilarating emotion that he simply had to do something about it.

He scarcely used it these days, but he certainly hadn't lost any of his skill with the piano. Playing some scales for warm-up, he let himself get re-acquainted with an old friend. It was not too long ago that his musicians were praised worldwide, not too long ago that those same legendary maestros had been invited into his own home and asked to play. Those memories shine golden to him, lazy afternoons of nothing but song and delight and knowing with all the instinct of a nation that these men were going to be remembered one day. He carried them, and their music, with him always.

Francis was lost in the melodious trills of one of their century-old songs when Arthur entered, with his tea and a small plate of the biscuits they had made the night before. He settled into a nice sofa chair beside him with a contented sigh.

"No need to stop on my account," said Arthur, when the piece ended and Francis didn't immediately transition to another one. "Are you taking requests? You know I don't know shit about the classics."

"Yes, you're very artful like that," Francis teased. "Truth be told, you're distracting me."

Arthur huffed, and it was the exact reaction Francis wanted to see from him. He looked adorable with cheeks puffed like that. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I could stop paying for my half of this house and leave. Maybe invest in something actually worthwhile."

"Invest in some sense then, would you? You're being ridiculous and dramatic."

"This, coming from you?"

"I have a certain style of doing such that makes me charming and irresistible, but when you do it, you are like a pitiful donkey."

He thought he really had a good one there, but Arthur only looked faintly amused. "You're losing your touch, if that's all you could think of."

Francis smiled back. "If I lack any bite today, it's not any fault of mine. You are a distraction, like I said."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course it's my fault, is it?"

And it was.

He loved seeing Arthur anywhere, but he especially loved seeing Arthur here, in this house that they had quietly bought together without the interference of their respective governments. He loved seeing Arthur now, in this time of peace and normalcy that they had never been given in their youth. He loved seeing Arthur like this, warm and content and alive and close enough to hold without fear, without anger, without hate. It was always a game of play-pretend when they stayed here, and Francis was enamored with domestic bliss every single time. The intimacy, the privacy, the romance — how could he possibly pay attention to anything else but Arthur in this moment? They were not nations here, in their sleepy, cozy abode in Calais. They were only Arthur and Francis, and they were in love.

"You will be less of a distraction if you sit with me," Francis said, instead of I am so much happier now that you are here.

He patted the space beside him, watching Arthur set his cup and biscuits down as he took his seat. Francis turned back to the piano to take position, while Arthur shifted closer so he could lean his head on his shoulder. It made movement a bit more difficult, and he knew that Arthur knew this. The both of them also knew that Francis wouldn't tell Arthur to move away for the world.

"You're always making things so hard for me, aren't you?" he said, affectionately.

"The course of true love never did run smooth, as they say," quipped Arthur. "And you knew I was a handful when you met me. It's not my fault you have bad judgment."

"You must think so lowly of the both of us to say that. My judgment, along with everything else about me, is impeccable." Francis started playing a light ditty, just to give his hands something to do. "And you are the light of my life, fire of my loins—"

"Your sin, your soul?" Arthur finished, dryly. He looked up at him in vague annoyance. "Francis, please. You can do better than that."

"Aussi longtemps que tu voudras, nous dormirons ensemble," he recited, then he laughed when Arthur lightly slapped his arm. "No, you cannot be angry at me for it! It's a line from one of my respected poets, it's not my fault that he phrased it like that—lapin, it was an easy shot to take. I do not know what you expected of me."

"Certainly not bad, perverted poetry," grumbled Arthur. He stared at the ivory keys, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "You know, if you wanted me to play with you, I should've brought my guitar. I can never remember where my fingers are supposed to be on this thing."

"You and your guitars!" The piano made a dissonant noise as Francis slammed his hands on it in surprise, barely holding back his helplessly, helplessly besotted grin. "No, my love. You would've had to go upstairs, discover it has been misplaced, and then spend hours searching for it. You would've surely placed a curse on the entire house for hiding your beloved instrument before you remembered that it was still back in London. By that point, I would've retired to our bedroom, long past the mood for musicmaking."

Arthur's ears were flushed red.

Recognizing his lover's embarrassment, Francis reached out, held his face by the cheek, and gently guided Arthur into looking at him. "But I am still here, yes? Stay with me, Arthur. Sing with me."

He would never tell him this, of course, but he had grown strangely fond of the Englishman's nasal, sardonic voice over the years. Harsh as though it sounded when it was used for his constant, indignant screaming, in the quieter moments it was rhythmic, melodic — as though he never grew out of Shakespeare's characteristic rhyming scheme. It was one out of the many proofs Francis had collected to support his theory of Arthur being a closet romantic at heart, and it was by far his favorite.

Who could dare think of his little England, savage little bunny that he was, the feisty, imperious island nation who grew up shooting arrows and sailing the seas and conquering the world's hegemony in the palm of his hand, doing something as humanly mundane as song? Certainly not France, who had spent centuries at war with his neighbor and still sniped at him countlessly at every single meeting they attended together.

But he wasn't France right now, not in the soft morning light of Calais. Far from the bustling city life of Paris and his obligations as a nation, he was only a young man in love.

Arthur's eyes were so wide, and so green. It felt like eternity before he covered Francis' hand with his own.

Then, softly: "Play me a nice song then, would you, dear?"

Francis only smiled, and set his hands to the keys.

---

Notes:

Title comes from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

The song Arthur keeps singing at the start is The Beatles' Here, There, and Everywhere, which is a sweet and short tune about wanting to be around your lover all the time because it makes you so happy. Paul McCartney wrote it while he was waiting for John Lennon to wake up, which is very sweet in a way. I was going to make Francis play it at the end, but I couldn't figure out how to write it in, so now it's up to you! I really love Sangah Noona's piano cover of the song, so if you have the time, I really recommend you give it a listen. It's so classy.

The piano song that Francis is playing when Arthur walks in is Jeux d'eau, a 1901 piece by French composer Maurice Ravel. It often gets translated into English as Playing Water, and it's inspired by the sound of (you guessed it) water! I feel like the piece reminds Francis of Arthur a lot.

The course of true love never did run smooth is another Shakespeare quote, this time from A Midsummer Night's Dream. I originally wanted Arthur to say something like: "Well, that's why the Bard titled it Love's Labour's Lost," after another Shakespeare play, meaning that love is something difficult so Francis will just have to put up with him, but I couldn't find a way to make it flow smoothly. So I went with the quote instead, because it's simpler and its intention is the same, and I like it better! I like that Arthur implies that Francis is his true love. Aww.

Light of my life, fire of my loins; my sin, my soul is from the opening lines of Lolita. Yeah, you can see why Arthur was a bit disturbed. Fun fact: Lolita was first published in Paris!

Aussi longtemps que tu voudras, nous dormirons ensemble is the last line of French poet Louis Aragon's Nous dormirons ensemble. It translates to As long as you want, we will sleep together. It's a short (and yes, slightly perverted) poem, but it's actually pretty sweet.

#fanfic #mine #hws #hws england #hws france #aph england #aph france #fruk #ukfr #rosetea

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1822 Tuesday 23 July

6

12 3/4

Good bed, very clean and comfortable, and slept well - Rainy night, and rainy morning - yet no prospect of doing any good by waiting, and off from Bala (the White lion Inn, John Ellis) at 7 25/60 - the upper road to Corwen only ten miles, but have come the lower (14 miles) thro’ the vale of Edeirnion, on account of the scenery - Beautiful vale - the Dee nearly close on our right most of the way - winds most beautifully, flowing gently between its low banks occasionally prettily wooded - what a contrast to the torrents to which we have lately been accustomed to. A beautiful vale - But it rained all the way to the last of the 2 turnpikes about or near 1/2 mile from Corwen, and our view was sadly spoilt by the thickness of the weather and the gig-top up -

Did not know the town or the Inn again - could scarce believe it the same place we stopt at on Sunday-week - (page 44). Left Bala at 7 25/60 and got here in 2 20/60 hour at 9 3/4 - Breakfast immediately -

(Llangollen - King’s head, new hotel - Mrs Davis. 2 3/4 p.m.) Left Corwen at 11 35/60 and got here in 1 1/2 hour (10 miles government-made road, most excellent in spite of having been almost deluged with rain) at 1 5/60 - the vale of Corwen beautiful certainly, but, as I have repeatedly told my aunt would be the case, it now seemed tame after the scenery we have seen - yet the vale of Edeirnion pleased us, even in the rain, and we prefer it to that of Corwen which saw more distinctly - as we had the top down all the way - a drop or 2 of rain just after setting off, and a shower for about the 3rd mile from Llangollen - heavy rain just after we got in -

Mrs Davis received us at the door, and came into our room to answer our inquiries after Lady Eleanor Butler - Mrs Davis was called up at one last night, and they thought her ladyship would have died - she was however rather better this morning - the physician does not seem to apprehend danger, but Mrs D- is alarmed, and spoke of it in tears - Miss Ponsonby too, is alarmed and ill herself  on this account - pain in her side - “She is a lady” said Mrs D- “of very strong ideas; but this would grieve her too” - Mrs D- has only known them 13 or 14 years during which time she has lived at this house but she has always seen them “so attached so amiable together” - no two people ever lived more happily - they like all the people about them are beloved by all, and do a great deal of good - Lady Eleanor had the remains of beauty - Miss Ponsonby was a very fine woman - Lady Eleanor Butler about 80 - Miss P- 10 or 12 years younger - the damp this bad account cast upon my spirits I cannot describe - I am interested about these 2 ladies very much - there is something in their story, and in all I have heard about them here that added to other circumstances makes a deep impression -

Sat musing on the sopha scarce wotting what to do - irresolute and moody - thinking of Pi [Mariana] low about her I cannot shake off the impression of what she said at Chester about delicacy in calculation delta’s [Charles’] life Mr Powis etc I know not how it is I am shockingly low altogether - Mrs Davis being going to inquire after lady Eleanor Butler my aunt and I walked with her to wait for her giving an answer to our inquiries - the physician there - strolled about for 10 minutes, and not being gone and it threatening to rain, returned and only just got in before a tremendously heavy shower - then sat down and wrote the above of today - I feel better for this writing - In fact, come what may, writing my journal - thus as it were throwing my mind on paper, always does me good -

Mrs Davis just returned - brought a good account of her ladyship and a message of thanks for our inquiries from Miss Ponsonby, who will be glad to see me this evening to thank me in person - shall about go 6 1/2 or 7, just after dinner - this is more than I expected I wonder how I work my way and what she will think of me Mrs Davis wishes me to give all the comfort all I can and not to mention that I know of her having been called up last night -

