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Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapters 1-2

PLAYING PILGRIMS.

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress.

"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff.

"We've got father and mother and each other," said Beth contentedly, from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly,—

2 "We haven't got father, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say "perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone,—

"You know the reason mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for every one; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't;" and Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that. I agree not to expect anything from mother or you, but I do want to buy Undine and Sintram for myself; I've wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a bookworm.

"I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth-brush and kettle-holder.

"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing-pencils; I really need them," said Amy decidedly.

"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.

"I know I do,—teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining tone again.

"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to fly out of the window or cry?"

"It's naughty to fret; but I do think washing dishes and keeping things tidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross; and my hands get so stiff, I can't practise well at all;" and Beth looked at her rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy; "for you 3 don't have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice."

"If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if papa was a pickle-bottle," advised Jo, laughing.

"I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary," returned Amy, with dignity.

"Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money papa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! how happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who could remember better times.

"You said the other day, you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money."

"So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are; for, though we do have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say."

"Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle.

"Don't, Jo; it's so boyish!"

"That's why I do it."

"I detest rude, unlady-like girls!"

"I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"

"'Birds in their little nests agree,'" sang Beth, the peace-maker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the "pecking" ended for that time.

"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. "You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were a little girl; but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady."

"I'm not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking 4 down a chestnut mane. "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China-aster! It's bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman!" And Jo shook the blue army-sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room.

"Poor Jo! It's too bad, but it can't be helped; so you must try to be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough head at her knee with a hand that all the dish-washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its touch.

"As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are altogether too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now; but you'll grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant; but your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang."

"If Jo is a tom-boy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?" asked Beth, ready to share the lecture.

"You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg warmly; and no one contradicted her, for the "Mouse" was the pet of the family.

As young readers like to know "how people look," we will take this moment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat knitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly without, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable old room, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain; for a good picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses, chrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a pleasant atmosphere of home-peace pervaded it.

Margaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft, brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt; for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were 5 very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty; but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders had Jo, big hands and feet, a fly-away look to her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a woman, and didn't like it. Elizabeth—or Beth, as every one called her—was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression, which was seldom disturbed. Her father called her "Little Tranquillity," and the name suited her excellently; for she seemed to live in a happy world of her own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved. Amy, though the youngest, was a most important person,—in her own opinion at least. A regular snow-maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow hair, curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying herself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters of the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.

The clock struck six; and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls; for mother was coming, and every one brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got out of the easy-chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she was as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.

"They are quite worn out; Marmee must have a new pair."

6 "I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth.

"No, I shall!" cried Amy.

"I'm the oldest," began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided—

"I'm the man of the family now papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special care of mother while he was gone."

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth; "let's each get her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves."

"That's like you, dear! What will we get?" exclaimed Jo.

Every one thought soberly for a minute; then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I shall give her a nice pair of gloves."

"Army shoes, best to be had," cried Jo.

"Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said Beth.

"I'll get a little bottle of cologne; she likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," added Amy.

"How will we give the things?" asked Meg.

"Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?" answered Jo.

"I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the big chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles," said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea, at the same time.

"Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping to-morrow afternoon, Meg; there is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back and her nose in the air.

7 "I don't mean to act any more after this time; I'm getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about "dressing-up" frolics.

"You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards," said Jo. "We ought to rehearse to-night. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that."

"I can't help it; I never saw any one faint, and I don't choose to make myself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll drop; if I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful; I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol," returned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.

"Do it this way; clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying frantically, 'Roderigo! save me! save me!'" and away went Jo, with a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.

Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and jerked herself along as if she went by machinery; and her "Ow!" was more suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun, with interest.

"It's no use! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laugh, don't blame me. Come on, Meg."

Then things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages without a single break; Hagar, the witch, chanted 8 an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect; Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild "Ha! ha!"

"It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows.

"I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare!" exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.

"Not quite," replied Jo modestly. "I do think 'The Witch's Curse, an Operatic Tragedy,' is rather a nice thing; but I'd like to try Macbeth, if we only had a trap-door for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part. 'Is that a dagger that I see before me?'" muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do.

"No, it's the toasting fork, with mother's shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth's stage-struck!" cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter.

"Glad to find you so merry, my girls," said a cheery voice at the door, and actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady, with a "can-I-help-you" look about her which was truly delightful. She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the gray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world.

"Well, dearies, how have you got on to-day? There was so much to do, getting the boxes ready to go to-morrow, that I didn't come home to dinner. Has any one called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look tired to death. Come and kiss me, baby."

While making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things off, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy-chair, drew Amy to her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The girls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own way. Meg arranged the tea-table; Jo brought wood and set chairs, dropping, overturning, and clattering everything she touched; Beth trotted to and fro between parlor and kitchen, quiet and busy; while Amy gave directions to every one, as she sat with her hands folded.

9 As they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly happy face, "I've got a treat for you after supper."

A quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth clapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up her napkin, crying, "A letter! a letter! Three cheers for father!"

"Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through the cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving wishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls," said Mrs. March, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.

"Hurry and get done! Don't stop to quirk your little finger, and simper over your plate, Amy," cried Jo, choking in her tea, and dropping her bread, butter side down, on the carpet, in her haste to get at the treat.

Beth ate no more, but crept away, to sit in her shadowy corner and brood over the delight to come, till the others were ready.

"I think it was so splendid in father to go as a chaplain when he was too old to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier," said Meg warmly.

"Don't I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan—what's its name? or a nurse, so I could be near him and help him," exclaimed Jo, with a groan.

"It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of bad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug," sighed Amy.

"When will he come home, Marmee?" asked Beth, with a little quiver in her voice.

"Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his work faithfully as long as he can, and we won't ask for him back a minute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter."

They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair with Beth at her feet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on the back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter should happen to be touching.

Very few letters were written in those hard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent home. In this one little 10 was said of the hardships endured, the dangers faced, or the homesickness conquered; it was a cheerful, hopeful letter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military news; and only at the end did the writer's heart overflow with fatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.

"Give them all my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by day, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their affection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see them, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these hard days need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to them, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty faithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves so beautifully, that when I come back to them I may be fonder and prouder than ever of my little women."

Everybody sniffed when they came to that part; Jo wasn't ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the end of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she hid her face on her mother's shoulder and sobbed out, "I am a selfish girl! but I'll truly try to be better, so he mayn't be disappointed in me by and by."

"We all will!" cried Meg. "I think too much of my looks, and hate to work, but won't any more, if I can help it."

"I'll try and be what he loves to call me, 'a little woman,' and not be rough and wild; but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere else," said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much harder task than facing a rebel or two down South.

Beth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army-sock, and began to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing 11 the duty that lay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all that father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy coming home.

Mrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo's words, by saying in her cheery voice, "Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrim's Progress when you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me tie my piece-bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks and rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the cellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the house-top, where you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a Celestial City."

"What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and passing through the Valley where the hobgoblins were!" said Jo.

"I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled down stairs," said Meg.

"My favorite part was when we came out on the flat roof where our flowers and arbors and pretty things were, and all stood and sung for joy up there in the sunshine," said Beth, smiling, as if that pleasant moment had come back to her.

"I don't remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar and the dark entry, and always liked 12 the cake and milk we had up at the top. If I wasn't too old for such things, I'd rather like to play it over again," said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things at the mature age of twelve.

"We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are playing all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our road is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the guide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace which is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you begin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can get before father comes home."

"Really, mother? Where are our bundles?" asked Amy, who was a very literal young lady.

"Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth; I rather think she hasn't got any," said her mother.

"Yes, I have; mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being afraid of people."

Beth's bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh; but nobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.

"Let us do it," said Meg thoughtfully. "It is only another name for trying to be good, and the story may help us; for though we do want to be good, it's hard work, and we forget, and don't do our best."

"We were in the Slough of Despond to-night, and mother came and pulled us out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of directions, like Christian. What shall we do about that?" asked Jo, delighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull task of doing her duty.

"Look under your pillows, Christmas morning, and you will find your guide-book," replied Mrs. March.

They talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table; then out came the four little work-baskets, and the needles flew as the girls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but to-night no one grumbled. They adopted Jo's plan of dividing the long seams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when 13 they talked about the different countries as they stitched their way through them.

At nine they stopped work, and sung, as usual, before they went to bed. No one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano; but she had a way of softly touching the yellow keys, and making a pleasant accompaniment to the simple songs they sung. Meg had a voice like a flute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a cricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always coming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoilt the most pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could lisp

"Crinkle, crinkle, 'ittle 'tar,"

14 and it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer. The first sound in the morning was her voice, as she went about the house singing like a lark; and the last sound at night was the same cheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar lullaby.

II. A Merry Christmas.

II.

A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was so crammed with goodies. Then she remembered her mother's promise, and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guide-book for any pilgrim going the long journey. She woke 16 Meg with a "Merry Christmas," and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke, to rummage and find their little books also,—one dove-colored, the other blue; and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day.

In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.

"Girls," said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, "mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it; but since father went away, and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you please; but I shall keep my book on the table here, and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good, and help me through the day."

Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her, and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.

"How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the hard words, and they'll explain things if we don't understand," whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters' example.

"I'm glad mine is blue," said Amy; and then the rooms were very still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.

"Where is mother?" asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.

"Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter come a-beggin', and your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman for givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin'," replied 17 Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.

"She will be back soon, I think; so fry your cakes, and have everything ready," said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. "Why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne?" she added, as the little flask did not appear.

"She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion," replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army-slippers.

"How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself," said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.

"Bless the child! she's gone and put 'Mother' on them instead of 'M. March.' How funny!" cried Jo, taking up one.

"Isn't it right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's initials are 'M. M.,' and I don't want any one to use these but Marmee," said Beth, looking troubled.

"It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea,—quite sensible, too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know," said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.

"There's mother. Hide the basket, quick!" cried Jo, as a door slammed, and steps sounded in the hall.

Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.

"Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?" asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early.

"Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean any one should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any more."

As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one; and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced 18 her "a trump," while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.

"You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the minute I was up: and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest now."

Another bang of the street-door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.

"Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books; we read some, and mean to every day," they cried, in chorus.

"Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there; and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?"

They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke; only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously,—

"I'm so glad you came before we began!"

"May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" asked Beth, eagerly.

"I shall take the cream and the muffins," added Amy, heroically giving up the articles she most liked.

Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one big plate.

"I thought you'd do it," said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. "You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinner-time."

They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party.

A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bed-clothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of 19 pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.

How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in!

"Ach, mein Gott! it is good angels come to us!" said the poor woman, crying for joy.

"Funny angels in hoods and mittens," said Jo, and set them laughing.

In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls, meantime, spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds,—laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.

"Das ist gut!" "Die Engel-kinder!" cried the poor things, as they ate, and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze.

20 The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered a "Sancho" ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it; and when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

"That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it," said Meg, as they set out their presents, while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.

Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles; and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table.

"She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about, while Meg went to conduct mother to the seat of honor.

Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched; and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents, and read the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a "perfect fit."

There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home-festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.

The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theatre, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and—necessity being the mother of invention,—made whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions,—pasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned 21 butter-boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond-shaped bits, left in sheets when the lids of tin preserve-pots were cut out. The furniture was used to being turned topsy-turvy, and the big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels.

No gentlemen were admitted; so Jo played male parts to her heart's content, and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet-leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures, and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece; and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.

On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled on to the bed which was the dress-circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp-smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the Operatic Tragedy began.

"A gloomy wood," according to the one play-bill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes-horse for a roof, bureaus for walls; and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it, and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark, and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside; then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouched hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much 22 agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern, and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding "What ho, minion! I need thee!"

Out came Meg, with gray horse-hair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter:—

"Hither, hither, from thy home,

Airy sprite, I bid thee come!

Born of roses, fed on dew,

Charms and potions canst thou brew?

Bring me here, with elfin speed,

The fragrant philter which I need;

Make it sweet and swift and strong,

Spirit, answer now my song!"

A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang,—

"Hither I come,

From my airy home,

Afar in the silver moon.

Take the magic spell,

And use it well,

Or its power will vanish soon!"

And, dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition,—not a lovely one; for, with a bang, an ugly black imp appeared, and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo, and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, Hugo departed; and Hagar informed the audience that, as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she has cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.

A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again; but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage-carpentering had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb! A tower rose to the ceiling; half-way up appeared a window, with a lamp burning at it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut love-locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang 24 a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied, and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope-ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down, when, "Alas! alas for Zara!" she forgot her train,—it caught in the window; the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins!