(9 p.m.) Dinner at 6 before dinner about two hours upstairs washing cutting my toe nails putting clean things etc At 7 went to Plasnewydd and got back at 8 - just an hour away and surely the walking there and back did not take me more than 20 minutes - shewn into the room next the library the breakfast room, waited a minute or 2, and then came Miss P- a large woman so as to waddle in walking but not taller than myself - in a blue shortish waist-cloth habit, the jacket unbuttoned shewing a plain plaited frilled habit shirt - a thick white cravat, rather loosely put on - hair powdered, parted, I think, down the middle in front, cut a moderate length all round and hanging straight, tolerably thick - the remains of a very fine face - coarseish white cotton stockings - ladies’ slipper shoes cut lower down, the foot hanging a little over - altogether a very odd figure - yet she had no sooner entered into conversation than I forgot all this and my attention was wholey taken by her manners and conversation - the former perfectly easy, peculiarly attentive and well bred, and bespeaking a person accustomed to a great deal of good society - mild and gentle, certainly not masculine, and yet there was a je-ne-sais-quoi striking - her conversation shewing a personal acquaintance with most of the literary characters of the day and their works - She seemed sanguine about lady Eleanor’s recovery - poor soul! my heart ached to think how small the chance - She told me her ladyship had undergone an operation 3 times - the sight of one eye restored - couching by absorption - I said I believed it was neither a painful nor dangerous operation - she seemed to think it both the one and the other - mentioned the beauties of the place - the books I had noticed in their rustic library - she said lady E- read French, Spanish, and Italian - had great knowledge of ancient manners and customs, understood the obsolete manners and phrases of Tasso remarkably well - had written elucidatory notes on the first 2 (or 4 # I think) books of Tasso, but had given away the only copy she ever had - contrived to ask if they are classical - “no!” (said she) thank god from Latin and Greek I’m free” - speaking of translations she mentioned La Cerda’s (I think it was) as the best according to some + bishop friend of hers of Virgil, and Cary’s as being most excellent of Tasso, literal and excellent for a beginner, and which she should recommend to any one wanting assistance - She somehow mentioned Lucretioius but it was “a bad book and she was afraid of reading it” - I asked why - He was a deistical writer - I mentioned Dr John Mason Good’s translation adding that I believed he (Dr Good) was not a high church man - “no! She knew he was heterodox” - I observed that she might think all the classics objectionable - “yes! they wanted pruning; but the Delphin Editions were very good - as people got older, she said, they are more particular - she was almost afraid of reading Cain, tho’ lord B- [Byron?] had been very good in sending them several of his works” - I asked if she had read Don Juan - she was ashamed to say she had read the 1st canto - She said I had named Mr Bankes - and asked if it was Mr Bankes Cleaver - I thought not, did not know him; but he was the most particular friend of a friend of mine - it was Mr Bankes the great Grecian, said to be now the best in England since Mr Porson’s death - She did not think he had ever been there did not know, did not remember him - she asked if I would walk out - shewed me their kitchen garden - walked round the shrubbery with me - She said she owned to their having been 42 years there - they landed first in South Wales but it did not answer the accounts they had heard of it - they then travelled in North Wales, and, taken with the beauty of this place, took the cottage for 31 years - but it was a false lease, and they had had a great deal of trouble and expense it was only 4 years since they had bought the place - Dared say I had a much nicer place at home - mentioned its situation, great age, long time in the family etc She wished to know where to find an account of it - Said it had been their humble endeavour to make their place as old as they could - Spoke like a woman of the world about my liking the place where I was born, etc said I was not born there - my father was a younger brother - but that I had the expectation of succeeding my uncle - “Ah! then”, said she, “you will soon be the master and there will be an end of romance” - Never! never! said I - I envied their place and the happiness they had had there - dared say they had never quarrelled - “no! they had never had a quarrel - little difference of opinion sometimes - life could not go on without it - but only about the planting of a tree - and, when they differed in opinion, they took care to let no one see it” - At parting, she shook hands with me and gave me a rose; I said I should keep it for the sake of the place where it grew. She had before said she should be happy to introduce me sometime to Lady Eleanor - I had given my aunt’s compliments and inquiries said she would have called with me but feared to intrude, and was not quite well this evening - she (Miss P-) gave me a sprig of geranium for my aunt with her compliments and thanks for her inquiries - Lady E- was asleep while I was there - Miss P- had been reading to her “Adam Blair” the little book recommended to me by M- at Chester - I had told Miss P- I had first seen an account of them in La Belle Assemblie a dozen years ago, and had longed to see the place ever since - She said some people had been very impertinent, particularly Dr Mavor who had in some way displeased (laughed at or something) their old housekeeper to whose memory they have erected a monument in the church yard - and it seems the ladies have a particular objection to Dr M- but Miss P- appears to have lost her teeth, and occasionally mumbles a little, that, as a stranger, I did not always perhaps quite understand her - It seems 2 of the Cromptons and their brother (of Esholt) were lately sketching the place - the ladies sent them chairs - went out to speak to them (for they were retiring fearing they had offended the ladies) formed an acquaintance and wanting to know something aobut the Derwentwater family which the C-s could get to know, there has been a correspondence - Miss P- said she had not answered their last letter, but meant to do it - Lady E and Miss P- seem great pedigree-people antiquaries, topographers, etc -

The Ladies of Llangollen: Miss Ponsonby on the left, Lady Eleanor Butler on the right - Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

I came away much pleased with Miss P- and sincerely hoping Lady E- will recover; to enjoy a few years more in this world - I know not how it is, I felt low after coming away - a thousand moody reflections occurred; but again writing has done me good - went to and returned from Plasnewydd in a gleam - showery afternoon and evening - I mean to dry and keep the rose Miss P- gave me - ‘Tis now 10 1/4 - sat talking to my aunt came upstairs at 11 10/60 forty minutes siding my things in the imperial - used the syringe with cold water three times today great deal of discharge -

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/6/0031

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack #1822 #the annes go to Wales #the ladies of llangollen

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 11 (wc 1783)

The top beauty in Imuchakk was. Tall. 

Very tall. 

“It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such an esteemed lady, Miss Rurumu,” Sinbad said, tilting his head back as he looked up, and up, and up. 

The famous National Chief’s daughter, Rurumu, was taller than even Hinahoho, who was already twice Sinbad’s height. From so far down, Sinbad couldn’t even make out her expression. She was also very big. When she accepted the hand he stretched out -- gently, thankfully -- her palm wrapped halfway up his forearm. 

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Sinbad,” she said. 

Her voice was unexpectedly gentle and smooth, like moving water. Her eyes too, Sinbad saw, were kind, deep like the sea. However, he didn’t miss the horns tucked into her blue headband. The headband could be worn by anyone among the Imuchakk, even children. Hinahoho had only foregone it before out of his own sense of isolation from the tribe. But the horns were the mark of a warrior. 

One was supposed to be given to the spouse. But since they were both warriors, Sinbad supposed Rurumu and Hinahoho would trade one horn to each other... 

Rurumu smiled and kneeled, so they could see each other more clearly. Her face was indeed worthy of the title number one beauty. “Hinahoho has told me much about you,” she said. “Thank you for supporting him and giving him courage. He is the man I have chosen, and I trust him above all else. His comrades are my comrades. His dreams are my dreams.” 

This person... according to rumors, she was exceptionally accomplished. Beautiful, powerful, and with a bloodline that would be equal to royalty. With her qualifications, if not her father’s position, then she could easily aim for village patriarch or even tribal chief. 

And yet, she only wanted to dedicate herself to one person. Not as a subordinate, but as one who will share his life equally. 

A warrior that only wished to support their family, just like... 

Sinbad blinked quickly, taken aback by the faint stinging behind his eyes. It had been so long since he thought of his father, but he thought he could suddenly see his strong, broad back again, just like all those years ago. 

“If you’re telling me this,” he said slowly, “then, Hinahoho, you plan to join me? Even though it means leaving Imuchakk?” 

That was something they hadn’t discussed so far. There was, after all, a difference between acknowledging someone as the most worthy of conquering a dungeon, and swearing loyalty to them beyond that. While the Sham Lash assassin trio had joined Sinbad for good, Drakon had done the former but not the latter, and Sinbad had somewhat expected that Hinahoho would be the same, especially with a fiancee waiting for him. 

“That’s right,” Hinahoho said easily. He grinned, enjoying Sinbad’s surprise, but his expression slowly turned more serious. “I’ve been thinking a lot, since the dungeon. It’s true that I was finally accepted as an adult and a warrior in my tribe. But that means I have a responsibility to think about our nation’s future too. And Imuchakk… can’t stay closed off from the world forever.” 

“Indeed. As expected of the man I love,” Rurumu agreed, nodding. 

Hinahoho spluttered, going red in the face. 

“It’s one thing to focus inwardly, but we cannot remain blind to the outside world,” she went on. “Imuchakk warriors are mighty, but we are only a small nation. And I caught a glimpse of a djinn’s power, when your friend helped drive off those intruders. It is…” her eyes sharpened with calculation, “...indeed one that can change the world.” 

So Alibaba had helped to fight off the team Partevia sent after them? Sinbad hadn’t known that. 

“A djinn’s power is incredible,” Sinbad agreed, “but it’s not nearly enough for what I have in mind. To create a country, there are many other things needed as well. Money, influence, people, land… And, above all, knowledge. Money and knowledge, those are the two I plan to focus on first.” 

Rurumu smiled. “My beloved” — who turned red and extremely pleased — “and I will need to formally announce our engagement to my father,” she said, completely changing the subject. 

“Oh? Would it be possible for me to attend as well?” Sinbad asked. 

“It would be our honor,” Rurumu said. 

Beautiful, powerful, and also brilliant. Hinahoho was a very lucky man. And Sinbad was just as lucky to benefit from this relationship. 

~.~ 

‘So you guys are Vittel and Mahad? And that guy is Ja’far… Okay, I won’t forget. It’s a bit late, but it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for joining me and putting your faith in my dream. I won’t let you down!’ 

Mahad shifted slightly, pulling Vittel out of his thoughts and making him realize he had been staring into space, a sack of treasure in his hands. Awkwardly, Vittel cleared his throat and hurried to shove the sack next to the others in the sleigh they had been loaned by the Imuchakk villagers. 

At one point, he might have seen it as an insult to be put to use for manual labor like this, but at the moment it was a welcome chance to keep moving and do something while his mind futilely tried to process everything that had happened. 

The dungeon itself had been otherworldly, but they were trained enough — dead inside enough — to ignore the sights, and the traps and monsters beyond that had not been beyond a Sham Lash elite’s capabilities. Being discarded and used up by the court magician’s strange technique had been… not unexpected either. Gruesome and chilling, but not unexpected at all. 

What they didn’t expect was to survive. And… Sinbad. 

How could anyone expect Sinbad, who could only be a singular, unmatched existence? 

Absently, Vittel rubbed his hands together, expecting something to flake off his fingers. But his hands were clean, dry from the cold air. His nose was cold too and doubtlessly red, and threatening to sniffle. 

Remembering he didn’t need to hide his presence, he went ahead and sniffled wetly. Partevia, Reim, Musta’sim had never been this cold. 

Mahad tilted his head. 

“I don’t know either,” Vittel responded, sighing. “It does seem… too good to be true. There’s stupid idealists out there who might accepted assassins into the fold, but Sinbad even saved us and the chief. And he’s so powerful. He really might be able to do it.” 

Mahad gestured, and Vittel nodded in agreement. “It might have been just because of the Imuchakk. In that case, they’ll try again once we leave this country. But you remember what it was like fighting him and that friend of his. Maybe they could be overwhelmed with numbers, but one on one? Only the master would have a chance. And that’s before he gained Valefor.” 

Clasping his hands, he admitted quietly, “We might actually be able to escape the Sham Lash.” 

And that was… an impossible dream. Sham Lash had kept them alive when they were discarded orphans, but it had become their dead end as well. Maybe they should have felt some gratitude toward the organization that kept them fed and trained them, but they both knew better than to waste their feelings. Those that bothered with ridiculous emotions like that were the first to die — like Drakon, Barbarossa’s sheltered little brother. His loyalty had simply made him that much easier to manipulate and then throw away. 

The Sham Lash felt nothing for their assassins, and their assassins didn’t feel anything in return. 

‘They’ve already become my people! And I won’t leave anyone behind! I won’t let my comrades die!’ 

When they woke up, Sinbad’s words echoed distantly in their minds. ...It was almost disgusting how easily the slightest feelings could sway them. 

Choosing between the masters that would doubtlessly kill them, and the master that would at least value them was not difficult. After all, they had already acknowledged the traitorous desire to be free in their hearts.  

That was why they had also stepped forward to compete for the djinn’s power, even if they had just gotten used again in the end. 

Thinking of that, Vittel glanced at his old partner and cleared his throat. “Mahad…” 

A large hand covered his shoulder. Mahad nodded. 

Vittel smiled. “Yeah. We should go see Chief too. After all, we’re going to be comrades now. Sinbad seems like the type who doesn’t like backstabbing in the ranks.” 

Due to the extensive strain on his body and spirit, Ja’far had been ordered to bedrest since their return. The fact that he obeyed this order and quietly remained in the side room given over to them inside the patriarch’s home was a testament to the respect he had for Sinbad, who commanded it. 

The first thing Ja’far did when they visited was curse out Sinbad’s name. 

“That bastard! Who does he think he is! Stupid! Just wait til I get my hands on him!” Ja’far hurled a stream of insults. However, whether because of his uncovered face, small and pale, or their change in circumstances, it was not particularly threatening. 

Vittel and Mahad nodded along, and after several minutes, the tirade of curses and threats finally tapered off. 

“Anyway, a soft idiot like him will probably take it badly if you kill someone, so don’t get carried away,” Ja’far warned them. “For now, it’s better to wait and see what he plans to do.” 

“Since he obtained another djinn, won’t he return to his base of operations to prepare for the next step?” Vittel wondered. When Mahad shifted to one side, he nodded. “Based on what he said to Drakon, it doesn’t seem like he plans to return to Partevia, but our intelligence said his mother disappeared from their village too. So there must be a place where he’s settled down for now.” 

The Sham Lash had been deeply frustrated by the fact that they simply could not track down where Sinbad had disappeared to or how he’d accomplished it. Every port, every mountain pass had been closely watched. They were sure he hadn’t slipped through. And yet he had undeniably left Partevia. By the time court magician Falan had managed to scry him, he had already been at sea. 

Ja’far frowned, looking down at his lap. His hands had fisted in the blankets, as he muttered to himself, “Wonder if we’ll meet her... his mom...” 

He’d have to be a complete moron to let them near his weak spot like that. 

But his home was their home now. Hadn’t he said that? 

Scowling, Ja’far firmly stamped down the small sprout of expectation in his heart. 

#nanowrimo #My writing

[elena2]

Cleaning up my closet (end of the decade recap)

I started this decade today we’re leaving behind by being involved on a serious car crash where a drunk driver changed the path of my life forever. I got severely injured by it physically and emotionally. I took me a decade to get fully recovered physically and mentally. But the will to live guided me every step of the way and even though nobody wants to be involved in extremely hurtful things, I learned and grew a lot because of it.

I started this decade by leaving an abusive boyfriend behind. I started on a journey of self-love and self-worth.

This decade I buried three of my most beloved pets, Conxi, Kaoru and Mini.

This decade I said my final goodbyes to my great aunt who fought Alzheimer’s and my grandpa who lost his battle to cancer and never got to see me in full bloom before his departure.

This decade I said goodbye to the big city and a great job for a more simple lifestyle on my journey to recovery.

This decade I welcomed my first and only nephew and I’m happy to see the little man he’s becoming and see the results of the good influences I have exposed him to.

This decade I found a man (my doc) who in a way became my family. Even when I wanted to give up he never let me, even when I didn’t believe that I would be able to he’d push me further. Doctors, for professional reasons can’t get too involved in their patients lives. But he saw I was there, in need, and he would call to check on me in between visits and kept on pushing so hard on me that he guided me out of the whole I had fallen into. I will never be able to thank him enough for having been there every step of the way. You might think it’s corny but have you seen ‘The Horse Whisperer’?

I was Pilgrim and he was Tom Booker. And he single-handedly managed to do that with me.

I will be forever grateful to that old, cranky and magnificent example of what a human being should be.

This decade I started volunteering at an animal shelter and I cannot even begin to explain how grateful I am for that.

This decade I got a certificate as a dog trainer, a thing that had nothing to do with my previous career path but slowly and surely came to realize was more me than my previous self.

This decade I did on stray, malnourished and abused dogs the same the doctor did on me and Buck Brannaman does on horses.

It takes a lot of empathy, something that it is innate in me, but a lot of dedication as well.

There is something about looking to a pair of eyes that have been shattered due to life circumstances and not pity on them but instead start to build a better future for them. It is something really hard and heartbreaking to see tho tiny eyes not even looking at you directly, scared for their life and on the edge of giving up on life and going every single day. show them that they can trust once again, that there is love, passion, compassion and care out there, restore their health, show them that there is trust and love and joy and there and that they are worthy.

Leaving some days with bite marks but returning the following day with the same dedication, love and determination up until those tiny eyes regain the sparkle, the trust, the joy and find a forever home for them and know that in a way, in my own tiny way, I give back what was given to me at some point.

i’ve cried heartbreaks with them and we’ve danced (yes, dancing with dogs) to the joyful times. I’ve been their therapist and they’ve been mine as well.

I’ve passed onto them the motto to never give up, because eventually, things turn the right way.

This decade I kissed goodbye to Foxy the first furry friend I promised to myself and her that I would adopt but had to let her go to a family that was more ready because I still needed to find my inner balance.

We said our final goodbyes to Xut, Flash, Thor, Lucky, Blanca… But we fought and stood tall up until the very last moment.

This decade I decided to let go of toxicity and by doing so, I said goodby to some friends and acquaintances that were not bringing light into my life.

This decade I read a lot.

This decade I discovered the real power of Law of Attraction (and the 12 Universal Laws for that matter) and discovered it truly works.

I discovered the power of mindset, that I had had in the past but never put a label on it because I didn’t know it even existed.

This decade I discovered that plenty of people use Law of Attraction but they very seldom speak about it because they don’t want to be labeled as daydreamers and what not. I realized this is a hidden message that it is included in songs, movies, books and it’s been with us ever since the break of dawn of humanity in some way, shape or form.

This decade I built a forever future for me only to discover I had taken a wrong route and had to start over once more.

But I didn’t take it as badly as I would have a decade ago. Some things are just not meant to be and if the shoe doesn’t fit, get yourself a shoe that does. Plain and simple.

This decade I teamed up with resilience and realism as one cannot even imagine.

This decade I learned to speak up when I need to, to cry when I needed to and to love myself for who I am as well as celebrate with joy the little victories.

This decade I learnt to say YES when I meant to and NO when I meant to.

I learned that it is OK to not be OK all of the time.

This decade I learned to learn from the not so great things we might come across in life and to cherish all the good ones that life bring to us.

I started out this decade being a completely noob in life and I feel it’s safe to say that by the end of the decade I graduated from chapter 2.

Because let’s face it, you always keep on learning, falling, standing back up and moving forward and the day you fully graduate from life is the day you leave for good and I don’t expect that to be any decade soon!

This decade I discovered myself even more and in more way I would ever have hadn’t I started the decade in a hospital bed.

But this has been a decade of growth of planting crops and water them and work the land of my soul.

What I wish for the next decade is to harvest everything that I so carefully planted. I wish for a decade of growth, settling down, finding a place and a face to call home, start a beautiful and loving family of my own. I wish to say more hello’s than goodbyes. I wish for a decade of plenty in the best way possible. Let’s all wave goodbye to this decade that is finally coming to an end and welcome in the best way possible this new not only decade but era altogether.

Happy 2020!

#antennahelena #2020 #decade #end of the decade #recap #growth #overcoming #adversity #new hope #new light #resilience #love

[theemightypen]

Prompt: Boromir x Theodred "We're designed to be disposable"

so @lesbiansforboromir brought to my attention that today and tomorrow are Sad Days (RIP to these good lads), so I wrote this in denial response

Dol Amroth, April, T.A. 3004

The far-off roar of waves crashing on the shore is a common enough sound in his uncle’s keep. Dol Amroth is, perhaps, one of the prettiest cities in Gondor, and it is no hardship to be here as a small respite from the constant drag of war.

The familiar sound is made sweeter when accompanied by an even dearer one; the echoes of his youngest cousins’ laughter can be heard even above the waves. It pulls him from the hall and out into one Dol Amroth’s famed gardens, searching for the source of the merriment.