A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck, and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, "I told you so! I told you so!" With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside,—

"Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right!"—and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by the fall of the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old gentleman, and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara: she also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains, and led them away, looking very much frightened, and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.

Act third was the castle hall; and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming, and hides; sees him put the potions into two cups of wine, and bid the timid little servant "Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall come anon." The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the "minion," carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and, after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies; while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.

This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose 25 singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.

Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself, because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true, but in danger, and he can save her, if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains, and rushes away to find and rescue his lady-love.

Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it; and, after a touching appeal, is about to faint, when Roderigo dashes in and demands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. 26 They shout and gesticulate tremendously, but cannot agree, and Roderigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair, and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage, till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the "stern sire": he consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.

Tumultuous applause followed, but received an unexpected check; for the cot-bed, on which the "dress-circle" was built, suddenly shut up, and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided, when Hannah appeared, with "Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper."

This was a surprise, even to the actors; and, when they saw the table, they looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee to get up a little treat for them; but anything so fine as this was unheard-of since the departed days of plenty. There was ice-cream,—actually two dishes of it, pink and white,—and cake and fruit and distracting French bonbons, and, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot-house flowers!

It quite took their breath away; and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely.

"Is it fairies?" asked Amy,

"It's Santa Claus," said Beth.

"Mother did it"; and Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.

"Aunt March had a good fit, and sent the supper," cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration.

"All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it," replied Mrs. March.

"The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don't know him!" exclaimed Meg.

27 "Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father, years ago; and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse; and so you have a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk breakfast."

"That boy put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us; but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass," said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" of satisfaction.

"You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you?" asked one of the girls. "My mother knows old Mr. Laurence; but says he's very proud, and doesn't like to mix with his 28 neighbors. He keeps his grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn't come. Mother says he's very nice, though he never speaks to us girls."

"Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally,—all about cricket, and so on,—when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day; for he needs fun, I'm sure he does," said Jo decidedly.

"I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman; so I've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He brought the flowers himself; and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went away, hearing the frolic, and evidently having none of his own."

"It's a mercy you didn't, mother!" laughed Jo, looking at her boots. "But we'll have another play, some time, that he can see. Perhaps he'll help act; wouldn't that be jolly?"

"I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!" And Meg examined her flowers with great interest.

"They are lovely! But Beth's roses are sweeter to me," said Mrs. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.

Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, "I wish I could send my bunch to father. I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas as we are."

#hellsitesonlybookclub #Little women #Alcott #bookblr

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simstryingtheirbestok · 1 year

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While Velma was over at her mother's, Felix did what he usually does when left unattended: work on his drinking problem.

Undine needed some fun after her driving lesson, so she got started at the sculpting station.

"What's that black thing blocking the wheel?" Would you believe it's the clay? Because it's the clay. That is exactly how it looks in 64-bit. It's horrible. Once I wrap up these two saves I'm going back to playing on PC. I can't take the nonsense anymore.

#ts3 #ts3 legacy #sims 3 #sims 3 legacy #the sims 3 legacy #planetary legacy #generation mercury #felix jonatan #undine jeffrey

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pennsylvaniabusinessclub · 1 year

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A Unique Experience on Boathouse Row in Pennsylvania

Nestled along the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, lies Boathouse Row – a stunning sight to behold. Home to some of the oldest rowing clubs in the United States, it’s a unique cultural experience that’s not to be missed. Here’s a closer look at this unique Pennsylvania spot and what makes it so special.

A Historic Landmark

Boathouse Row is one of the oldest landmarks in Philadelphia. It was established in the mid-1800s, when the first boathouse was built as a clubhouse for the Schuylkill Navy, an organization dedicated to rowing and sculling. Since then, the area has become home to 15 rowing clubs, making it an important cultural hub for rowing in the United States.

The Boathouses

The boathouses are the main attraction at Boathouse Row. Each of the 15 boathouses has its own unique style and architecture. Some of the most notable designs include the Gothic Revival-style Vesper Boat Club, the Romanesque Revival-style Undine Barge Club, and the Victorian-style Fairmount Rowing Association. In addition, many of the boathouses have been painted in vibrant colors, adding to their beauty and charm. The clubs that occupy the buildings are equally diverse, ranging from recreational clubs to competitive teams. All of them, however, share a common passion: rowing.

Boathouse Row is home to a number of rowing clubs and organizations, each with its own unique history and legacy. The clubs offer a variety of services to their members including boat storage, training, and competitive racing.

The oldest club on Boathouse Row is the Schuylkill Navy of Philadelphia, founded in 1858. The Schuylkill Navy is a non-profit organization that serves as a governing body for amateur rowing in the Philadelphia area. Over the years, the Schuylkill Navy has grown to include more than twenty clubs, including the Vesper Boat Club, founded in 1865, and the Undine Barge Club, founded in 1868.

Other clubs in Boathouse Row include the Fairmount Rowing Association, founded in 1877, and the Pennsylvania Athletic Club Rowing Association, founded in 1885. These clubs offer a variety of services to their members, including boat storage, training, and competitive racing. In addition to these clubs, Boathouse Row is also home to several collegiate rowing teams, such as the University of Pennsylvania and Drexel University.

For those interested in getting involved with rowing in Philadelphia, Boathouse Row is the perfect place to start. With its rich history and legacy, Boathouse Row provides the perfect environment for new and experienced rowers alike to explore the sport and make lasting connections.

The Riverbanks

The riverbanks along Boathouse Row are a sight to behold. On any given day, you can find rowers practicing for their next race or simply enjoying the beautiful views of the river. The area is also home to a number of monuments and statues, including the Fairmount Waterworks, a 19th century water pumping station, and the statue of John B. Kelly, a famous Olympic rower.

Exploring Pennsylvania’s Boathouse Row

Boathouse Row is a great place to explore, especially if you’re looking for a unique Pennsylvania experience. You can wander around and admire the stunning architecture, explore the riverbanks, or even take a rowing lesson with one of the clubs. There are also plenty of events, such as regattas and races, throughout the year.

Whether you’re a local or a visitor, Boathouse Row is a must-see destination. With its rich history and unique culture, it’s an experience you won’t soon forget.

Local Business Profile

Brick Mill Furniture & Custom Woodworking

1000 Commerce Park Drive,

Suite 1000, Williamsport,

PA 17701

(272) 202-3782

www.brickmillfurniture.com

Come to Brick Mill Furniture & Custom Woodworking for all of your custom cabinet needs in Pennsylvania. We specialize in creating beautiful and functional cabinets tailored to your exact specifications. Visit us today and see why we are the top choice for custom cabinets Pennsylvania.

About us:

At Brick Mill Furniture, we take great pride in our craftsmanship. Each piece of furniture is designed with precision and care, using only the finest salvaged, locally sourced wood. Our team of experienced artisans craft each piece of furniture with the utmost attention to detail and quality. Our furniture is designed to last, and will stand the test of time, withstanding the daily wear and tear of life. We strive to create furniture that is not only aesthetically pleasing but is also an investment in quality and craftsmanship. With an uncompromising commitment to quality and customer service, Brick Mill Furniture is your source for handcrafted, one-of-a-kind, custom wood furniture.

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raven-blog-life · 2 years

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What Are Magickal Correspondences?

"Currespondences" . Just as we are all born uder a certain sign of the zodiac, and just as our gender, race, nationality, and individual upbriging influence our characters and personal qualities, so correspondences influence the different elements and tools we might use to perform magick.

Carefully choosing elements with the right correspondences can help to insure the success of your magickal endevours! Below are Wiccan interpretations of elemental correspondences and phases for moon magick.

WICCA GENDER CORRESPONDENCES

Masculine elements are strong and active. Use for protection, purification, hex-breaking, exorcism, lust, sexual potency, health, strength, courage, financial success.

Feminine elements are subtler and softer. Use to attract love, increase beauty, youth, healing, psychic abilities, increase fertility, draw wealth, promote happiness and peace, aid sleep and cause visions.

WICCAN ELEMENTAL CORRESPONDENCES

Earth- A Feminine element.

Direction- North.

Color- green.

Elemental beings are gnomes.

Earth Animals are the wolf, owl, dragon, stag, and wild cats.

Stones are onyx, jade, amethyst, and flourite.

Rules spells dealing with fertility, jobs, money, business, health, ecology and nature, and stability.

Air- A Masculine element.

Direction- East.

Color- yellow.

Elemental beings are sylphs.

Air animals are doves, the wolf, fox, deer, and turtle.

Stones are moonstone, tourquoise, and rhodochrosite.

Rules spells dealing with memory, intellect, test taking, divination and psychic ability, travel, and overcoming addictions.

Fire- A Masculine element.

Direction- South.

Color- red.

Elemental beings are salamanders.

Fire animals are the porcupine, coyote, fox, squirrel, hawk, mouse, deer, bear, and snakes.

Stones are amber, citrine, smoky crystals, gold, and copper.

Fire rules spells dealing with success, sex, illness, protection, legal matters, competitions, strength, and energy.

Water- A Feminine element.

Direction- West.

Color-blue.

Elemental beings are undines.

Animals are all sea mammals and sea birds, fish, night creatures, and the raven.

Stones are silver, river rocks, amethyst, coral, seashells, and rainbow colored crystals.

Water rules spells dealing with love, friendship, meditation, healing, dreams, childbirth, clairvoyance and purification.

WICCA PLANETARY CORRESPONDENCES

Moon- Goddess mysteries, women’s health, the home, children, prophetic dreams, reincarnation, sleep, emotional healing.

Sun- God mysteries, physical health, employment, leadership, prosperity, money, the performing arts and celebrity, self confidence, and new ventures.

Mercury- The intellect, communications written or spoken, teaching and learning, travel, diplomacy, influencing others.

Venus- Inner and outer beauty, love, romance, family, the creative arts, friendship, gardening, peace, happiness, fertility and sexuality.

Mars- Passion, force, power, lust, courage, strength of will, the military, physical exertion, machinery, and competition.

Jupiter- Money, prosperity, success, legal judgements, luck, friendship, investments, social gatherings, ambition, the seeking and granting of favors.

Saturn- Land and real estate, past lives, overcoming self-sabotage, lies, and losses, learning life’s lessons and protection from psychic attack.

Uranus- Unexpected changes, higher consciousness, metaphysics, new inventions, regathering scattered energies, clairvoyance, freedom, and independence.

Neptune- Inner vision and perception, intuition, dreams, divination, chaos, confusion and revolution.

Pluto- Death, transformations, astral travel, the otherworld, materializations, transfigurations, and metamorphosis.

DAILY CORRESPONDENCES

Sunday- Ruled by the Sun. Power, prosperity, health, banishing evil annd excorcism.

Monday- Ruled by the Moon. Intuition, dreams, psychic ability, female fertility, and the Goddess.

Tuesday- Ruled by Mars. Courage, energy, and physical strength. banishing negativity.

Wednesday- Ruled by Mercury. Divination, communications, knowledge, wisdom, and study.

Thursday- Ruled by Jupiter. Good luck, wealth, healing, male fertility, legal matters.

Friday- Ruled by Venus. Love, sex, marriage, fertility and friendship.

Saturday- Ruled by Saturn. Psychic ability, meditation, and communication with spirits.

WICCAN MOON PHASE CORRESPONDENCES

New Moon- New Moon magick begins on the day of the new moon to three-and-a-half days after. Use the energy of the new moon for new ventures and new beginnings. Also use the new moon for love spells, job hunting, and healing.

Waxing Moon- The waxing moon begins seven to fourteen days after the new moon. Use the waxing moon for constructive magick, such as llove spells, magick for wealth and success, courage, friendship, luck or good health.

Full Moon- A powerful energy for rituals of prophecy, divination and protection. Any spellwork that requires extra energy, such as finding a new job or healing serious conditions, is best begun during the full moon. Also for love, gaining sacred knowledge, legal matters, attracting money and prophetic dreams.

Waning Moon- Begin waning moon magick three-and-a-half to ten-and-a-half days after the full moon. The waning moon is used for banishing negativity, for curing addictions, and illness.

New Moon- The energy of the dark moon is useful for working magick against attackers, and for understanding your own angers and passions. Also for rituals designed to bring justice to bear in very negative situations.

The Moon spends a day or two each month in each of the twelve signs of the zodiac. The sign the moon is transiting through can be used to good advantage during spellwork.

Moon in Aries- A good time to perform spells related to job ventures and all new projects related to money. Also a good time to develop strength and courage, and lust spells. This is not a good moon for performing divination.

Moon in Taurus- This moon is excellent for spellwork relatd to love, creativity, and inner peace. Spells done at this time take the longest to manifest, but the results will be very long lasting and be stable.

Moon in Gemini- The perfect time for spells dealing with communications, healing, and uncrossing spells. Be careful- the moon in Gemini can be unpredictable and unstable.