And it would seem he is not the only one. Theodred is there too, looking down to one of the lower terraces. He has, fortuitously, been sent to Dol Amroth for some sort of diplomatic mission by his father just in time for the mildness of spring. The sight of him–tall, broad-shouldered, sturdy and fair-haired as ever–sends a ridiculous pang through him, much as he tries to suppress it. Valar knows he should not feel this way–that is an impossible, useless thing, whatever the emotion is that rises in his chest whenever the Crown Prince of Rohan is near.

But it has been thus for years now, nearly since the first time they’d met, and Boromir is sick to death of trying to pretend otherwise. He may never act on it, but he can at least acknowledge it–this….this affection.

“What mischief are they up to now?” He asks, so as not to startle him by simply appearing at his side. He learned to avoid that particular misstep after walking into Theodred’s tent unannounced after a battle, and had received a dagger to his throat for his trouble.

Theodred turns his head with a smile.

Boromir resolutely does not try to commit the curve of it to memory.

“I believe Lothiriel put sand in Amrothos’s boots,” answers Theodred, “again.”

Chuckling despite the earlier melancholy of his thoughts, Boromir steps up beside him to better take in the ongoing scene. Lothiriel, five and clever and entirely too much trouble for her small frame, is perched on Erchirion’s shoulders as Amrothos throws shells at both of them. All are laughing, despite the trail of sand that follows Amrothos’s weaving path throughout the gardens.

“If your cousins are half as much trouble as mine, I worry for the continued well-being of our respective countries,” Boromir says.

Theodred laughs, rubbing his chin. “Bema help us all should they ever meet.”

They stand in companionable silence, watching until the siblings grow tired of shell-throwing, finally settling down in the gardens for more subdued activities.

“It is good to see them, like this,” Theodred says abruptly.

“Sand-covered?”

He pulls a face, making Boromir laugh. But all too quickly his expression turns serious. “No. Happy. Innocent. As…as children.”

Boromir frowns. Theodred’s own cousins have not been as fortunate as the House of Dol Amroth. Orphaned at a young age and moved to Theoden King’s household shortly after, their lives have been tumultuous thus far. Theodred has told him as much, of young Eomer’s fierce, burning anger, so much like his father’s infamous temper, and little Eowyn’s shocking coldness, when truly upset. His cousins, on the other hand, have both parents and each other, in their haven on the coast.

Though it so easily could change. War has made so much uncertain. Life. Love. Peace.

“It is,” he agrees. “I admit, it has become far too easy of late to forget that we are fighting for more than our immediate survival and that of our men. Seeing them, happy, safe…it is a good reminder that I–that we—” Boromir pauses, suddenly unwilling to continue.

Theodred blinks, a tinge of confusion on his face. “What do you mean, Boromir?”

Boromir swallows. It has always been easy, so easy, too easy, to voice his deepest, most innermost thoughts with Theodred. Commanders nearly their entire lives, leaders to their people, beloved by their fathers, with the weight of expectation and duty on their shoulders…there are very few people that understand him, in the way that Theodred of Rohan does.

“I do sometimes wonder, in darker times, if we…if we were designed to be disposable. The War will go on, even if we should not, and others will come to Gondor and Rohan’s defense.”

Theodred’s expression has morphed from confusion into out-right shock. Boromir cannot blame him; these are not his happiest thoughts, nor ones of which he is proud.

“Disposable?” Theodred echoes. “How–”

“I know it is wrong,” he interrupts. “That we are more than figureheads and commanders and captains. That our lives matter to our families, to our friends–”

Theodred’s hands are suddenly on his shoulders, cutting across his speech, and the look on his face is as fierce any Boromir has ever seen him wear in the midst of a battle.

“You are not, and could never be, disposable,” he all but hisses, “by Bema, Boromir, if I ever hear you say something like that again–how could you even think–”  

It is Boromir’s turn to be shocked. The depth of emotion on Theodred’s face, the sheer anger–

No. Not anger, but fear. But what has he to fear?

“I–I am sorry,” he manages.

“How can you–you are irreplaceable. To your country, to your family, to me!”

The blood rushing in Boromir’s ears easily drowns out the sound of the sea. Theodred’s words are very plain, as is the custom of his people, but he cannot–there has to be some other meaning, some other explanation than the desperate, unspoken things he has longed for–

His hands move of their own accord, framing Theodred’s face. And then he is kissing him before he can think better of it, helpless not to finally, finally acknowledge this thing, this affection, this–

Theodred’s hands tighten on his shoulders and Boromir could weep at the sensation. He has not imagined it–he has not been alone in this, they still understand each other–

But then Theodred is pulling back with a breathless sort of laugh and ice slides into his stomach. Oh, Valar, not mockery, not pity–he could stomach anger, or disgust, but not the shame that would come with being pitied!

“This is not at all how I imagined my day going,” he says, and Boromir’s heart takes up residence somewhere at the bottom of his boots.

“I am sorry,” he says again, feeling wretched and embarrassed. Theodred will not tell anyone about this–he has too much honor–but there is no taking back the action, nor what it meant. “I should not have–”

And then Theodred is kissing him again, effectively silencing him before he can splutter out an attempt at an apology.

“I meant,” he says, when they’ve managed to stop kissing long enough to draw breath, “I never expected to go from wanting to strangle you to kissing you in the span of seconds. More fool me, I suppose.”

Boromir thinks he manages to make some sort of punched out noise resembling an oh, but he could not be sure. Between the roar of the sea and his own heart, it is difficult to hear anything else.

Theodred’s elated expression dims a little as the silence lingers. “That is–do I owe you an apology, then? If I have–if I have acted out of turn–”

Boromir groans a laugh, feeling more light-hearted than he has in years. “I believe I was the one who ah. Acted.”

Theodred’s smile is as swift and bright as a sunrise. “So you did. And you should not be sorry for it. Though if you ever refer to yourself as ‘disposable’ ever again, I will make you sorry for other reasons.”

“I do not doubt it,” Boromir says.

Eventually, sense and the warmth of the sun reminds them to untangle their limbs from each other’s, though it is too late to have spared Theodred’s pale skin from the indignity of a sunburn.

Something Boromir finds himself very grateful for, when his uncle remarks on the pinkness of their guest’s face at dinner.

“I do not mind,” Theodred assures Imrahil, “for it was earned in an enjoyable way.”

Suddenly, Boromir finds himself better understanding the sensation of wanting to strangle someone and kiss them, all at once. He suspects he will become very, very well-acquainted with the feeling.

#boromir x theodred #borodred #prompt response #my writing #LISTEN: no angst today ok we only talk about these soft boys being soft boys in love!!!

[homogrimoire-archive]

The Remnant Branches

CH. 6 - The Woe of the Wretched

Part 4: The Façade That Hides Love

Next, James makes his way to the desert civilization known as Façade. After saving a soldier from a wolf, he becomes acquainted with the kingdom's ruler: King Null, a man beloved who loves in kind.

AO3 Link

James does not know where exactly the civilization lay, but, he noticies strange structures rising from the sand, and follows them. Shades, wolves, and scorpions inhabit the desert, making it more hostile than anywhere else. On top of that, it has annoying sand and stupidly high temperatures. It reminded him of Atlas, funnily enough. Where this place was plagued by shades, wolves, scorpions, and shades, Atlas had grimm galore. And instead of annoying sand and stupidly high temperatures, there was annoying snow and stupidly low temperatures.

He noticed that behind one of the structures was a wolf. It looked as if it were waiting for something to come out of it.  It was too focused on waiting to notice James. He assumed it was a young and inexperienced wolf. To his surprise, the structure did open up. Its front held a door, from which someone would emerge and be attacked if he didn’t do anything. So quickly, he ran towards the structure and yelled for whoever was coming out to watch out.

A single man in a mask came out, a spear in hand ready to defend himself. However, it was too late, and the wolf latched onto an arm, thrashing wildly. He fell to the ground, struggling to get the wolf off himself, shouting in an unknown language. James hurried as quickly as he could, and killed the wolf in a single slash. Swiftly, James moved to pick him up.

“ Go down the corridor. ” he says through gritted teeth. However, James was unable to understand him. The injured man quickly picks up on this and points to where James should go. He follows the man’s directions. He just hoped the man wouldn’t die of blood loss. Soon, they exited the tunnels, and arrived near a large stone gate.

“Hey! We need some medical help!” he shouted at two guards just to get their attention. Seeing the bleeding warrior, they quickly opened the gates and shouted some orders.

One of the gatekeepers motioned for James to follow him. He led James to an infirmary, where the injured man was set on a table, and nurses quickly got to work. Ironwood was ushered to wait outside. He was sure the man would be alright. He had seen people survive worse. He had survived much worse, albeit thanks to his semblance.

He took this time to gaze at the kingdom he had entered. It was all entirely carved out of stone, and rivers of sand flowed throughout. It seemed that the place was divided into levels. Looking up, he saw well-stocked shops and people lounging around. Looking to the lower levels, he saw that it housed the lower classes of society.

They went about their day with little time to rest, it appeared. The higher classes resided at a higher level, while the lower classes resided at lower levels. It was reminiscent of Atlas and Mantle, except that the lower classes here did not seem discontent. He hoped he could learn why that was.

His study of the kingdom was interrupted by a man who motioned for James to follow him. He wore a long, about knee length, cloak which was composed of different fabrics and different designs, all divided into long flaps.

However, it was not unique. It seemed to be the standard garb of the people, people who all wore masks. Some wore a cone shaped mask, while others wore a circular one. They were all brown, with red eyes and a circle of white around them. They also had red and white markings elsewhere on the mask. He also noticed that some also wore a red length of fabric that extended from their chest, to over their head and ending on their back.

As they walked, Ironwood noticed gears here and there. He imagined they kept the sand flowing. He also wondered who designed the place and why it had so many stairs in so many places. The kingdom was practically a maze of stone, sand, and stairs that was built down into the ground. He was grateful he did not live there.

The king, however, was dressed entirely different. It was more akin to a serape, but was still divided into flaps like the other clothing. It was dark brown, with rows of golden circles at the bottom. Another article of clothing covered his shoulders, neck and mouth. It too had circles of gold. His mask was also different. His hair was white from age, and a white flower with five petals was tucked into his ear.

“I thank you for saving one of my soldiers. I cannot begin to explain my gratitude to you. Most don’t understand what it is like for a king to lose a loyal soldier. Or to even just lose a subject to war.” he said. James was grateful the king spoke a tongue he understood. The king’s hands were clasped at his chest as they overlooked the kingdom.