Moon in Cancer- Excellent for any spell involving the home, fertility, children, or divination.

Moon in Leo- Spells involving leadership, prosperity, fame and career are best done in Leo, but do not perform any spells involving love, or any other emotion, as Leo may actually counteract it.

Moon in Virgo- This moon ensures a spell which involves meticulous detail, especially spells involving education, healing, and stability.

Moon in Libra- Excellent for working a spell with a partner, and for magick involving marriage, couples, partnership, peace, and fairness.

Moon in Scorpio- Use this energy for mysteries, the occult, divination, and sex magick.

Moon in Sagittarius- This is an excellent time to experiment with new techniques or magick spells, but it is not a good time for psychic work or divination.

Moon in Capricorn- Perfect for spells to manifest life’s basiic needs and for stability.

Moon in Aquarius- The best time to work on behalf of others, but consciously stay focused on your heart to maintain a higher consciousness with others, and to avoid selfish motives.

Moon in Pisces- Perfect for divination and psychic work, past life regressions, and communication with spirits.

Magickal Tools used in Wicca

Pentagram- Symbol of the element of Earth, all things material, and the Northern Quarter. Pentagrams are also symbolic of the unity of the 5 elements Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit.

Athame- Athames are traditional black-handled daggers, symbolic of the element of Air, all things spiritual, and the Eastern Quarter. Daggers are used to direct and send magickal energy.

Wand- Symbolic of the element of Fire, all things mental, and the Southern Quarter. Wands are also used to direct and send magickal energy.

Chalice- Symbolic of the element of Water, all things emotional, and the Western Quarter.

Altar- The place where magickal symbols and tools are placed for use during a ritual or spellwork.

Book of Shadows- A witch’s spell book and magickal diary, used to construct and record spells and rituals.

Candles- Used to represent the God and Goddess on the altar. Use candles of the appropriate color for the type of spellwork or ritual.

Essential Oils- Used for anointing candles and other ritual objects and tools. Use the oil apporopriate to the purpose desired.

Stones and gems- Crystals carry energy vibrations, and can subtly help to bring the energy vibrations within your body, aura and spellwork into balance. Use gems and stones with vibrations suited to your purpose.

Incense- Incense appropriate to the season, or to the magickal goal, is burned to help attune the witch to the goal of the spell.

WICCAN uses of common incense

Cedar- Purification and protection, spiritual growth andprosperity.

Cinnamon- Love, psychic ability, and protection.

Copal- Purification and cleansing of ritual space and stones.

Dragon’s Blood- Lust, courage, and sexuality.

Frankincense- Protection, spirituality, and consecration of ritual tools

and space.

Jasmine- Love, peace, and prophetic dreams.

Juniper- Exorcism, healing and love magick.

Myrrh- Healing, protection, consecration of ritual tools and space,

meditation.

Pine- Money, purification, and exorcism.

Rose- Love, psychic powers, healing, luck, protection, Domestic peace and

happiness.

Sage- Spiritual growth, healing, and purification of the home and ritual

space.

Sandalwood- Protection, healing, love and spiritual growth.

Vanilla- Love, seduction, mental powers, an aphrodisiac.

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school-of-roses · 3 years

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What are Spirits?

Spirits have many definitions. In general, though, when we reference spirits in terms of spirituality, religion, or magical practice, we are referring to either 1) the immaterial intelligent or sentient part of a person, or 2) a supernatural being or essence. There are multiple categories of spirits, in which an individual entity may be in one or multiple: local spirits, nature spirits, culturally or religiously tied spirits, and deities.

What are Local Spirits?

Local spirits are, well, local to you. They often involve house spirits, plant spirits, and bound spirits.

House spirits are deities or spirits that protect the home, looking after the household or certain members. They’re a common belief in paganism as well as folklore across many parts of the world. They fit into two main types: a specific deity that is often associated with the home and hearth, such as Hestia (Greek) or Frigg (Norse); and animistic deities or other spirits such as brownies (Anglo-Scottish) or domovoy (Slavic). They are recognized in the home via things such as small idols, shrines, amulets, paintings, or reliefs; and would often be treated as members of the family and invited to join in on meals or given offerings of food and drink.

Plant spirits are exactly what they sound like. Plants have spirits, same as anything else. Sometimes they’re well-known, like the dryads in trees or basilisks associated with your basil, and sometimes it’ll take you a hot minute to realize the poison ivy popping up is doing so for a spiritual reason. If you have access to plants, such as a yard or something potted indoors, you may benefit from forming a connection with them.

Bound spirits come one of two ways: they are either spirits left here when their meaty fleshsuit gave up the ghost and the ghost lingered around, or they are spirits of any sort magically tied to an object or place.

Ghosts can stick around for any reason, whether it be something cute like wanting to watch a grandchild grow up for a little while longer, or something sinister like unfinished business and a need for vengeance. It is important to note the difference between a ghost and an impression. If a spirit is doing the same thing at a certain time, every time, like clockwork, there is a good chance that there is no actual ghost, and that something happened that left an impression on the place/land itself that it essentially burned into the very essence of the area. Impressions are often seen in places of great tragedy or trauma, such as battlefields.

Spirits that are magically bound are often tied to objects or areas against their will. How ethical that practice is gets to be a bit tricky, and not everyone agrees on the morality of those practices. Our school does not agree with the practice of non-consensually binding a spirit with the intent on using its energy or abilities to enhance our own practices; however, we do see the necessity of binding a spirit that is otherwise wreaking havoc in an area to contain said spirit, with the expectation that all available resources will be put towards learning what that spirit is (if unknown) and how to appropriately relocate or remove said spirit in such a fashion that minimizes harm for all parties involved.

What are Nature Spirits?

Nature spirits are forces or personifications of the forces of nature. They are often defined by a particular relationship with some specific form or function within the natural environment of the earth. While many categorizations of spirits may find entities also tied to nature, ranging from deities to your friendly local tree spirit, we’ll be discussing the fey and elementals in this category.

The fey (also known as fairies, faeries, fay, fae, and fair folk) are often found in the folklore of multiple European cultures. They have multiple origin stories, and the label does not necessarily have any hard definition. Some use it to refer to specific entities (usually a humanoid with magical powers and a penchant for trickery), whereas others may use it to describe any magical creature, such as gnomes and changelings.

Elementals are generally regarded as inhabitants of one of the occult or primal elements. They are seen as entities that personify a particular force of nature, and exert powers over those forces. Some definitions may refer to any nature spirit as an elemental. Many sources that use the classical elemental system tend to classify the elementals with names for their specific element: all air spirits are referred to as sylphs, all fire spirits are referred to as salamanders, all water spirits are referred to as undines, and all earth spirits are referred to as gnomes.

What are Culturally or Religiously Tied Spirits?

Culturally or religiously tied spirits are spirits associated with particular pantheons or cultures. These may or may not be tied to closed practices, such as angels within the Abrahamic pantheon (generally open, ask first), or the Haitian lwa (closed).

Messengers of gods come in many forms. Their forms tend to run animalistic, humanoid, or the stuff of eldritch nightmares. Signs usually come in the form of dreams or waking visions, or physical signs such as certain plants or animals either being heavily featured or acting out of character. Please note that not all physical signs will involve a person or animal actually approaching you. If you live in the middle of New York City, the chance a wolf is going to trot down Park Avenue to boop its snoot on your hand is incredibly low. If, as an example, someone wishes to use a wolf to give you signs, you are more likely to see them using more modern techniques, such as having wolves being featured more heavily in advertising near you, or people that are wearing wolf hoodies getting in your way constantly until you take the hint.

Minor deities and major messengers tend to blend quite a bit. Gabriel (Abrahamic), a messenger, is an archangel and is quite highly revered. Iris (Greek) is a minor deity that is one of the quintessential messengers within her pantheon.

Negatively associated spirits, such as demons (in any culture) or poltergeists, are entities generally thought to be malefic. This is not necessarily always the case; however, as with any entity, it is best to practice caution when interacting with them. It’s important to be aware there may be spirits that would, in fact, like to cause harm or mayhem in your life (not necessarily because you are important, some entities are just dicks and you may be an easy or otherwise available target), and is even more important to know how to protect yourself and others without needing to obtain that knowledge as an immediate, pressing issue.

Ancestors are the souls of departed family members. Many cultures have one way or another to revere them, and there are people who may find that inviting them in may provide them with benefits such as wisdom from those departed or a sense of peace. Ancestor worship or reverence tends to vary in practice from culture to culture, and with many people now coming from blended backgrounds, you may see more heavily individualized variations. However, it is important to note that dead people are still people, and their wisdom and opinions may not be the most up-to-date or best for you. As with everything else in this lesson, their importance and influence in your life is up to you.

What are Deities?

Deities are gods or goddesses in religions. They are considered to have divine status, quality, or nature; and may be considered to be a creator or supreme beings depending on individual status and/or religion.

Pantheons refer to the groupings of deities and other entities in regards to particular cultures or religions. Every deity will be within at least one pantheon; some, such as one known by names such as Hekate (Greek) or Ereshkigal (Sumerian) may be found in multiple.

What are Offerings?

Offerings are objects or actions given to or done in the name of a specific entity or entities. It is advisable to research what the offered entity enjoys, though going with your intuition is generally safe. Offerings are generally given out of respect or reverence for the entity, though they may also be used for other purposes such as attempting forming relationships or as thanks for something the entity has done.

#school of roses #spirituality #religion #spirits #deities #ghosts #education #fae folk #elementals

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dennou-translations · 3 years

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Violet Evergarden: Booklet 9

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A certain man picked up a wild beast.

It was beautiful to an uncanny extent. Catastrophically foolish. Laughably ignorant and violent.

However, it was also an extremely rare kind of beast, which had attachment for people and obeyed them.

Its fur was golden. Its eyes were a limpid blue.

The beast did not know how to let out a cry, but if trained, it could probably sell for a high price.

Such was the beast that the man had picked.

The man and the beast’s encounter was a result of misfortune, as a great number of people had fallen victim to the beast’s fangs.

The beast followed the man’s back around all the time.

It was a terrifying beast, which devoured humans. He had to hurry and dispose of it somewhere.

Still, the man thought, it would probably be useful in a battlefield.

The man’s occupation was national defense. His status was of naval captain.

A ferocious beast was suitable as a guard dog, and no one would be troubled if the lonely beast lost its life somewhere.

For the man, the beast was not a desired companion, but whatever could be used should be used.

Had he not thrown it away when he was supposed to, the future would have changed drastically.

Violet Evergarden If

“Shirt – not that; the shirt.”

The soft light of dawn shone over Leiden, the capital of Leidenschaftlich. It was a fine season, in which petals of bougainvillea flowers danced about. A beautiful morning. The appearance of the city was divine as sunshine flowed down from the rifts between the clouds, like ladders for the angels. A daylight that caused people to embrace a little bit of hope toward the day called today and the long period called life – that caused such thoughts to appear – was illuminating the city.

On this wonderful day, inside the dormitory of a facility built in the vicinities of Leidenschaftlich’s Ministry of the Navy, a man had fallen into an overcast mood, in contrast with the scenery outside. Although he had woken up a mere few minutes ago, he was irritated. He was not looking at the sunlight coming from the window. Neither did he have any interest in the dancing of the gentle shadows created by the fluttering curtains.

The only thing he had his eyes on was his beast.

“It’s the shirt. You’re not doing that on purpose, are you?”

The man belonged to a privileged class. One could tell that his furnished, private room had been renovated so that its user could live in maximum comfort. Something of the sort was not permitted unless the person was from a social position fitting of it.

He hated the idea of having his own house. He also avoided returning to his home and to a smaller component of his nation, his family.

“‘Shirt’.”

“The shirt. Shirt.”

“‘Shirt’.”

“No, that’s a cufflink. Listen up; I’m gonna say it one more time.”

As he spoke, his voice was low, charming and sullen. His hair, like ink in the color of nightly darkness with a thread of blue mixed in, was long and resembled silk. His deeply carved and delicate facial features would surely be showered with attention from women if he went on a walk in the city. One could tell the fineness of his upbringing with a single glance from his noble beauty.

The man who bore such looks, Dietfried Bougainvillea, was fed up with the girl in front of him, who could not do as much as bring him a shirt. From her appearance, said girl, unshapely clad in the female officer uniform of Leidenschaftlich’s navy, was so young that she had not yet reached her mid-teens. He could be considered much too immature for making an angry face at such a child.

Dietfried grasped her tiny hand, of a size so different from his own, and made her hold onto a white shirt. “Shirt,” he said while glaring at her, as if to give her a lesson. His lips also moved slowly, so that she would understand the pronunciation.

The girl being glared at alternated between looking at the shirt she was made to grab and at her master, who was naked from the waist up. Her big eyes opened even wider as she was attempting to learn something.

Dietfried wanted to start yelling at her immediately, but somehow managed to remain in his current state, accepting her silence and that she took her time.

Eventually, the girl nodded. “‘Shirt’...”

Dietfried exhaled. He let out a breath mixed with both relief and disappointment.

“That’s right; it’s a shirt that I want.”

“This is a shirt.”

“What will you do with that shirt?”

“Captain, it is a shirt.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Just hand it over after you say that. You’re really one handful of a mongrel.”

“A shirt.”

“Enough.”

“Captain, a shirt.”

“Enough already!”

What he was doing was teaching. The girl, who could not even properly say that word, had never had any education. She was an orphan that Dietfried had taken in due to certain circumstances and did not know how to speak very well. Most likely, she was being used by someone else before Dietfried had picked her.

She was definitely a wild beast rather than a person. All she could do was murder people as per her master’s order. She was a bestial girl who was unable to do anything but that. Dietfried had the girl live in one of Leidenschaftlich’s warships, immediately putting her into action for combat should there be any battles at sea, using her as a soldier.

The reason why he was scoring exceptionally good military achievements was that he kept her by his side. As she had the appearance of an infant, she easily incited negligence. She had already displayed her power a number of times by approaching enemy warships on a boat, causing a disturbance by the moment that she was mistaken for a victim and allowed onboard, then taking advantage of it to start a naval attack. It was an inhumane work for a little girl to do.

Dietfried was aware of that. Yet he had made her do it. She had done it countless times.

He had thought she would soon die, but whenever he went to check on the bodies, she was usually the lone survivor. No matter how much he attempted to kill her, to have her killed, she did not die. Instead, she would crush the enemy ships.

“Leidenschaftlich’s Undine” was what the navy soldiers called her now.

If he could not kill her, he had no choice but make her useful. Dietfried despised this girl, who had slaughtered his underlings when they first met, but that time had now passed and was opening up anew. Making use of this girl’s life until she collapsed was also a way to mourn for those who were gone. That was how he thought it over. For that reason, in order to work her hard also as a servant, he was teaching her how to speak.

He had started doing it because of the fact that they had trouble communicating, but Dietfried did not have much talent as an educator. He had been able to climb up to the position of naval captain due to his personal achievements. He was skilled at leading and instructing people, but for lecturing a child like this one-on-one, he was terribly unfit.

“Next, the shoes. Put my shoes on for me.”

“Sho...”

“Here, look at the way my mouth moves.”

“I—am.”

“Shoes. C’mon, try saying it.”

“‘Sho-es’.”

“Say it five times. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes.”

“‘Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

“All right. Now, put my shoes on me.”

“Captain, you mean ‘shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

Clearly unfit.

“Captain.”

“You trash.”

“‘Tra-sh’.”

“Hey, don’t say ‘trash’ to me.”

“What does ‘tra-sh’ mean?”

Dietfried felt like crawling onto the bed he was sitting on and lying down to sulk just like that. In fact, he did hang his head and roll onto it.

Anyone who knew him well would evaluate that, for someone like him, he was teaching her very patiently. As he was the kind of man who could do anything flawlessly by nature, his attitude towards those who could not was cold. Such a man was attempting to educate an orphan child who did not know how to talk. He was in a state where one could say that he was making an effort.

“Captain, it is morning.”

“I know... I ain’t sleeping. I’m lying face-down ‘cause I’m disappointed in you.”

“Do you have any orders for ‘You’?”

“Y’know, I do call you ‘You’, but that ain’t your name.”

“If not, ‘You’ will be on stand-by.”

Albeit good at catching on words such as “stand-by” or “order”, she was slow to absorb terms that were used in daily life. The discrepancy between the things she did and did not have interest in was evident in the results of her learning.

This wild beast of a girl actually did not need words.

Even so, Dietfried had decided to grant them to her. Going back on a decision was shameful to him. He believed that he should never do such a thing.

——I gotta at least make her evolve from wild animal to watchdog. Or else, both she and I will be in trouble.

Dietfried was striving. He was exerting himself extraordinarily.

“Enough; I’m gonna comb my hair now. Gimme the comb.”

It seemed she had properly memorized the word “comb”, as she immediately took it from the dresser that the room was already provided with and presented it to Dietfried. She observed him with her big, gemstone-like eyes as he sat up as if it were a pain and slowly began combing his lengthy hair. He smooth and deftly braided it with his long fingers, then tied it with a ribbon and it was over.

Dietfried hit the bed with a slap, directing the girl to sit next to him. “Do as I do. As long as you’re wearing that uniform, you’re my subordinate. You having a bad appearance is a problem for me.”

Accepting the comb, the girl began combing her hair as well. She was improving lately, but her hair was damaged for a while due to malnutrition, so the ends tended to entangle. When she tried to force the comb through, Dietfried apprehended her with a hand.

“This again... Stop; don’t treat your hair like that... Why do I gotta brush it every day? Today’s the day that you’re gonna get it cut,” Dietfried said while carefully unraveling the entangled hair tips in her stead.

The girl was stock-still. Dietfried did not realize that the facial expression on her profile was a little bit different from her usual deadpan.

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Should ‘you’ comb your hair as well?”

“Nah, ‘s fine. I get a bad feeling when you’re behind me.”

Whether she had understood or not, the girl closed her eyes as if holding back on something. “All right...”

In order to both replenish and repair the warship, Dietfried went on land. The stay at the port was scheduled to last up to five days. During that period, the crew would be on vacation. Most of his subordinates were roaming the city of Leiden, but those who lived close to it took full advantage of their days off to go see their families in their hometowns.

Dietfried also finally had free time today. He had to take several days to submit all sorts of greetings and reports. He made a long memo in his head with a list of the things that he had to purchase. One way or another, he was able to make time at least to go shopping in peace.

“Hey, let’s go.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dietfried generally took action while keeping her by his side. She would be all right standing in waiting somewhere, but thoughtlessly leaving a woman alone amongst men was a primary factor for incidents to occur.

It was not as if he were worried about the girl. The ones he worried about were the people who would find the tables turning against them for attempting to lay their hands on her. In times of war, Dietfried’s decision was to avoid losing human resources as much as possible. He had to supervise this girl in order to prevent her from reducing his number of underlings.

However, there was also a good side to it. The girl’s fighting power and crisis-sensing abilities were outstandingly excellent, which qualified her for escort missions. He used to always walk around with bodyguards and associates as his ranks went up, but now, just this girl was enough.

——It’s nice that I can let more people, even if just one more, rest up by sacrificing her.

Under the light of the sun, Dietfried thought this as he watched the girl eagerly move her legs to chase after his back with tapping footsteps.

“We’re done buying these kinds of luxury items... Now for the clothes... Hey, this way. Follow me.”

“Captain, you are well-acquainted with the city.”

“That’s right. I’m ‘well-acquainted with the city’,” Dietfried gave a reply on the same level to the girl, who sometimes used words in a strange manner.

Just as he told her, Leiden was his hometown. In normal circumstances, it would be all right for him to return home as well.

“Though I don’t know if I like this city or hate it.”

But as he did not do so, one could guess about his family situation.

“You know what the good of this city is, do you?”

“I do not—know the city—very well.”

“The beauty of the architecture and the spirit of the people change depending on the city. If you leave out your emotions, Leiden’s a stunning city.”

“I do not have emotions. That means it is a stunning city to me.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“This is difficult.”

“You can’t understand human reasoning ‘cause you’re not human.”

“I see.”

After saying something that would hurt a little girl, he checked on her facial expression, yet it was blank as ever.

“You.”

However, he did not miss that her voice had become slightly gloomier.

“Don’t you wanna run away from me?” he whispered oppressively, stopping in his tracks and looking down at her from above.

Framing her huge eyes, the girl’s golden lashes fluttered like butterflies. She seemed surprised.

“We aren’t at sea right now. Or inside the warship. If you run off somewhere, I won’t be able to catch up. For starters, I’d have no intention to go looking for you. So if you wanna do that, you can.”

If a third party happened to hear the question, it would sound almost as if he were testing the girl. In fact, he might have been. People did such things out of foolishness every once in a while.

Dietfried absolutely did not admit it, but as he took this beast into his personal care and raised her, he began to feel that he wanted something. In return for that, he did not give her a name. If it were someone else, they would surely put it into words and display their desire with ease, but Dietfried was different. This man was awfully complicated – deeply compassionate yet cruel.

“Captain Dietfried, what am I supposed to do—by running away—from you?”

Just like that girl, he was broken somewhere.

The question made no sense to her.

“I have no meaning. If you do not use me, that is.”

This girl had no feelings.

“There is no meaning to me unless I am being used. I am a tool. I exist to be used.”

She did not know love.

“I am a wild beast. Beasts nestle up to where their owners go.”

All she wanted was validation of her own existence. Money, honor, status or anything of the sort.

“I am sure that—I was made this way—ever since I was born.”

She needed none of it. They made no sense to her.

“And you—have been registered—as my master inside me.”

The girl before his eyes looked at him as if to say, “don’t forget that I’m a beast”.

“You bring me along and use me.”

It might be that their positions were inverted from the very beginning.

“Please do stand next to me, Captain.”

Perhaps Dietfried was the one being kept around as a proof of existence.

——It’d be great if I could kill her right now.

She was merely a lonely beast, who just yearned for a master. It did not have to be Dietfried. That was what he felt she had told him.

“I’m going back.”

Dietfried started walking. Towards a direction completely opposed to the set route. In large steps, his leather boots clicking, he strode as if to leave the girl behind.

“But you still—have not bought most of the items.”

“It’s fine; I’m going back.”

“All right.”

As expected, the girl was expressionless even as her master suddenly grew displeased and yelled at her. She was accustomed to being swayed around. Not just by the man in front of her, but by her own fate as well. She had flowed, letting herself go with the current, and was now here.

It was Dietfried alone who never became accustomed to the girl.

“Walk fast.”

There was no appropriate name for the relationship of the two.

“Yes, I shall not leave your side.”

——You scum.

Why did he have to be the only one manifesting his emotions? It would be great if he could make the girl’s face distort even if just a little. This feeling surfaced and disappeared within him. It was almost the way of thinking of a child whose mother would not give him any attention, but trapped as he was in his own emotions, Dietfried did not realize this.

“Captain.”

Disturbed by rage and confusion, Dietfried angrily yelled, “What?!” in response to the girl’s call.

“There is a suspicious person running toward us from behind us. Shall I suppress them?”

“Haah?”

As he turned around, just as the girl had said, there was indeed a strange individual running their way. He had a purse under his arm. They could hear the scream of a woman at the back. If one were to take a conclusion just from looking at the situation, he was most certainly a thief.

“Don’t kill; capture him.”

To the order whispered at her in a low tone, the girl replied with a clear voice, “Understood.”

Immediately, she dashed off.

“Outta the way!”

As the man harshly shouted such aggressive words while coming at the people around him, they would open way for him in fear. The only one who pushed through the opened path was the girl.

“Brat! Move! I’m gonna kill you!”

Seeing a girl clad in a military uniform heading towards him, the man took out a pocketknife as he ran. Running while swinging it around was dangerous to no bounds. No matter how much brute strength one had, they would still waver at such a head-on challenge.

“My name is not ‘Brat’.”

However, the girl did not falter. Right before the collision, the girl lowered her posture with a jerk and evaded the pocketknife’s assault first-thing. She then grabbed one of the man’s legs and hurled herself at him. As the strength that the man had applied to the direction of his move was forcefully stopped, he violently plunged face-first into the ground.

“It is ‘You’.”

The girl’s attack did not end there. She seized the back of the agonized man, and after lifting his body as if picking a cat by its collar, she punched his throat. On top of that, she twisted his arm, completely suppressing his movements.

“P-Ple—ase—let—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

“L-Let—g-go—pl—ea—se—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

There was a spine-freezing kind of fearsomeness to the girl, who heartlessly repeated the same response to the man that was most likely saying, “Let go”. There was as much beauty to her appearance as there was a spur of coldness in her.

“The lecture I gave you last time about human body vitals came in handy, huh.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried came walking in a relaxed manner, looking like his moody aspect from earlier had decreased by just a little bit.

“As you told me, Captain. Strikes to the throat are effective.”

“True. Remember the name of the spots that hurt when you hit it?”

“‘Vital parts’.”

“That’s right... In men’s case in particular, there’s Adam’s apple. Look at this.” Dietfried grabbed the hair of the pitiful robber and made him raise his face. He then pointed at the other’s Adam’s apple. “Listen up. This bulgy thing is Adam’s apple.”

“‘Adam’s maple’.”