“I can.” The king turned to look at him, but Ironwood could not see his expression under the mask. It could have been anything from surprise to joy. “It feels like you’ve failed not only them, but their family as well. You wonder if here was some way it could have been prevented, or if there was some way to end the war in an instant and end all that death. It feels like you're failing at your greatest duty.”

“So, you do understand. What are you doing so far from your kingdom then?” he asked. James thought for a moment.

“I guess I had the luxury to be away for a moment. I am not the only ruler in my kingdom.”

“A rare and interesting luxury. But if I must be honest, it is one I do not mind not having. As much of a hassle they can be at times, I love them all too much to leave them... Ah, forgive me if I offended you, um,”

“General Ironwood.”

“General Ironwood, yes. I don’t blame you for taking a break from your people. Being a leader can be a hassle, but someone has to do it.”

“But, it is something we take pride in. It is nice to know that we can make a good difference in their lives.” James said. The king hummed in agreement.

“That is true. The People of the Mask are all that I love, I do all I can to ensure that they hurt as little as possible. In return, I do all I can to ensure that they do not see me hurt.”

“No one wants to see their leader hurt. It lowers morale.”

“Not only that, but no one wants to see someone they love hurt. I imagine your kingdom is different than mine, but I know my kingdom. We are a kingdom bound by many rules, 124,044 to be exact, but underlying our rules is love. Our love for each other is the real force that keeps us strong. But uh, don’t let my advisor know I said that.” the king chuckled. “That brings me to why I summoned you. One of our rules is that we always repay our debts, and we owe you a great debt.” With the snap of a finger, a masked person appeared.

“ Yes, King Null? ” he said. 12,404 rules. James was all for rules, but that was too much. He was once again glad he did not live in the desert kingdom.

“This is my advisor, Neun. I suppose I didn’t tell you my name. I am King Null. If there is anything here we can give you, we will grant you it.” He turned to his advisor. “ Prepare a sand-skiff to tour the kingdom please. ”

“ As you wish, my king. ”

As they spoke, the king had his back to Ironwood with his arm and hands behind him, out of sight of the advisor. To his shock, he saw a manifestation of the black scrawl on his arms. But, the king did not flinch as he spoke. When he turned around to Ironwood, he clasped his hands at his chest once more, and the scrawl dissipated. He could see the concern on Ironwood’s face.

“Oh don’t worry about me. I’m still going strong. I must, after all. There's a rule somewhere about that, I'm sure.”

-

“In accordance with rule 115,017, you must view the kingdom by ship before purchasing anything.” explained the king.

“Is there a reason for that?” james asked.

“Yes! But, that rule was passed so long ago we’ve forgotten why.”

“Wouldn’t it be wise to reexamine the rule and determine if it is necessary?”

“No, not particularly. It had use then, and there isn’t any reason it would be useless now. The Kingdom of Façade is like the stone we’ve built our houses into. It is unchanging and constant. Us People of the Mask are like the sand, only drifting through the unchanging rock. We live here and die here, replaced by the next generation. The sands pass through the kingdom and exit the kingdom, replaced by new sand.”

“If I may, I still believe it would be better to reexamine the rule.” Ironwood told the king.

“I suppose we will have to agree to disagree. But, we have a saying among our people: Rules do not exist to bind you. They exist so that you may know your freedoms. It helps many come to terms with our way of life” King Null stated. James though for a moment.

“Hmm… So you and your people look at rules, and do not only see what they do not allow you to do, you also see what they allow you to do.”

“Exactly!” King Null shouted as people waved good evening to him. He wished them a good evening in return, to which they graciously bowed.

“So, suppose we take this ship, and place it on a high vantage point,”

“Yes.” said the king, waving back to the people that waved at him as he passed by.

“And we stand on the ship and view the city, we would still meet the requirements of the rule, correct?”

“... Yes, I suppose we would. Let’s go do that instead! Neun, let us take the sand-skiff off the sand and take it to the nearest high point. Our friend just had a brilliant idea! ”

So, they made a stop and hiked to the nearest vantage point, making a few stops to say hello to passersby, and set down the ship. Ironwood noted how happy they sounded to see him. Standing on the ship, they viewed the kingdom in all its glory.

“ If I may, your majesty, what are we doing? ” the advisor asked, sounding a little tired.

“ Fulfilling rule 115,017, my friend. ” Neun thought for a moment. “There, you’ll find the grocer, and there is the strange things store, and there, is the weapons shop. Oh, Neun, could you please go schedule an appointment with the council concerning this loophole? Thank you. ”

“ Of course. ” Once he was gone, the scrawl emerged on the king’s clasped hands.

“Are you sure it is best to hide that from your people?” James asked.

“They know, but I cannot let them see me hurt. If they see me hurt, they hurt. And because I love them so, if I see them hurt, I hurt. It is best this way. … Now, is there anything we can do to repay you?”

“I have a question for you, if that’s alright.” Ironwood requested.

“Ask away. I will be glad to answer you.”

“Your kingdom and your people all seem so happy, even in a desert like this. From one leader to another, how do you do it?”

“The answer lies in the fabric of society, I believe. There is a word in our language that  conveys what makes our society work, oturatxarpsiuhseg , but it does not translate well. I will do my best to explain it though. Essentially, it is that all the smallest nuances of culture synthesize to influence how people think and act. Our kingdom’s culture is mainly rules, and what isn’t a rule is governed by rules, so every rule, from the shortest, to the lengthiest, from the youngest, to the oldest, makes us, us. We all… we all… we all know that we have each other, and we are all bound and freed by the same rules in the same way. And we all know that as long as we have each other and our rules, together, we can accomplish anything. We all know this, and we all know that we all know. … Oh forgive me, that’s the best way I can think of it for now. I could spend days thinking of the right way to explain it.”

“That’s quite alright. I don’t entirely understand, but I don’t think I can even if you did explain it perfectly to me. Here, rules are supreme, and affect your society and your people in minute ways that creates a society and peoples such as yours. It’s wholly unique. I suppose my kingdom is much the same too: wholly unique. Still, I thank you for the insight King Null.” James courteously replied.

“You are welcome,General Ironwood, but if it helps, I’d say to have a decent enough grasp of the concept. Now, is there anything else we can do for you? I’ll feel bad if all you wanted is to ask a question.”

“Well, there is one thing, but I am not too sure if I could even find it here. But, someone told me to look at the strange things store.”

“Well then, to the strange things store we go!”

-

James left the kingdom rather happy. The strange things store had a beautiful book on stars. It was likely one of the last copies in existence, and thankfully written in the language he understood. A wonderful coincidence.

He had also visited the soldier he saved earlier before he left. He did his best to hide the blush that spread across his face when the man lifted his mask just enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. However, what stood with him was his last sight of the king. A group saw him off, with King Null in the forefront and a few soldiers behind him. He bowed to James, his hands clasped at his chest as the scrawl writhed around his arms, out of the view of his subjects. The black smoke and lettering almost seemed familiar.

To see such strength derived from the love for his people amazed him, and terrified him. He wondered if he loved his people. Of course he did, didn’t he? He knew he cared for the people of Atlas and Mantle, and for their future. Couldn’t that be called love? No, it couldn’t be. To call that love would be an affront to the love that King Null displayed. What he felt was duty, duty born of an Iron Will. And that was fine.

He only wondered one terrifying last thing: did any of his people truly love him?

-

We smash. Hate and anger tear our body up in the midst of blood and battle. Madness-inducing power raises a storm of blood and shrapnel. We battle the red dragon day, after day, after day. We are the iron will. Cursed steel sinks into the darkness of sleep.

The Iron Will will achieve his goal by any means necessary.

If he deem a sacrifice necessary, it will be.

Red blood will fall onto heartless iron.

Those with a heart rest in a soothing dream in the dark.

The heartless find no such comfort in the dark.

Accursed iron had rend that comfort with its will.

#James Ironwood #rwby #nier #the remnant branches #the woe of the wretched #2.6k words

[fallin-4-ya]

The Follies and Vices of You

cedric diggory x reader- part iv of series 

based off the novel and film ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

summary: Being the beloved sister of the incredibly wealthy Mr. Potter, you felt no need to rush into marriage. But one day, when you come to meet a new acquaintance, the proud Mr. Diggory, your views of love and follies change.

warnings: a bit of angst & tension! (gif is not mine, credit to owner!)

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v

‘Maybe it’s that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’ -Jane Austen 

The month of January passed dreadfully slow, as you waited for something interesting to happen. As the snow fell softly onto the ground, thoughts wondered through your head rapidly, most of them involving Mr. Diggory. In fact, he occupied your mind most days. How dreadfully awkward that poor man is, you pondered, and yet how confident. His character never made sense to you, as awfully as he appeared on the outside, you could tell there was much beneath his many layers. But your thoughts were soon interrupted by a knock on the door, it was the post.

‘From Miss Ginerva, Miss Y/N.’ You smiled and nodded thankfully. Excited, you ripped the letter open and the inside read,

My Dearest Miss Y/N, I hope my letter find you very well. How dreadful these past few days have been, for all of this snow has made me think of nothing besides summer time. I was invited to stay at my brother Bill’s until the end February; Miss Hermione Granger will be attending alongside me, to encourage sisterly bonding. I am sorry to hear that Mr. Malfoy has resided back to his home up north, but I do hope that he continues to write you such pretty verses. I shall be home before the flowers bloom. Be well.

Much love, Ginerva

You sighed thinking of how even more boring the next few months would be without the company of a most dear friend. 

Now that Mr. Malfoy was sent back home, the house was quieter than ever. Between Harry managing the estate, Sirius writing business proposals and Mr. Lupin locked up in the library; you felt most unentertained and gittery. Letters began being sent to you the day after he left, expressing a fondness for you, which kept your boredom to a minimum. You thought long about the letters exchanged between you and Mr. Malfoy; Ginny was certainly right in saying the verses were beautiful. She also urged you that there would soon be a proposal on the line if he kept with the letters, though you secretly hoped it wouldn't be anytime soon.

The next evening, to much of your excitement, you were joined by Mr. Fred and George Weasley for dinner, who were in the company of nobody other than Mr. Diggory. Reaching a hand out for each of the Weasley men, they took it graciously planting a kiss upon it. Extending out to Mr. Diggory as well, he ignored your gesture and simply bowed in your direction. After the questionable gesture from the latter of the men, you lead them to the dining room, where the rest of your family awaited.