“It’s ‘Adam’s apple’.”

The robber could do nothing but watch the exchange between the two oddballs in confusion. There was no way to describe them other than “bizarre”. It could also be said that they were crazy. After all, the duo was holding a lecture about vital parts using the body of a complete stranger.

“‘Adam’s apple’. Is it... Is it a vital?”

“Yeah. It gets difficult to talk when you strike here, so hit it when you want someone to keep quiet.”

“Understood, Captain. If I want someone to keep quiet, I shall hit them there.”

“Also, you were probably going for his feet ‘cause he has a knife, but when the guy’s used to fighting, you should drop the idea. You’d get kicked like that. You might be strong but you’re light.”

“Should I dodge to the side?”

“With your jumping abilities, you could’ve also fly-kicked him. He had his hands full with the pocketknife and the bag anyway. Most people wouldn’t think you’d fly-kick them, so it can work. Either that or start attacking after throwing the stuff you’re holding at him.”

The girl nodded as if to say, “I see”. “But Captain, I am not allowed to throw your belongings.”

“That’s right. If you’d done that, I would’ve given you a beating.”

Despite making a face that denoted she had not comprehended it, the girl nodded. Those who were used to obeying tended to gulp down the double standards of others.

“Anyhow, should we return the bag to the victim? Or should we report to the military police...”

Although Dietfried was dealing with the fuss in a brisk and business-like manner, his eyes took notice of someone squeezing through the crowd that had gathered around him.

“Please let me pass,” the voice of a man echoed straight throughout the area.

“Sorry; it’s dangerous here, so let us pass,” so did the sweet voice of another man.

“Excuse me; we heard that you have caught a fugitive criminal, and we have as well. Let’s bring them to the military police togeth...”

The men who had showed up lost their voices for a second. As did Dietfried.

“Gil...”

Hair the color of night and emerald eyes. There were parts of their physical appearance that were similar to one another, yet the air about them was overwhelmingly different. However, if the two stood next to each other, one could quickly tell what they were.

“Brother...”

The one standing there was Dietfried’s little brother, Gilbert Bougainvillea.

“Uwah, it’s the Captain.”

Together with a large red-haired man, he had a thief in his hold and they were dragging him away.

——Claudia Hodgins too... Sure ran into a noisy fellow.

The joy of meeting his younger sibling surfaced, yet once he pondered about how to explain the situation and how they would respond to it, his feelings soon leaned to the side of deeming it as a bother.

Gilbert displayed agitation for an instant at the sight of his older brother, but immediately switched his gaze over to understanding the state of the surroundings. When he saw that a girl was the one pinning down the assumed robber all by herself, the look in his eyes changed.

“Hodgins.”

“Aah, it’s okay. I can hold him on my own. You take care of that girl...”

Gilbert handed the man that they had under restraint over to the one named Hodgins, heading to the girl’s side and kneeling down with one knee. He then said, locking his gaze with hers, “Let’s switch; are you hurt?” Before earning her consent, Gilbert took the man’s restraining upon himself. “Any injuries?” he asked again as the girl did not answer.

The girl looked at Dietfried. “Captain is unharmed,” she reported her master’s condition, not thinking that she was being questioned about her own.

“No, I’m asking about you.”

The girl looked at Dietfried, then at Gilbert. She moved her neck left and right countless times, at loss. “Whether I am injured or not is not an issue. That question is inappropriate.”

As Dietfried heard this sentence, the area around his chest suddenly became heavy.

“What are you saying...? This is about your body. Your family would be sad if you were wounded, wouldn’t they?”

After all, he had not never asked her the question “Are you hurt?”.

“I do not have a ‘family’.”

Not even once until now.

Gilbert looked at Dietfried. Dietfried also looked at Gilbert. For a moment, the two brothers rejected what the other wanted to say with their eyes. An air that could be deemed as hazardous started drifting there.

Although Gilbert had been speaking to the girl in a soft tone until just a while ago, the warmth of his voice took a brusque nosedive, “Brother, we should contact the military police first of all.”

“Then, I will call them.”

“That’s fine; you stay here. Brother, you’re the most empty-handed of us. We can count on you, right?”

“I’m holding shopping bags.”

“Brother... I’ll get angry for real...”

Ultimately, Dietfried yielded, out of fear towards his little brother’s wrath. The two thieves were swiftly taken to the military police, and so the three men and one girl who had seized them left the scene as if fleeing from a turmoil.

The course of events after that was, simply put, a spectacular sibling fight.

Gilbert was enraged at his older brother for making a little girl into a combatant and using her as a slave, while Dietfried desperately tried to refute him through the fact that she was not a “girl” to begin with. Stuck between them and unable to endure staying there any longer, Hodgins had attempted to take the girl away from the spot of their argument, yet she would not leave Dietfried’s side. In the end, they did not manage to keep the discussion together, parting ways with the decision to set up a proper place to talk on a later date.

While returning to the dormitory and even after arriving, Dietfried stayed quiet, not uttering a single word. It was already late into the night.

“Captain.”

Silence.

“What will you have for today’s dinner? I can take a seat in the cafeteria for you.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried’s irritation amplified even further with the fact that the girl, who was the point at issue, was conducting herself by operating in the same manner as usual.

“I don’t wanna look at your face. Go back to your room.”

“Understood.”

Once she left his bedroom, Dietfried had an abrupt realization. The girl would not go to the cafeteria unless he ordered. Since he had forgotten to tell her to do so, there was a possibility that she would not eat.

——I have to tell her.

However, a feeling surged within him, asking why he had to look after her to that extent. Whenever that girl was around, no matter what, he would end up restricting himself.

Rage welled up within Dietfried yet again as he recalled everything that Gilbert had told him.

“Brother, you’re a horrible person.”

——No, it’s not just me. She is, too.

“Don’t you feel sorry for that child?”

——You’re wrong; that’s not it. It’s not like that. You don’t get it.

“She’s still so little.”

——She’s a little murderer. An assassin who killed my comrades and kills my enemies.

Just which of them was the one in captivity?

——Who made a mess out of my life.

Wishing to become free, he had thrown everything away. Even if he were to receive criticism, he had run away from it all, not paying it any mind. That was Dietfried Bougainvillea.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his home.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his family.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his brother.

——Even though I was free.

And then, he threw away even kindness, becoming a blade drawn out of its stealth and surviving in severity. He had been doing his best. Had been suffering.

Still, because of just one girl, everything was unstable now.

Dietfried moved his body with a sudden motion. He stood up from his bed and put on a coat. Opening the door of the room next to his, he made the girl dress up in as many layers as possible and took her outside.

Where were they going in the dead of night? The girl asked what their destination was, yet he did not answer. They walked, walked and walked, then hopped onto a carriage.

The carriage moved with clicks and clacks. The Moon could be seen chasing them all the while from the window.

Once they eventually reached a place much too far from the dormitory facilities, she could see a mansion that one would not call an ordinary home. One could assume that the surrounding plots of plentiful nature were also part of the estate, which was Dietfried’s former residence as well.

The mansion was property of the Bougainvillea family. This was a portion of it. The main house was located somewhere else.

The sky was already beginning to pale, about to welcome the break of dawn. Again, a beautiful morning was going to start in Leidenschaftlich.

They had been traveling for a whole night and his body was aching. His condition was at its worst due to lack of sleep. However, Dietfried let out a relieved breath as they reached the mansion at last. Currently enlisted in the army, Gilbert had told him that he was in Leiden for a temporary stop. If so, in order to avoid an earful from their mother, he should be staying in their villa.

Right now, Gilbert was in there. His little brother, who – unlike Dietfried – had the shape of everything that their parents deemed a person must have, was there.

“Listen up: go inside that house. And then call Gilbert.”

His respectable younger sibling, whose emotions were not overly warped, was there.

“Tell him I kicked you out. If you do that, he’ll treat you right. You gotta show him how tired you are. No matter what, be sure to ask him to make you into an army officer.”

That was a sparkle in Dietfried’s life of complete darkness.

“There’s no way that someone like you could manage living a normal life at this point. Serve the military, and then die.”

The fact that he existed and was a relative with whom Dietfried shared the same blood was, to the latter, hope.

“He’ll protect you for sure.”

He was hope. He was light.

“I...”

No matter how broken he was, Dietfried could believe that he had one normal something. This had always granted him courage.

“You...”

He was aware that he was doing wrong as a person.

“You and I can’t be together.”

He knew he was the kind of human being who could not change, regardless of being in the wrong. That was why he loved his virtuous younger brother as if it were a necessity. He loved him even now.

Gilbert would never betray Dietfried. After all, he also loved his older brother.

The girl’s usual expressionlessness slowly crumbled. She repeatedly opened and closed her mouth, attempting to say something. However, probably unable to find the right words, she looked at the Bougainvillea mansion and shook her head like a child throwing a tantrum in refusal.

“Go; just go.”

“I—do not—want to.”

“Don’t talk back. I don’t need you. Go be used by a different owner.”

“I—do not—want to... I do not want to...”

“I’m telling you I don’t need you! Hurry and go!”

The girl tried to grasp Dietfried’s arm. Yet Dietfried began walking away before she could do so. He just uncaringly headed to the carriage that was parked a little far from the residence’s front gate.

“Captain.”

The girl was coming after him. Her voice was loaded with feelings of desperation.

——What’s up with you?

“Captain, Captain—”

——Even though you usually have no emotions.

“Captain, I do not—want this! Captain! Please give me—an order!”

——Even though you only think of me as a tool to receive orders.

“Captain! Captain! I will—properly learn—how to read!”

——Could’ve been anyone, right? Even if it weren’t me, anyone should do for you.

“Plea—se! Captain—I do not—want this, Captain!”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would...

“Captain... Captain... I will—do anything, Captain... Captain...”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would’ve been okay with it. Isn’t that it?

Dietfried turned around to check if her voice had died down. The same old girl was not there. Her wild beast figure from their first encounter had disappeared as well.

“Please, do not leave me—on my own...”

The one standing there was the infant that Dietfried had taught how to speak.

Dietfried looked at the child in front of him as if he had grown senile. She was crying. That beast of a girl, who did not cry no matter how many wounds she earned, was weeping. And also appealing to him with the things that she could do.

“I can fight; I can also—carry your belongings; and—put your—shirt on—for you.”

She was desperately bringing up what she could do to prove her existence.

“My wounds—heal quickly as well; I can—kill your enemies too; I will do anything.”

How could she assert her being?

“Please let me... Captain...”

What could she do to stay by Dietfried Bougainvillea’s side? She was attempting to certify her existence. In reality, Dietfried had misjudged her.

The girl had properly ascertained who her lord was.

If it could have been anyone else, there were several people other than him. Yet he was the one she had chased after. The wild beast had instinctively sensed and pursued him.

She had followed him while embracing the wish that, if it was a human like him, an adult like him, then surely...

“I can—be used; I can become—an optimal tool.”

...he would not leave her.

Had he not bestowed her with words and used her as a mere tool, she would never have said such a thing. Dietfried had failed.

Combing her hair and patiently teaching her about daily lifestyle had done no good. Neither had the fact that he taught her what to do and how to fight whenever she encountered difficulties while by herself. None of it had done any good.

Even without Dietfried Bougainvillea himself realizing it...

“Please, let me be—by your side.”

...the wild beast was turning into a person.

The complete darkness of the night was gradually fading. From the direction of the Bougainvillea mansion, a servant and Gilbert – the master of the house – appeared, having come upon overhearing the angry yelling. They stared at the duo with surprise.

Dietfried slowly changed his course. He turned to the crying child. One step after another, he moved toward the girl.

“Do you need me?”

He then reached out his hands, holding her small body in his arms.

“Yes.”

With an awkwardness similar to holding an animal for the first time, he supported her from the back.

“Even if I say I don’t need you, do you need me?”

In doing that, the two looked like one.

“Yes; please, do not leave me alone.”

They looked like a single living being, formed through a combination of distorted shapes.

“I see.”

Dietfried felt that the dark things squirming inside his chest until now were clearing up. His feelings for her, which were close to hatred, dimmed away as well. Same for the anger towards himself and his inferiority complex regarding the rest of the world. Illuminated by the gentle sunlight, they all faded and disappeared, just like the deep dark colors of the night.

——I see; so I wanted something like this, Dietfried thought vacantly while embracing the child that clung to him.

He felt like he understood why he was always so irritated at this girl. Just as she wanted to prove herself, he also wanted others to accept him.

Socially, he was acknowledged. He also had subordinates who idolized him. However, Dietfried...

——I wanted this.

...wanted that wild beast to acknowledge. To acknowledge him.

The times when he truly thought that he wanted to kill her had passed. So had the times when he wanted to push her onto someone else. And the times in which he tried to use her solely as a tool until she collapsed, just like a slave, were passing as well. They were now morphing into wondering about what he could do to make her last, to have her live.

They were properly changing towards the direction of the light.

“Then, be by my side.”

That was why he wanted to acknowledge as well. No matter how distorted a shape they had.

The child and man then welcomed the first morning in which they acknowledged each other.

Afterwards, a mansion was erected in the outskirts of Leidenschaftlich.

Built once the Continental War ended, after the cessation of hostilities was finally called on, said mansion was home to a somewhat eccentric family. A man and a girl. Far apart in age, the two of them did not seem to get along well, yet did not show any signs that they would separate from each other.

“Captain, it is morning.”

As threads of golden hair cascaded smoothly in front of him like canopy curtains, Dietfried rubbed his sticky eyelids and opened them. At first, what he could see were exquisite blue eyes and cherry-colored lips. This individual, already clad in a naval uniform, bore features that anyone would call beautiful.

Dietfried regretted unintentionally thinking that she was beautiful first-thing in the morning.

“Captain, it is morning,” her voice echoed softly in his ears.

“Shut up... I know.” He sat up, yawning.

The girl began forcefully undressing Dietfried, whose gestures looked a little childish no matter what he did, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. “You have a dinner meeting today after work. I will not take part in it, but I have arranged a carriage for your return, so please give your name when you go to the assembly hall of the dinner meeting.”

“Got it.”

Letting her do as she pleased, Dietfried was having his clothes changed from sleeping garments to his uniform.

“You stayed up late yesterday night, right? There are dark circles under your eyes.”

“You’re real noisy lately... Most of it is Gil’s influence, ain’t it... You can’t go today ‘cause you got some business with him?” Seeing her movements halt completely when she was buttoning him up, Dietfried snorted. “So easy to read. You into him?”

“No.”

The duo’s conversation was a daily life scene that had happened countless times already. It was by no means anything special.

“Even if you aren’t, I don’t know about him.”

“No, it is nothing of the...”

“You two gonna see each other alone?”

“Mr. Hodgins is also coming.”

“Even if you hook up with him, I ain’t letting go of you. Work for me on commute.”

“Of course.”

“Hn, now comb my hair.”

“Yes.”

“The ribbon will be... navy blue.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried looked at the girl. She had grown up considerably. Back when they had first met, her height was about enough to reach his waist or so.

——But nowadays, she seems to be kinda intimate with Gilbert.

Although she was working flawlessly as his secretary every day, the feeling that she was being conquered lately was undeniable. That was certainly fulfilling for her, but to Dietfried, it was a tad unamusing.

“You say ‘yes’ but you’re gonna throw me away one day, aren’t you?”

A line that did not feel like him accidentally came out, and once it did so, he could not take it back. As Dietfried stayed quiet, the girl tilted her head.

“It is you who are in the position of throwing me away.”

“As if I can do that at this point; you’re mine.”

Silence.

“Aah, I don’t wanna go to work anymore... I feel awful; everything is so annoying...”

“Lord Dietfried.”

“What? You’re so noisy.”

Disgruntled, Dietfried collapsed onto his bed. After staring at him for a moment, the girl eventually imitated it, collapsing onto the bed and coming close to him.

“You gonna sleep too?”

“I am your asset, after all. I live, die, lie down and sleep together with you.”

“So you’ve come to say that.”

She completely had him on the palm of her hand.

Although he had several complaints about it, he also felt comfort from the nature of this relationship already.

Even now, he had never clearly put into words and explicitly stated his feelings towards her.

“One day... you will...”

“I shall serve you forever.”

“You say that, but one day...”

“I shall serve you. For as long as you do abandon me.”

“I said I ain’t gonna throw you away, didn’t I?”

“You tried once.”

“Y’know, that was a one-time flight response from when I was having a hard time rearing a kid. Raising you was a hassle.”

“I am grateful for it. I shall serve you for life.”

Dietfried was no longer his past self. He had become just a man that could not let go of this girl, who was the proof of his existence.

That was why Dietfried reached out his hand. As if to rule over her; as if to make her not forget about him, her lord.

He called her name, which he himself had chosen, “■■■■”

Having her cheek caressed and her name called, the girl crinkled her eyes a little. “Yes, I am by your side.”

That was a story in which the future would have changed drastically, had he not thrown her away when he was supposed to.

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #kyoto animation #kyoani #dietfried bougainvillea #gilbert bougainvillea #claudia hogdins #violet evergarden booklets #violet evergarden if #novel #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

Merzost’

Summary: Merzost’. Abomination. Monster.

a/n: This is mostly a character building piece for reader in my False Face Au with Good Dad! Bruce and Good Big Brother! Dick. This piece is slightly depressing but here it is. I would very much like to thank @knightfall05x for proof reading, putting up with my nonsense and convincing me to post this. Please ignore the blatant use of google translate.

TW: Attempted solicitation of a minor, trauma, and gore.

masterlist

Merzost’.

Abomination.

That is what the old woman called you.

It wasn’t your unusual gait or your unnaturally fluorescent eyes or even the fact that you could feel the press and pull of minds just as easily as you felt the heat radiate off another human.

No, you could see it in her clouded eyes and the way she shivered in your presence. She was old. She was an old woman in Gotham. She knew what death smelled like and oh, how it rolled off of you like a thick miasma. Dripping thick and suffocating.

No, no, it was none of those blemishes. It was something more… fundamental, unshakeable. Something you could not slough off as it nestled and stewed under your skin.

Even now, you can still feel the heft and weight of the old woman’s terror as she gazed at you.

You tried to smother the smile that ripples through your features.

As it carved itself on your lips, a cold sort of fear engulfed you.

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Your mind spent far too much of your time in someone else’s skin that crawling back to your own felt wrong. Your mind and body roiled against each other. Blistering. Scraping. Scorching. Peeling away from each other as they are forcefully melded back together into an awkward human-like shape.

It was an odd feeling, a feeling of permanence and solidness that felt completely foreign to you.

But this wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want their eyes. Not raking over your still roiling flesh. Not carving, inspecting, appraising. Pausing too long at your leg, smiling knowing it made you weak. Your stomach rebelled, twisting. You felt sick. You hated these moments. You hated when you and whatever this nervous scared thing this was blended together.

“You’ll be so pretty when you grow up,” the man whispered to you. The excitement in his eyes made your skin itch. You swore there were boils forming on your skin. This was the only time your mind and body coalesced when your skin tore itself away from uninvited touch.

The man grasped your face with large calloused hands, squishing the loose tufts of your hair to your skin- prickling. It made the itch on your skin worsen, the unsettling boil in your gut more pronounced. Men like him, when they looked at you, soaking up the sight of you with hungry eyes, they saw your mother-soft, shining undine. Less of the knife-toothed ruskla you knew she was.

Or maybe they did know.

Maybe this is why they-

“You’ll be so so pretty, baby,”

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Your mother held you tight. The smell of lilac in her hair was almost salient enough to overcome the pungent odor of copper in the air.

“Shhhhhhh. Shhhhh, It’s ok now-” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your brow. “Mama’s got you. It’s ok.”

Her words rang hollow and stark in contrast to the death rattle echoing from the man on the tiled floor of your kitchen. His intact eye still staring at you as your mother smoothed your hair with her blood-covered hand.

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From the way your skin itched, you could tell Jeffrey Woodfield was a monster. Not the fun -movie kind with cheap latex masks so fake it made the pink flamingos in Florida look like the genuine article. Now that you thought about it, you really would rather be in Florida right now. The weather would be warm, your joints would ache a lot less, Disney Land probably didn’t get half as many clown attacks, and there would be sooooo many old people to scam.

“Baby,” he whispered huskily into your ear, sliding his filthy hands up your waist and keeping you planted firmly against the brick wall. You could practically feel the hives begin to pucker at your hips. Your breaths were shallow and nervous as he presses your small body into the wall. You asked him to leave you alone. You asked him to give you space. You thought about screaming or asking for help or anything but the way your lungs shrink into your chest made it hard to so much as a squeak.

This wasn’t happening.

You were 13.

This wasn’t happening.

Behind Jeffrey, you saw your mother, gore ladden and goddamn beautiful. She smiled, lips painted red and slick with fresh blood. Man or pig’s, it did not matter. To her there was no difference. Man or pig, they both squeal.

You could feel everything in you unfurl and relax. Mother was here. No, no. She wasn’t. Logically, you knew she was somewhere else. Where that somewhere was you hoped it was at least 6 feet under the dirt. For everyone’s sake.

But with your mother there you knew what to do. Muscle memory whirred to life and suffused throughout your body. Fluttering your long lashes and running your small hands up his chest, you felt him bend toward your touch, leaning low enough for you to cup his face in your hands.

You measured the odds.

His neck was too thick to snap. You bit back a snarl of frustration.

You slid yourself along the brick wall, inching both of you towards the dumpster.

“Acting shy now?” he breathed against your skin sounding like a panting bulldog. You could feel the hives pucker there too. You struggled to keep your face carefully sculpted, not letting any of the fear and disgust slip out.

He led the way, pulling you off the wall keeping a death grip on your wrist. A manic smile, too wide, too full of teeth stretches across your lips when he grabs your non-dominant hand. Using your good foot, you scooped up a brick and snatched it with your free hand. You tugged at your wrist nearly wrenching yourself free. He kept a steady grip on you. It didn’t matter. He turned to you snarling, impatient. You slammed the brick into his face.

Went

Down

With a satisfying thud, he was on the ground. The joints in your leg and hip twinged, screaming for you to run but the feeling of bone cracking beneath the force of your blow thrummed pleasantly through the twitching muscles of your hands. It felt fresh and satisfying.

“Solnechnyy svet, we do not leave things half done,”

You stalked towards the groaning heap of flesh, grabbing the discarded brick. You weren’t weak by any means. But your mother had taught you well.

All you needed to do now was finish what you started.

Straddling his chest, fingers laced together around the brick,

You slammed the brick down. Another satisfying crunch echoes in the empty alley. Giddy laughter bubbles in your chest. A sort of manic excitement took over your body.

You felt alive. You feel the rush even as shattered teeth carve deep gashes into the flesh of your knuckles. Your mind lashed out soaking up the pain that radiated off of him.

Distantly, you can hear him beg. He’s pleading for his life. He’s begging you to stop.

You should stop.

For him?

Did he when you asked?

They only stop when they’re like this. Twitching and bleeding.

“Merzost’,” came the old woman’s frail voice cutting through the vicious thoughts in your mind.

The high vanished. It left you cold. Cold and solid.

The puckering of your skin returned.

You looked at your shaking hands. Blood dripping, still trembling from a mix of nervousness and exhilaration.

The air thinned.

Your mother’s painted lips curled into a sweet smile. Her eyes softened as she reached for you. You could almost feel her carding her hand through your hair, gently running the tips of her fingers over your scalp. Her hands slid down to cup your face. Your unnatural eyes meet.

“Just like mama,”

Your senses failed you.

The next few minutes were a slapdash combination of colors and sounds.

The wash out grey of Gotham tainted with red.

The echo of shoes against pavement.

Your breath came out in puffs.

You felt sick.

Everything ached.

Why were you outside?

You had piano lessons.

No, that was last week.

No, it was today.

No, it was-

The fresh, deep gashes running up the length of your hand throbbed angrily, still bleeding. You could probably ask Alfie to-

Fuck.

Alfie was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and cut you up and-

Wait. Where were you?

You look around at the dilapidated buildings. Your breath picked up when you took it all in.

How did you end up in Crime Alley?

You bring your injured hands to your mouth

Fuck.

Breathe.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, violently rummaging through the seemingly endless expanse of space provided by the jeans you’d stolen from Dick’s wardrobe.

Why were guy pockets so much bigger?

Wait, why were you even wearing these?

You shook your head as you finally fished out your phone.

Dried blood still covered your hands.

Your stomach fell.

Bruce wouldn’t take you back.

No.

Not when you’re just like your mother. Your hands move to your face feeling the remnants of the manic smile still pressed into your features. Your stomach cartwheels.

You’re just another one of Gotham’s monsters.

Bruce might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, and, sure, the guy has a bleeding heart-

The phone’s shrill ring drags her mind kicking and screaming back to the present.

Should you answer?

Should you leave it?

Whatever you’re gonna do you really shouldn’t do it in the middle of the street, looking dazed and confused and way out of yourself. Quickly ducking into an alleyway and slipping behind a dumpster, you curled into herself before pulling out your phone.

“Where are you?!” Dick practically shouted over the phone.

Oh fantastic, it’s boy blunder big brother wanna be extraordinaire.

. From the way he sounds, he’s probably grappling or running roof to roof.

“Parker Row, I think,” You slapped your hand against your forehead. Why did you tell him?