The evening was going splendidly, much laughter and wide smiles reigned. That was, until a letter arrived addressed to you from Mr. Malfoy. You excused yourself from the table, to retire to the parlor to read it.

Blushing profusely and smiling at the beautiful verses addressed to you, unaware of the floorboards that creaked viciously behind; you sat on the armchair nearest the window of the parlor. You heard a throat clear at the doorway and shot your head up.

 ‘Mr. Diggory! I am so sorry, I mustn’t have heard of your following.’ Humming to yourself, you gazed out the window, ‘I do love this time of the year, Mr. Diggory. The snow is nothing short of lovely.’

‘Yes, Miss Potter, I do agree that the snow is very beautiful but I must interject and beckon you about some-‘

‘He’s thought to propose, you know. Mr. Malfoy that is. Quite strange, isn’t it; how young girls go to young women with only a proposal.’ You unknowingly interrupted in your dream state.

‘Miss Potter, I truly cannot help but to interject; however, there is a matter of urgency I’d like to discuss.’ Mr. Diggory huffed. Being pulled out of your trance, patience grew thin, you turned your head and snapped, ‘What is it, Mr. Diggory, that you feel so inclined to interrupt me for?’

‘Its addressing Mr. Malfoy. You see I am afraid I must interject on a most sensitive discussion topic.’

‘If you have anything negative to say about Mr. Malfoy, I must urge you that I'm the last person who would be inclined to hear it! And if you have some here to ruin my evening, I am afraid I won’t allow it.’ 

With that you grabbed your coat and trekked out into the falling snow. Footsteps not far behind you, you sped up; unwilling, or rather unwanting of hearing what anybody had to say. The crunching of snow only following you farther, as you followed the angelic pathway to the stone pavilion in the graden. You threw your back against the wall, sighing out deeply. Without a moment of peace Mr. Diggory entered your presence.

‘You cannot marry him’

You were taken aback by his sudden bluntness. Exasperated by his cultivated occurrence of strange actions you cocked your head at him.

‘May I ask you why, Mr. Diggory?’

‘The Malfoy family is least cordial, completely unattached and deranged from society. They are completely unsuitable for a family such as yours.’

‘A family such as mine?! Have you come here to separate an engagement or to insult my family, Mr. Diggory? Or rather, does your sudden interest in my affairs have anything to do with your dislike towards Mr. Malfoy; because believe me, Mr. Diggory, I know well of your disputes with the poor gentleman and will not stop an engagement from happening due to your pride and arrogance.’

‘No, Miss Potter! You know perfectly well that I find your family most respectable. I just find their family uncommony stiff for your reckless behavior.’

‘Reckless behavior! How dare you insult not only my upkeeping but a personality of another. Have you forgotten the follies and vices of you, Mr. Diggory? For who are you to judge another?’

‘Miss Y/N, has it ever occurred to you that you may be too harsh on me or perhaps my light on you may have been caused by the misjudgment of one’s character? I beg of you to enlighten me on why you find me the most disagreeable man.’

‘Well then, I beg you, Mr. Diggory, why you wish to separate a young couple who have grown quite fond of each other?’

‘Because I love you.’

There was a lull and Mr. Diggory halted. ‘I love you most ardently and I could not have you go another day more without you knowing of the likeness I have for you.’

You stood in silence, snow falling ever so godly on you both, speechless. Words clouded your mind, and you wanted to scream, and cry, and love, and erupt all at the same time. But rather than doing any of them, you looked back on him with a haze in your eyes.

‘I would not marry you if you were the last man in the world.’ You said walking away, allowing a tear slip silently from your face.

The next day there was a knock on your bedroom door early in the morning. Mr. Diggory walked in humbled and shy, ‘Miss Y/N, I’ve come to leave this for you. I hope you do me the honor to read it. Thank you much for your time.’

You had not even reached his gaze, for he spoke for too quickly and you were far too angry. Staring at the enveloped with a tear stained face for nearly an hour, you decided to open it.

Dear Miss Potter,

I hope my letter finds you in good health. I do not wish to impose on you again what I have said last night; for I am writing to you today not to remind you of said words, but rather converse upon the accusations you have brought upon me. I urge you that everything in this letter is the truth and have many to testify upon it.

Mr. Draco Malfoy and I had been connected since infancy, for his father, Lucius, and mine worked exceptionally close together. However, as Mr. Malfoy grew he became reckless; he gambled a large portion of his father’s money away and took no responsibilities seriously. Soon thereafter, his father wrote him out of his will, leaving nothing to his son. Mr. Malfoy became desperate for an inheritance; my father later offered him a job which he begrudgingly took. However, not more than seven months of work, he confessed a most passionate love to my sister. It did not take long for us to realize that he was only after her fortune for she was to inherit seven thousand pound a year. She was thirteen at the time and utterly heartbroken.

When my sister had gotten sick mere months later, my mother and I moved to London alongside her to get the best medical help. Unable to access our money without my father present, Mr. Lucius graciously lent us the sum of the bills. Unfortunately, my sister passed with just two months of treatment; she was truly a remarkable young woman. After the mourning, we paid what was due back to the Malfoy family; but for Mr. Draco Malfoy it was not enough. He hounded me for more money; knowing his dispositions I had given him the sum of his ask in hopes that he would become something of himself. He gambled the money away in two weeks. After that, I refused to give him anymore money, cutting him off for good.

Miss Y/N, I am terribly sorry to force the burden of the truth onto you, but I just felt that you ought to know. Please do keep the affairs containing my sister private, as I believe it be a disgrace to her memory to attach her name to one like his. Thank you for the time we have shared.

Yours, Mr. Cedric Diggory

(author’s note: oh my goodness! end of part 4!!! ending on a bit of a cliff hanger... i can't wait for you all to read the final chapter, which will be out soon! as always, let me know if you’d like to be part of this tag list! thank you as always for reading!)

tag list: @freddieweasleyswife @truly-insatiable @annasdani @mullthingsoverinthehotwater

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter headcanon #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #ginny weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #Draco Malfoy #Ron Weasley #hermione granger #pride and predujice #jane austen #draco malfoy x reader #sirius black #remus lupin

[woodworkingpastor]

Come, thou long-expected Jesus Haggai 2:1-9 Second Sunday of Advent, 2019

Lighting the second Advent candle 

Kris Tilley-Lubbs, Gavin and Graeme Robinson

Come, thou long-expected Jesus! Born to set thy people free,

from our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.

Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art,

dear desire of ev’ry nation, joy of ev’ry longing heart.

We light this second Advent candle as a sign of our persistent faith that Jesus’ all-sufficient merit we will know the peace of God.

We rejoice—even as we wait and work—in anticipation of Godly things yet to be revealed.

A friend of mine once stopped by the Post Office in his town so that he could mail a package.  It happened to be late in the afternoon, about 30 minutes before the Post Office was set to close on that day.  So my friend went into the Post Office and took his place at the end of the line.  After a few minutes, it was his turn at the desk, and having lived in that town for a long time, he was acquainted with the person who was waiting on him.  

It was obvious to my friend that the Postmaster was having a bad day, so my friend, trying to cheer him up, said, “Well, just hang in there; it’s not long until you’re done,” to which the Postmaster replied. “Yes indeed!  23 days!”

It was clear that the Postmaster was measuring time in a very different way from my friend.

Come, thou long-expected Jesus

You’ve noted that our hymn focus for this Sunday is the Advent hymn Come, thou long-expected Jesus.  This one reference from the end of verse one—dear desire of ev’ry nation—takes us to the Old Testament book of Haggai for context.

This little Old Testament book—just 2 chapters and 37 verses long—is highly unusual among the minor prophets in the Bible.  A bit of orientation is helpful:

The major prophets (Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel) are so named because their length would essentially fill an entire scroll.

The minor prophets (the next 13) are so named not because they are less important but because combined they fit on a scroll.  These cover a several hundred-year period.

All of the prophetic books relate to the historical books of the Old Testament, generally providing spiritual commentary on the historical accounts of those books.  What is challenging about the prophets—especially the minor prophets—is that it can often be difficult to fit them in to the storyline.  Knowing specifically what they’re critiquing is often a challenge.

What makes Haggai such a unique part of the Bible is that it is so datable. It slides into the Biblical story between Ezra 5:1 and 5:2, telling of the time 66 years after the destruction of Jerusalem when the people have been allowed to return home from exile and begin rebuilding their city after it had been destroyed by the Babylonians.

This was a interesting generation of people. Some of the people in Haggai’s congregation had never been to Jerusalem before; they had been born in exile. Some of the people were old enough to remember what it had looked like before.  Some of the people had never left or had moved in at some point along the way.  But all of these people have a task given to them by God: rebuild the Temple.

But things look quite bleak.  The time reference is actually a double clue to how bleak things are:

In the second year of King Darius, in the seventh month, on the twenty-first day of the month. The people are indicating time by a foreign monarch. If you think about it for a minute, you can probably imagine why this is significant.  They aren’t powerful enough to measure time by their own leaders.  It would analogous to those bumper stickers you see from time to time that have the date of the next Presidential inauguration on them, or people who get upset when they are out in public and see instructions written in both English and Spanish.  All of that does make a statement about the times in which we live.

By our calendar, this is October 17, 520 bce.

Significantly, however, it is the sixth day of the seven day “festival of booths,” the time when the people were to live and eat outside their homes as a way of commemorating the Exodus from Egypt.

So let’s put this together:  Haggai speaks to the people in real time, about real things. (All the prophets do; only this time we can see it.) This is not a generic “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life” and not a promise about “a better day” somewhere down the road.  On a date we can measure, into circumstances we can understand, God gives Haggai some words to say to people who are trying to rebuild the temple while celebrating the Exodus from Egypt when the recent “second Exodus” from Egypt that they had been promised in seems like a scam.

The people are trying to rebuild their lives and determine where God is in the midst of this.  But they are tired and discouraged; and it doesn’t help that the generation of people who remembered what the old temple looked like all those years ago are hanging around, criticizing the younger generation on how puny their efforts seem. And if you read Ezra chapters 1-4, you can almost hear these persons saying, “back in my day, we had a real Temple.”

But their celebration is a reminder of God’s constancy and generosity. “Those people who left Egypt didn’t look all that remarkable, either. But look what God did for them.  Can you imagine what God might do for you?”

This is why the date is so helpful for us to understand.  Yes, Darius’ decrees govern their lives.  But so does the festival they are celebrating, a festival to God’s faithfulness. And so the word of the Lord came to the prophet Haggai on this 17th day of October, 520 bce, encouraging the people to keep building the temple.