“Parker-”

“Hold on, lemme check-” You peeked your head out just enough to see the mouth of the alleyway which didn’t show much. At least, not in any remotely distinguishable way.

Wait. Why were you even giving him your location? He’s just gonna throw you in Arkham. You swallowed thinking of all the minds you didn’t want anywhere near yours. Your pulse faltered. The thought of your mind melding with any of the rogues made you absolutely wanna crawl out of your skin. You wanted to leave it behind. You absolutely just wanted to make a break for it.

To be fair, considering what you just did, you probably belonged in a cell there. Maybe not next to any of the rogues but if you had to pick one, Poison Ivy. Definitely.

“(y/n), I’m serious, where are you? Bruce and Alfred are worried sick,”

You bit your lip. Worrying them was the last thing you wanted to do but there was also the fact that you just nearly murdered a man and possibly murdered him since you didn’t call for an ambulance.

You tried to dredge up any sort of guilt for your actions but you really couldn’t find any. You really couldn’t manage much. You didn’t feel bad for putting him down. He was a fucking asshole and he was gonna do that to someone else. You weren’t about to apologize for rearranging a creeper's face. But you were sorry about the brutality of it. You hated how cathartic each blow felt. How righteous the violence felt.

The image of red lips flashed across your mind. Another wave of nausea rolled over you.

You let out a breath. You were surprised at how dry it sounded. Considering how thick your throat felt, you expected a sob to come out. It sounded like a huff. It even sounded oddly petulant to you. It probably sounded like that to Dick too since he let out an exasperated huff of his own. You were a little glad for it.

“I’ll try to look for something,”

“No. Stay put. If you’re in the Alley-”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s not safe for me to wander around alone in the Alley. You and B don’t have to keep telling me,”

“Considering where you are…."

This wouldn’t really be much of an issue if your dumbass legs didn’t take you there for God knows what reason.

“Lecture me later. Yanno when I’m in the safety of an overly plush couch where I can drape over dramatically as you each deliver your 500-word monologue about my dumbassery and I pretend to listen,”

“Please tell me you’ve actually done that to Alfred,”

“Do I sound brain dead to you?”

“Do you want an answer to that?”

“Fuck you,”

“Love you too, baby sis~”

Not for long.

You really loved your big brother. It was hard not to. He was too damned caring and sincere not to.

The knots in your stomach tightened at the idea of Dick not being your big brother anymore. You wanted to cry. But he was already stressed as it was and having you crying into his ear would have exacerbated that.

Maybe they’ll at least feed Anatolii once they kick you out. Or maybe Arkham will let you keep him.

“How did you manage to take out your tracker?”

“What tracker?”

“Wait, has B somehow not gotten into your stuff yet?”

“No and I stole some of your old clothes”

“What? Why?”

That is a good question that someone should have asked you around 3 hours ago.

“What tracker?” You repeated trying to redirect the question to something more concerning.

“You know how B is paranoid,”

“Ah,”

“Yeah,”

You smiled at the easy understanding.

“I think I see you,”

You waved your hands over your head as his silhouette dropped down from the fire escape. You rushed over to hug him, practically tackling him in the process. Looking down at you clearly very surprised by your sudden affection, Dick doesn’t question it and simply holds you. You bit your lip and blinked rapidly feeling the tears gathering in your eyes.

“You’re injured,”

“You’re in tights. What’s your point?”

“YOU HAVE GASHES ON YOUR HANDS”

“And you should really consider getting your name changed to Captain Obvious,”

“Y/n…..”

You hugged him tighter trying to shrink. It was a manipulative tactic but you knew it would work. Your skin started to dot with angry hives where your body made contact with his. You could already feel your face getting mottled with red bumps.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” The bumps spread to your neck. You could tell Dick could see them when his breath hitched and his grip on you loosened.

Both of you knew that the hives were nothing more than a psychosomatic reaction but Dick really couldn’t help but worry. You greatly appreciated his concern. You really did but letting go meant looking him in the eyes. Looking him in the eyes meant talking. Talking meant telling the truth. You just couldn't stand the idea of it, so you let your skin blister.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”Dick asked, giving your hair three quick pats before smoothing it over in a comforting gesture. It nearly made you burst into tears. Your control over that was wearing thin. You shook your head not trusting your voice not to come out frail. “C’mon you can tell your big bro,” He coaxed, nervousness edging into his voice. You shook your head again.

Dick sighed.

“Can I at least get you to Doc. Leslie’s clinic?”

You weighed your options.

And weighed them again.

And again.

Calculating the odds but you were too tired.

Too rung out.

Whatever is going to happen will happen. You nodded into his shoulder. Dick’s shoulders loosened. His hands moved up to squeeze your shoulders but pulled away quickly like you’d burned him.

“Can you walk?” He asked gently. You hummed in answer. He let out a breath and shook his head. Your shoulders eased at that and you relinquished your grip.

You two began the slow walk towards the clinic, hand in hand. The silence pooled uncomfortably. You felt the anxiety whirring in Dick’s body even as you walked. Your mind reached out to him. You wanted to reassure him that you were ok but you were a terrible liar when it came to your family. You knew the world of horrendous possibilities that was swirling in Dick’s head. He dealt with the worst the world has to offer on a nightly basis. His guilt and worry licked at your consciousness like a fire spreading too quickly. Your skin buzzed with irritation. Still, you tapped your index and middle finger against the back of his hand. It took you far too long to realize that that gesture meant nothing to Dick. Your eyes widened, mind racing through all the possible ways to do damage control. But when Dick simply reciprocated the gesture, you finally started crying.

Doc. Leslie giving you a mouthful was expected. What you didn’t count on was her swatting you over the head when you refused to tell her what happened.

“It was a Racoon, I swear,” You said, earning you a swat over your head. Dick was snickering at the edge of your periphery. You stuck your tongue out at him which he returned in kind. Doc. Leslie looked between the two of you and ran her hand over her face. Her blood pressure was going through the roof. Doc. Leslie leveled you a stern look one only Alfred could match. You shrank and let her inspect the rest of your skin. It was still mottled from the hug but Doc. Leslie was familiar enough with your condition to distinguish it from any other abnormalities.

Your mother might not have trusted hospitals but even she could see that Doc. Leslie was trustworthy. Or at least, competent enough.

“I’m gonna call, B-”

“NO-” You screamed shooting up from the exam table, your eyes blown wide and wild with fear. “Please don’t call, Da- don’t call, B-” Dick looked at you, brow furrowed, his hand reaching out for you. You didn’t shrink away. Instead, for once, your mind pressed back. His face twisted in mild discomfort. “You can’t, Dick. Please. You- please.” You sounded pathetic even to your own ears. Your mind pressed again. This time Dick winced in pain. You flinched back, your mind retreating.

“Dick- I-” You had hurt him. You had hurt him.

You have become something intolerable. You have become what you have always been.

Merzost’.

Abomination.

Monster.

You felt all the adrenaline from the past few hours leave you all at once. The room felt like it was swimming and shifting. You tried to mouth an apology but your tongue simply flailed uselessly failing you in such a crucial moment.

The world faded and you heard yourself collapse onto the floor rather than feeling it.

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The (h/c) haired woman towered over you. You were weeping and begging as you bleed on to the kitchen. You sniveled letting snot, drool, tears, and blood pool at the side of your face. At that moment, you were what the woman thought you were, a pathetic animal. Two sets of incandescent eyes bear down on you-one pitiless and one too young to truly comprehend what's happening.

You look into your own uncomprehending eyes as you bled out on the floor.

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You woke up wild.

Your arms flung over your face.

Your flesh was raw.

Your breath was short.

The world around you was muted against the memory.

Piece by piece the world fell back into place.

There was a monitor beeping beside you. The air smelled of antiseptic, not copper nor lilac. Your breaths slowed.

Piece by piece you retrieved yourself from the nightmare.

You shifted and settled into bed, remembering clearly now where you were. You were at Doc. Leslie’s. You weren’t in the apartment on Main or the house on Orange or Wayne Manor. You were in the clinic. You were safe.

“It’s ok, y/n. You’re safe now, sweetheart. It’s ok.” You felt a large hand smoothing over your sweat-soaked hair, stroking your head gently. Your muscles uncoiled and you let yourself melt into the mattress. Your skin did not prickle.

In the complete darkness of the room, your mind searched for him. Bruce looms over you, towering but unimposing as he usually did. His mind radiated of worry, of warmth, of kindness. You were going to be sick.

“Papa?” You rasped. The word must have sounded like a shattering plate to Bruce because he froze. A cocktail of emotions seemed to swirl in his mind. You desperately wanted to take the word back but you wanted to call him that just once before he carted you off wherever it was you belonged. You did not wait for his mind to pick whichever unpleasant emotions it decided on. You were resigned to whatever fate was in store for you but you weren’t one to sit idly by and wait for it.

“Pa- B- I- I-” You tightened your fists around the threadbare blanket in frustration. Your mind was well aware of what it had to lose by saying this. It was once again the loss of love and you honestly didn’t know if you could take that but knowledge, the waiting for the inevitable, felt far more agonizing at the moment. “B, I- Woodfield.” At that, Bruce’s brow furrowed visibly through the cowl. His mind finally settled on confusion. The loss of discordance put you at ease.

“Woodfield,” He repeated quietly. The gears turning in his head. His expression grew grimmer by the second. You could feel your life falling apart. It was no surprise that Bruce had already heard of what had happened to him. “Why would you go after him alone? Are you ok?”

Alone?

You blinked at Bruce. You furrowed your brow.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” You were certain but the answer came out wobbly and unsure. Bruce gave you a stern look, but your mind was far too preoccupied to actually react to it.

What did he mean by alone?

You’ve been talking cases with Bruce for the last week, pestering him about letting you help out by sorting through documents. Being the fresh eyes for the case.

Then you stumbled on Woodfield’s file. Then? Then what?

You were in an alley. Your stomach revolted to prevent any more memories.

Your arms shot up grabbing Bruce’s and pulling yourself up with what little strength you had. “Bruce, I ki-”

“He’s in the hospital-” You stared at Bruce searching his face for something. Whatever it was you couldn’t find it. You expected to feel some kind of relief. After all, you didn’t kill a man. You still maimed him. Your mind supplied unhelpfully.

“Are you ok?” Bruce repeated.

“No,” You answered honestly. You felt numb. With a war of emotions clamoring in your chest, you simply stared at a wall. You felt the bed dip. Bruce was now sitting beside you. You pulled your knees to your chest and bury your face into your arms. You couldn’t stand to look at him. You just- Your mind reached out. The shape and texture of his thoughts weren’t jagged. They were heavy. Heavy but not crushing. The bumps and little prickles of concern confused you.

“B- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I tried to stop but- but he- I-”

Bruce pulled his cape off and wrapped it around you, the solid weight of it gathering you into something solid. It was a silent comforting gesture. From one affection allergic person to another. You gripped the cape, lip wobbling. You turned to Bruce expecting to see his eyes cold and calculating, the kind of eyes that sussed out your weaknesses. But when you actually looked at them, Bruce’s eyes only betrayed concern. You felt like you’ve been sucker-punched.

Bruce placed a large hand on your head. Bruce looked at you as you were, a scared kid. Not a thing or an abomination or a monster. You were just a kid. And with that, you conceded. You scooted closer. Hesitantly, resting your head on his arm. Bruce made no attempt to pull you into a hug and you thanked whatever was up there for that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: To anyone in my tag list who just wanted fluff, I am so fucking sorry. To anyone who had to read this in general, I apologize but I just wanted to write this. Thank you for reading.

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance (Thanks for the push), @cloudie-skay

#gore #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batfamily x reader #these are all platonic #angst #nightmares #ptsd #minor in danger #tumblr do not kill me #batsis

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pens-swords-stuff · 3 years

Note

hi :))) i love your blog <3 i was wondering if you have any thoughts on using a pen name (for publishing anywhere or just on tumblr). that's kinda specific but i just don't know if i want to put my name on the internet

Thank you so much!

Fun fact: Undine is an alias, not my real name. I’m definitely a huge advocate of protecting your identity online and using a pen name! (Not for publishing. If I ever publish anything, I fully intend to use my real name. I’ll be talking about online identities specifically here).

I’m dating myself a little bit here, but I think I was the part of the first generation to receive internet-safety lecture in elementary school. It was different back then; social media wasn’t really a thing yet and it wasn’t common for anyone to put their real names on the internet. The internet safety lesson I remember receiving is “literally everyone on the internet is a predator. That nice girl you’re talking to is 100% an older man named Scary McScaryface pretending to be a girl. Do not trust anyone on the internet.”