It was no great secret that the current building project was different from that of former times.  But the people were in a different place: they had neither the money nor the power nor the workforce to build a temple like their old one.  But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, first, that God was with them just as certainly as God had been with their ancestors during the construction of the first temple, and at all other times in between.  God’s presence did not depend on how big a temple they could build. God called them to be faithful where they are, not where others had been. They certainly had reasons to be discouraged; no one would question that.  But they also had a great heritage to look back upon, a long history of understanding God’s faithfulness as they continued building this temple for future generations.

Haggai’s message still calls us to remember God’s faithfulness in the past but live in the present and build for the future, so that we and those who come after us will know the peace of God.

The point was, second, that God was coming to fill this house, and it would be glorious.  “The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts.”  What are we more interested in—having something big to show for God, or having God’s presence fill our lives?  

It is this second promise that is the connection to this week’s hymn, Come, thou long expected Jesus.  The phrase “desire of all nations” shows up in several Advent hymns—it is in O Come, O Come, Immanuel as well.

In context, this promise likely has a very practical, earthly meaning.  When the people had been taken into captivity in Babylon, the silver and gold from the temple had been plundered.  But God would see to it that the temple would be restored to its glory by the return of those precious things.

But Christians have seen something else in this phrase: the promise of the Savior. In these lyrics by Charles Wesley, the last line of verse 1 contains the reference from Haggai 2:7, “dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart.” It’s not certain, but this may be an illusion to the popular saying of Blaise Pascal that, “There is a God shaped vacuum in the heart of every person that cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God, the Creator.”  Jesus is the one who has come to reunite us in relationship with our Father in heaven.

Charles Wesley was also thinking about the difficult plight of children in England during this era as he wrote this hymn, being well aware of the great class divides that existed among people. Living in a monarchy, he was aware that the odds of being born a king were infinitesimal, and yet, here was Jesus “born a child and yet a king” who would one day “raise us to [His] glorious throne” where we would know the shalom of Christ promised in Haggai 2:9.  It is that promise that makes this a beloved Advent hymn, reminding us of Jesus’s work in our own lives.

Our calling

It is the job of every generation to measure time and commitment by what God is doing in their lives, not in the lives of something else.  Like the Postmaster in my friend’s hometown, we so easily forget our calling when we compare ourselves to other generations. But we are ultimately not called to live in the past. We are called to be in relationship with Jesus now, serving him in the time in which we have, as we wait for Jesus to either call us home or come again.

[heavens-light-and-hells-ice]

Letter from Rosaire to Emmereaux, regarding his suit.

To the right worshipful Baron Emmereaux Dufresne be this letter taken, and through its ineloquent pages be conveyed the respect and greetings of its sender, Rosaire Ledigne.

Most worthy and honorable lord, I recommend me unto you in mine humblest wise, hoping to hear of your welfare and that of your family. For while to this date I have not enjoyed the pleasure of your acquaintance, I have long known of House Dufresne and its industry and virtue, and known, too, the shrewdness and magnanimity of Lady Eliane, under whose leadership your Bellworks and its men and women have prospered. Long have I regretted that circumstances prevented my introduction to the man who founded that enterprise and raised such a capable and excellent woman, and I pray that my letter today opens, regardless of the conclusion of its business, the possibility of a long-lasting and amicable acquaintance between us.

Nevertheless I duly confess that such is not my main impetus in writing to you. It is rather to discuss with you a woman who was, in recent moons, made ward of House Dufresne, one Gwenneth Gilrouis. I have had the blessing of this excellent woman's friendship for a little over a twelvemoon, time enough to observe that, in addition to her admirable capabilities as a negotiator for your business, she is possessed of great refinement, sensibility, intellect, and piety. These qualities, married to her personal charms, no doubt give you great optimism that she may someday make a fine match with some worthy suitor drawn from the very best of our nation's Hyuran families, lofty in spirit and accomplishments and, with the Fury's blessing, birth; and through such a match she might not only secure her own felicity but also cement, for your great House, a new connection by which the growth and prosperity of two families may be assured. The many recommendations of your ward allow both you and her to be selective and patient; I would not at all wish otherwise, as she is also my friend, and I desire naught more than what is best for her and her happiness.

Therefore do I not only anticipate but welcome your skepticism when I express, with no slight bashfulness, mine own interest in seeking, if your lordship permits, her hand.

If I did not state them here, you would still and soon learn the many points in my disfavor as a suitor for Miss Gwenneth, so I will not do you the discourtesy of eliding them: I am a son of the House of Saincourant and a great-grandson of House Fortemps, born in the fifteen-hundredth and twenty-seventh year of the Sixth Astral Era, and for more than thirty of my years I served the Supreme Sacred Tribunal and Her Inquisition before my health forced my retirement. I am no hale young knight, no bright young man at the beginning of his heroic career, not even born of the same race as your ward. If I am by these measures judged suitable to be anything to her, it is mayhap to be a friend and advisor, one who looks upon her with paternal and protective regard -- not one who should even think to speak of himself and matrimony, regarding her. If you were to decide your consent, as her guardian, based on these considerations of mine age, my race, my lack of high placement in this new Ishgard in which we find ourselves, and what these traits, in a marriage to a Hyuran ward of your House, would mean in the eyes of society, I would know better than to even make this suit, for you could not possibly bless such a match.

But by making it regardless, I mean no insult to you or your great House. I know I cannot appeal on the basis of surface suitability, and I make no attempt to do so. I beg your consideration instead -- humbly, apologetically -- on the basis of my very deep affection for Miss Gwenneth and my desire to serve her and her well-being. I am no more bound to the Inquisition, and so I would be able, with her consent and your blessing, to devote myself wholly to her, to give her the fullness of my loyalty, and make all that is mine hers, asking nothing for myself. While mine age and illness might make me a poor lover and sad husband to one as full of summer's youth and beauty as she, I can promise that every remaining day She grants me would be applied towards advancing her happiness and comfort, and when Halone calls me back to Her, she will at least be made a widow of some, if not vast, wealth; and if that day should come sooner than later, mayhap it will allow her to marry again, mayhap higher, with the aid of what I have given her.

Nevertheless the difference in our blood may cost both her and your great House some esteem in the eyes of those who see such pairs as outlandish and offensive to orthodoxy. This consideration is grave, and it has caused me much tumult and grief, for I have no wish to inflict such ordeals upon you and her. Yet we live in a new age in which a new truth has been dictated to us: that all Ishgardians are descended of the Knights Twelve, and that we are all of the same blood, though our looks be different. For certain, this account will not stop all judgment of such matches as might be between Miss Gwenneth and I, for it has never been tradition for Hyur and Elezen to bind themselves to one another -- openly. Yet what logical argument could such detractors make if they also claim to back the Lord Commander's position? A cost you would surely still feel, if you were to allow such a union, yet mayhap we have the fortune to live in a moment when that cost becomes less.

But I grant that not all of our citizenry stands ready to welcome this new tide of liberalism, and the sensibilities of many would still be offended by such an affront to tradition. And yet, though it is mayhap indelicate to acknowledge, the relation of Elezen to Hyur is a tradition as old as the latter's settlement in Coerthas. Your forgiveness I beg for my frank speech: I am a man of faith and fierce devotion to our Goddess and Her teachings, and I find it grotesque that highborn society better tolerates its sons engaging in sin, flouting the laws of continence under cover of darkness, than the thought of wholesome, chaste, and holy marriage, obedient to divine commandment and exercised in openness and in Her light, when the participants are of differing races. Such marriage is an Ishgardian tradition older and holier than most, resonant with our people's traditional virtues of piety, righteousness, and duty, rather than with the insularity and prejudice of our forgetful nobility; and when I come before you to seek it, I do so not to insult our traditions but to uphold our best ones.

I intend, too, only respect for the wisdom of the tradition of a suitor seeking the approval of a woman's family, and to be obedient to your final decision as her guardian. I do, however, beg an audience at which we may discuss my suit and I may defend its merits, modest as they are. Even if you judge the chances slim that aught I may say shall move you, I still wish to speak; and though I may not be capable of a lover's heroics in pursuit of his beloved, I dare at least to grasp at the slim chance of success, hoping to be blessed with Her favor and a little bit of happiness.

I shall wait till I receive of you a reply, and pray that She will ever have you and all yours in Her keeping.

Written at the Manor Pepin on this, the 16th Sun of the Third Astral Moon of the tenth year of the Seventh Umbral Era.

Your servant, Rosaire Ledigne

(( @tea-and-conspiracy ))

#ffxiv rp #rosaire ledigne #gwenneth gilrouis #emmereaux dufresne #eliane dufresne #letters #a little teapot

[thomasgmcelwain]

Genesis 19

Genesis 19

1 Now the two angels came to Sodom

And it was evening, Lot sat in

The city gate, would have unshod them.

He rose to meet them like his kin,

Bowed down to greet them to the ground.

2 He said "Here now, my lords, be found

To sleep this night beside my board,

As I am servant, you are lord,

Then rising early you may go

In safety to the next depot."

But they said "No, we'll spend the night

Upon the open square in sight."

3 But he insisted strongly, so

They turned in with him for to go

Into his house. He made a feast,

Baked bread, they ate it without yeast.

I came for the first time to eastern bank

Of the Euphrates. Dusk I had to thank

That from the imams' training school came out

Five young men, by the river walked about

And took me by compulsion, gave me meat

And kept me in the mosque, a special treat,

Until the evening prayers were done. I found

A bed and home for one night. I am bound

The gate of Sodom was no better place

Nor more hospitable. No stranger's face

Was seen but recognized as face of God.

Beloved, I find Your face wherever mine

Is recognized by what small mark and sign.

The kernel's sweet, though we see only pod.

4 Before they could lie down, the men

Of Sodom, old and young again,

From every quarter, here they came

All to surround the house for shame.

5 They called to Lot and said "Where are

The men who came to you tonight?

Bring out the guests from near or far

And let us get acquainted right."

From loving contemplation of the face

The evil heart will without guide give place

To lust, and lust bring forth at last the fruit

Of violence in rape to follow suit.

So great and civilized reduced in lust

And violence, sank faith to humble dust.

The heart imagines shining faith to be

Its hallmark in any depravity.

The pristine "I" remains divine through all

The byways of transgression's beck and call.

Beloved, I turn from contemplation of

Your face upon creation's screen of love

And find how easily illusion's pall

Falls on the empty heart without recall.

6 Lot went out to them through the door,

And shut the door behind him, for

7 He said "Please, do not, brothers mine,

Act wickedly, but well and fine!

8 "See now, I have two daughters of

My congregation who've had love

From no man yet. I'll bring them out

And you shall choose without a doubt

Which of you men shall marry them.

But do no harm, do not condemn

These guests of mine, and stay aloof,

For they are guests beneath my roof."

The laws of marriage never fail to stand,

And hospitality to give a hand

To traveller in the way remains for good.

All brothers must behave the way they should,

No matter what the level of their power,

Degree of wealth, no matter what the hour

Or what the vision of Your glory be.

The mystic state does not set any free

From duty to obey the divine law.

Just as the master of high algebra

Does not give up the simple two plus two,

I bow to ethics even in the pew

Of mystic brotherhood. Beloved, the roof

Casts shadows on the friend and the aloof.

9 They said "Stand back! This one came in

To live here and tell us what's sin.

Keep acting as a judge and we

Shall deal worse with you than with them.

You certainly shall not go free."

So they pressed hard, Lot tried to stem

The tide against him, but in vain,

They nearly broke the door in twain.

10 The men reached out their hands and took

Lot in the house, shut door, 11 and struck

The men who were at the doorway

Of the house with blindness, they say,

Both small and great, and so they wore

Themselves to rags to find the door.

Blindness on blindness does not stop the go

To find the door to heaven and to show

Both self and world that I am never wrong

Though rightness cannot taste my weary song

In truth. The frantic flight toward the sky

In search of spirituality and pie

Does not give up though clouds of dark and mist

Protect the frozen heights of thought, insist

That on the sunny side of firmament

There is the gold-filled pot to which I'm sent.

I shall beat down the door and show I'm brave

Who search for You, Beloved, not like a slave,

But with a virile sense ignoring doom,

A man who knows his place and well-stocked room.

12 Then the men said to Lot, "Have you

Anyone else here? Son-in-law,

Your sons, your daughters, and whom you

Have in this grand basilica,

Take all and leave this wretched place!

13 "We will destroy this place, because

The outcry of their breaking laws

Has grown great in front of YHWH's face,

And YHWH has sent us to destroy it."

14 So Lot went out not to enjoy it

But warning to his sons-in-law,

Who'd married his daughters, his awe

Did not affect them when he said

"Get up, and leave this place, for YHWH

Will spoil this city!" But his head

Was foolish to his sons-in-law

Who were not worth the talking to.

This world is upside down, and yet its folk

Walk upright as it were. My faith, I poke

My head around the corner just to see

How civilized upside down things can be.

All things continue as they ought and should

Since time was made, and mount and valley stood.

And yet a day can come when all things change,

When narrow breaks out in a further range

Of mountains, smoke on valleys, rising seas.

Who spoke of variance from routine lees

Met storms of ridicule. I make my days

Eventless, yet unique in all their ways

As I seek You, Beloved, each day anew,

Infinities of stays in what You do.

15 When morning dawned, the angels urged

Lot to hurry, "Get up, diverged,

Take wife, both daughters who are here,

Lest you be consumed in the fear

And punishment of Sodom." 16 And

While he lingered, they took his hand,

His wife's and both his daughters' too,

Since mercy came to him from YHWH,

And brought him out as they had pity,

And set him down outside the city.

Lay hold on me, Beloved, I linger here

Beneath the rosy dawn. I have no fear.

Is it not good I have no fear at all?

Is it not grand my hearing of Your call

Has well inured me to the fateful ball,

And left me set apart, serene and calm

While others frantically avoid the bomb,

The others being angels even? My

High state of spirituality, so high,

Prevents any response to hue and cry.

Is it not fine, Beloved, I know no rage

And sit emotionless from age to age?

They are but prisoners of dark illusion,

(Are they not?) who succumb to the confusion.

17 It happened, when they'd brought them out,

He said "Escape, don't turn about!

Don't look behind you, no, nor stay

Anywhere in the plain or way.

Go to the mountains, lest you be

Destroyed." 18 Then Lot spoke to them, he

Said "Please, no, O my lords! 19 "Indeed

Now, I, your servant, in my need,

Have found grace in your sight, and you

Have multiplied the mercy you

Have shown me by saving my life,

But I can't escape with my wife

Into the mountains, lest some danger

Come overtake me while a ranger

And I die. 20 "See now, this city

Is near enough for me to flee,

And it's a small one, please now give

Me leave to go there and to live."

The city is a symbol of Your beauty,

Beloved, and so I live in one as duty.

The duty to bring to the civilized

The divine message should be realized.

The mystic cup kept to oneself alone

In time turns fat and meat to tasteless bone.

So let me join the throngs in some bright city

Where men are great and women know no pity.

If I should have to live on mountain slope

Who knows what evil might destroy my hope,

Who knows what tender flowers after the rain

Might clog my path to wealth and mystic gain?

Let my soul live near possibilities

And not beneath the stars and awful trees.

21 And he said to him, "See, I grant

You your request as habitant,

And shall not overthrow this city

For which you have appealed in pity.

22 "But hurry and escape there quickly.

For I must wait for you and prickly

Till you arrive, so I can act.

That is part of my promised pact."

That's why Zoar's the city's name,

And it means small, but not to blame.

23 The sun had risen upon the land

When Lot entered Zoar with his band.

24 Then YHWH rained brimstone down with fire

On Sodom and Gomorrah, ire

From YHWH out of the heavens come

25 So He destroyed them, made them dumb,

And all the plain, the people in

The cities, and what grew for bin.

I understand Your killing all the people

And breaking down both wall and dome and steeple

With fire and brimstone fully justified.

But everything that grew on the ground died.

Are plants and flowers sinful, and is fruit

Worth nothing in Your sight, like dust and soot?

Ah, kill the worried people, Lord, but spare

The violet and coltsfoot, make not bare

The lovely earth, the fragrant ground and soil.

Curse not again the earth for human toil.

Keep brimstone on the city and the fashion,

But when it comes to wild wood, have compassion.

My I-ness with a curious willingness

Relinquishes the people You would bless.

26 But his wife looked back behind him,

Became a tower of salt for whim.

The wife of Lot, she was a comely lot

Of sack, and popular for what she'd got.

Salt of the earth, they said who knew her best.

Shoulders and head she stood above the rest.

She knew the score, and kept her man in hand,

Her husband so susceptible to grand

And noble visions, quite up in the air.

But Lot's wife handled more than was her share.

She looked back to be sure nothing forgotten

Preyed on her mind, not gold, linen or cotton.

She looked back on a life ordered, well kept,

And stood to take a hand, and stood, and slept.

Who handles well the world and life and show

Remains asleep, and salted down to mow.

27 And Abraham went early out

To where he and YHWH'd stood about.

28 Then he looked toward the city plain,

To Sodom and Gomorrah's pain,

And toward all the land of the plain,

And he saw, and indeed, the smoke

Of the land about which God spoke

Went up like smoke from a furnace.

29 And it happened, that, when alas,

Ælohim spoiled the cities on

The plain, that Ælohim went on

To mind Himself of Abraham,

And sent Lot out of all the sham

And spoil, when He destroyed the place

Where Lot had lived and shown his face.

I look at rosy dawn toward the place

Your Angel stood, and see again his face

Set in compassion and in well-sought duty.

I see again Your Angel in his beauty.

The burning love You hold to all mankind

Will not be satisfied with torn and blind,

But must take of the first and best of all

To sacrifice in sweetness and in gall.

I turn toward the flames of charity

And feel the hotness on my face, I see

The longing fires sprung quickly from Your heart

To cleanse the soul in every nook and part

Of othernesses and of other gods,

Till You alone are left above the clods.

30 Then Lot went out of Zoar and lived

Up in the mountains, negatived

Had been his living in Zoar for

Himself and both his daughters, more

Could not be borne, and so he went

To live in caves instead of tent.

31 Now the firstborn said to the younger,

"Our father, leader without hunger

Of this diminished dervish order,

Is old, and there's nor man nor boarder

To marry us in all the earth.

32 "Come, let us make our father-priest

Of congregation and of worth

Drink wine of ecstasy. At least

He'll marry us and thus preserve

His line of children and not swerve."

Afraid to live among the riot ways

Of city nights and polished city days,

Lot takes two women from his congregation

To build on ashes towards another nation.

And yet his scruples as a man of God

Will not permit him to plough up the sod.

Loss, loss is all a man can ever find

In Zoar or in Sodom with the blind.

He offered them in marriage to blind fools

Who came at last in refuge to the pools

Of solitude and duty. Sometimes there

Is nothing left but water and still air.

Bless then, Beloved, the refugee and star,

The wandering satyrs wherever they are.

33 So they made their father and priest

Drink wine of ecstasy increased

That very night and the first born

Contracted marriage and was sworn,

And consummated though he knew

Not when she came nor when withdrew.

34 It happened on the next day too

The firstborn told the younger, "Do

As I did with our father-leader,

Let him drink wine, become conceder,

And enter marriage contract so

You shall lie with him to make grow

The line of our father and beau."

If wine of ecstasy is what is taught

In this crude story or if wine that's bought

From liquor outlet is intended here,

It makes but little difference, I fear.

The story is a warning for both things,

The weaknesses of labourers and kings.

I drink the clear draught of water of life

I find served at Your table, and not strife.

Beloved, I find the drunkenness You give

Makes mind and senses clearer where I live.

The heady realizing You are One

Is stronger stimulation than the fun

Of drinking and carousing. You are my

Sane knowing, my Beloved, without the pie.

35 Then they made their father drink wine

Of ecstasy and countersign

A contract of wedding and so

The younger lay, nor did he know

When she lay down nor when she rose.

36 So both young ladies as they chose

Were pregnant by the priestly throes.

37 The firstborn gave birth to a son

And called his name Moab when done.

He is ancestor to this day

Of Moabites. 38 The younger's way

Was to give birth to son also

And Ben-Ammi was his chapeau.

He's ancestor to Ammon now

Or till the last day anyhow.

The two last members of Lot's hearth cry out

In anguish at the wicked world about.

They fear the faith in You, Belovèd, ends

Since they and Lot alone remain Your friends.

If the last coal upon the hearth grows cold,

No longer shall the sparks fly up and bold

Hearts whirling, whirling there shall cease.

The wicked world is gone, their isle of peace

Contains the leader of the faith and them

Alone to bow before the seamless hem.

He will not in his faithfulness agree

To take advantage of the souls that be

Beneath his sole protection, then we must

Bind fast the marriage contract and but trust."

#The Beloved and I