When I was in middle school, I wised up to the fact that that’s actually not the case. Yes, there are bad people out there. But also, there’s a ton of legit people too! I had a phase when I was a teenager that I overshared, because I learned that the internet is not as scary as a place as I was told it was. And I regret that. A lot. Thankfully nothing bad came out of it, and I consider myself extremely lucky. It could’ve been so much worse, and I managed to put myself in very toxic, and uncomfortable situations.

Now, times are a little different. It’s a norm for us to put our real names, faces and information online because of social media. Facebook doesn’t even allow fake names technically. We post pictures of ourselves on Instagram, tag locations and people look at our social media knowing full well who we are.

Tumblr is pretty unique in that sense — we’re not required to put our real names and lives on this website. I think that should be cherished, it’s one of the few places on the internet that we’re allowed to be anonymous in. Tumblr gives us an opportunity that other social media doesn’t: It lets us decide on our boundaries and what we’re comfortable with.

So first, my advice to you is to figure out your boundaries, and be overly cautious about it. Figure out what you are comfortable with sharing, and what your limits are. If you’re not sure you want to put your real name out there, don’t!

If you go by an alias and decide to share your real name later because you’re comfortable with that, you can do that! But if you share your real name, regret it and switch to an alias, you can’t take back the knowledge of your real name from anyone who has already seen it.

Be conservative about what you share online. You can always decide to share more if you decide you’re comfortable with it. But you can never take back information that you’ve already shared.

Also like... Aliases are super cool. Where else would I go by Undine — which is a super cool name that I absolutely love — if not Tumblr? It protects my information and is a cool codename-type thing. I love it.

#undine answers stuff #undine gives advice #this isn't writing advice #but!!#this is important #be careful what you share online babes #and make an informed decision #always assume the worst case scenario #Anonymous

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afterhoursgame · 3 years

Note

Ros want to speak with MC about somethng but catch the MC working out shirtless (or in a sports bra/tank top if you don't want the tits out approach). MC smirks and continues their work out asking the ROs if they like what they see and they are totally not flexing extra hard to impress and/or fluster them

Rickboy me bob. Can I call you Rick? I like you.

Bishop: So you have chosen death.

"Yo, Siren is gonna start the- what the fuck is that?"

"Bishop, hey. Like what you see or something?"

"Do I like what I see? Your form is fucking GARBAGE."*rips shirt off* "LET ME SPOT YOU!!"

"What? My form is not gar-"

"NO. It's TRASH. We're fixing it now."

Proceed to have an even longer workout because he starts helping but gives up and just flexes and poses in the mirror. (But not to impress you back, never that *Wink*)

-----------------------------------

Undine: Oh now we're talking.

"MC, why are you in the gym, your writing lessons bega-"

*commence choking* Ruby red face powers activate.

"Undine. Like what you see?"

"I- no you- what"

If you give her a flex, it's just a home run, GAY PANIK

---------------------------------

Knight: 😏

"MC, Rook is requesting that you- What is this?"

You send a playful smirk his way "Like what you see Knight?"

"I am unsure what it is I am seeing. What are you doing?"

"Flexing. Looks good right?"

"No. You smell nice though, what is that?"

"Uuuhhh..... sweat?"

"Peculiar..." There's a glint in his eye that you don't quite catch while you look at him confused.

He'll remember that.

-----------------------------------------

Saturn:

"MC, are you helping at the bar- Oh..."

"Saturn, hey. Coming in for a workout?"

"No! I... I don't really remember why I'm here..."

"Oh? See something you like?"

*Swoon* She blushes a brighter pink when you flex at her. "Can i... maybe stay? UH, just.. to make sure you're safe. NOT because.. to keep you safe!"

She's staying to check you out and daydream. Will buzz around to check you out from different angles, so be sure to keep flexing.

#Bishop #Undine #Knight #Saturn #ro ask #asks #thank you!#they're all so gay #Funny enough #when you meet bishop #you may #or may not #see the opposite of this situation #wink wink #after hours #if #ahif

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littlewomenpodcast · 4 years

Text

Louisa May Alcott´s Love For Germany

There are multiple references to Germany in Little Women: On the very fist chapter of Little Women Jo wishes a copy of Undine and Sintram as a Christmas present. Undine and Sintram is a collection of Scandinavian and Germanic fables written by French-German author Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué. This book appears again in the last Little Women book, Jo´s boys.

Marches help the poor Hummel family who have immigrated from Germany. Beth and Marmee are especially close to them. Beth catches the scarlett fever which is terrible, but the Marches never blame the Hummel´s. Epidemic diseases were rather common back then and Louisa always writes about the Hummel´s with a great sympathy.

In the chapter "Camp Lawrence" John Brooke translates a German song for Meg and reads her parts from "Mary Stuart", a play that was written by German poet and philosopher Friedrich Schiller. On Meg´s and John´s wedding Laurie suggest that they dance like the Germans do. When Jo stays in New York, her hostess in the boarding house is Mrs Kirk. "Kirk" is an anglicized last name from German word Kirche, meaning church. What it comes to the 19th century German culture and the influences of German immigration into American culture March trilogy is consistently favorable towards it.

One of Louisa´s favorite authors was the German poet Goethe and Goethe was one of the models for Friedrich´s character. In Little Women, on her grand-tour in Europe with aunt March, Amy visits Goethe´s house, writes home and tells about it. On her first trip to Europe Louisa herself made a pilgrimage to Goethe´s House. Went to Wiesbaden first, a pleasant, gay place, full of people. Saw the gambling hall and people playing, the fine grounds and drives, and then went on to Frankfort. Here I saw and enjoyed a good deal. The statues of Goethe, Schiller, Faust, Gutenberg, and Schaeffer are in the squares. Goethe's house is a tall, plain building, with each story projecting over the lower, and a Dutch roof; a marble slab over the front door recording the date of Goethe's birth. I took a look at it and wanted to go in, as it was empty, but there was no time (Cheney, Louisa May Alcott, letters and journals). The most obvious and most important German influence in Little Women is of course, the love of Jo´s life, Friedrich Bhaer.

Man from Berlin

Friedrich is introduced quite early on in the second novel and Jo is curious about him the moment she sees him and she finds him to be a kindred spirit. As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flights are very long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent, "It goes better so. The little back is too young to haf such heaviness." Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for as Father says, trifles show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that evening, she laughed, and said, "That must have been Professor Bhaer, he's always doing things of that sort." Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good, but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two little orphan nephews whom he is educating here, according to the wishes of his sister, who married an American. Not a very romantic story, but it interested me, and I was glad to hear that Mrs. K. lends him her parlor for some of his scholars. There is a glass door between it and the nursery, and I mean to peep at him, and then I'll tell you how he looks. He's almost forty, so it's no harm, Marmee.

There is a bit of a debate about Friedrich´s age (wait until I get to the ages of all the actors!). Jo is 24 when she travels to New York. Fritz is about 16 years older than Jo, which would mean that Friedrich is 39 when they meet. In Little Women musical Fritz is slightly younger. When he goes to court Jo we find out that he has just had his 35th birthday. In the book Friedrich returns to Jo´s life in late spring or in the summer, few months after Beth´s passing. We can make the assumption that Friedrich was born in the spring or in summer (real life Friedrich, Henry Thoreau was born in July).

If Fritz is almost forty after the American civil war this means that he was born in 1830. Friedrich is very extroverted. He enjoys lively conversations, makes friends easily, sees beyond cultural boundaries, he is deeply religious, honest, cultured but also quite a romantic. It is not a coincidence that Friedrich is from Berlin, by the time Alcott wrote Little Women, Berlin was gaining more importance and would become the capital of the new German Empire in 1871 (Armknecht). While being born and living in Berlin Fritz would have absorbed all that the city had to offer. Architecture, literature, philosophical circles, symposiums, markets and Biergartens. It is mentioned in the book that Fritz speaks several languages, and in the books he speaks French few times. Berlin was one of the most multi-cultural German cities in the 19th century and there was a large French-speaking immigrant population. Fact that Fritz speaks several languages indicates that he has done some traveling and is in that sense as much of a cosmopolitan as Amy and Laurie are.

We learn that Friedrich used to be a respected professor in Berlin and this only increases Jo´s interest towards him. Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed a most feminine respect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about the Professor added much to her regard for him. He never spoke of himself, and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man much honored and esteemed for learning and integrity, till a countryman came to see him. He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with Miss Norton divulged the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it all the better because Mr. Bhaer had never told it. She felt proud to know that he was an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poor language-master in America, and his homely, hard-working life was much beautified by the spice of romance which this discovery gave it.

It is very likely that Louisa had Humboldt´s university in her mind. During the time when Louisa did her first visit to Germany it was known as the university of Berlin (Universität zu Berlin). University was established in 1809, which makes it only fitting that Friedrich would have studied and worked as a professor there. University is known for producing some of the most well-known German thinkers and philosophers.

https://www.fairychamber.com/blog/evolution-of-friedrich-bhaer.html

#little women #friedrich bhaer #jo march #jo and friedrich #louisa may alcott #goethe #germany #berlin #literature #bhaerophiles

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miguelmarias · 3 years

Text

TOP 2020

25/12/2020

A) Great movies made since 2015 seen for the first time in 2020:

Buoyancy(Freedom;Rodd Rathjen, 2019)

Les choses qu’on dit, les choses qu’on fait(Emmanuel Mouret, 2020)

L’Île au trésor(Guillaume Brac, 2018)

Le Sel des larmes(Philippe Garrel, 2019/20)

Ghawre Bairey Aaj(Home and the World;Aparna Sen, 2019)

Undine(Christian Petzold, 2020)

Happī awā(Happy Hour;Hamaguchi Ryūsuke, 2015)

Netemo Sametemo(Asako I & II;Hamaguchi Ryūsuke, 2018)

Adolescentes(Sébastien Lifshitz, 2013-9/20)

Family Romance, LLC.(Werner Herzog, 2019)

Demain et tous les autres jours(Noémie Lvovsky, 2017)

Gamak Ghar(Achal Mishra, 2019)

Lunana:A Yak in the Classroom(Pawo Choyning Dorji, 2019)

Semina il vento(Sow the Wind;Danilo Caputo, 2020)

Objector(Molly Stuart, 2019)

La France contre les robots(Jean-Marie Straub, 2020)

Paris Calligrammes(Ulrike Ottinger, 2019/20)

Un film dramatique(Éric Baudelaire, 2019)

B) Great movies made before 2015 seen for the first time in 2020:

Là-Haut, un Roi au-dessus des nuages(Pierre Schoendoerffer, 2003)

Pangarap ng Puso(Demons/Whispers of the Demon/Hope of the Heart;Mario O’Hara, 2000)

Les Films rêvés(Eric Pauwels, 2009)

La vida en rojo(Andrés Linares, 2007/8)

Come Next Spring(R.G. Springsteen, 1955/6)

Song of Surrender(Mitchell Leisen, 1948/9)

Adventure in Manhattan(Edward Ludwig, 1936)

Strannaia zhenshchina(A Strange Woman;Iuli Raízman, 1978)

Chastnaia zhízn(Private Life;Iuli Raízman, 1982)

Málva(Vladimir Braun, 1956/7)

Zhila-byla devochka(Once There Was a Girl;Viktor Eisimont, 1944)

The Unknown Man(Richard Thorpe, 1951)

Aisai Monogatari(Story of a Beloved Wife;Shindō Kaneto, 1951)

Practically Yours(Mitchell Leisen, 1944)

A Summer Storm(Robert Wise, 1999/2000)

Lettre d’un cinéaste à sa fille(Eric Pauwels, 2000)

Sombra verde(Untouched;Roberto Gavaldón, 1954)

Fantasma d’amore(Dino Risi, 1981)

Adieu, Mascotte(Das Modell vom Montparnasse;Wilhelm Thiele, 1929)

Mori no kajiya(The Blacksmith of the Forest;Shimizu Hiroshi, 1928/9;fragment)

Zwischen Gestern und Morgen(Between Yesterday and Tomorrow;Harald Braun, 1947)

Last Holiday(Henry Cass, 1950)

Dialogue d’ombres(Danièle Huillet & Jean-Marie Straub, 1954-2013)

Out-Takes from the Life of a Happy Man(Jonas Mekas, 2012)

Nice Time(Claude Goretta & Alain Tanner, 1957)

Aloma of the South Seas(Alfred Santell, 1941)

A Feather in Her Hat(Alfred Santell, 1935)

La Danseuse Orchidée(Léonce Perret, 1928)

Underground(Vincent Sherman, 1941)

Time Out(in Twilight Zone-The Movie)(John Landis, 1983)

Lackawanna Blues(George C. Wolfe, 2005)

Janie(Michael Curtiz, 1944)

Dernier Amour(Léonce Perret, 2016)

Jeunes Filles en détresse(Georg Wilhelm Pabst, 1939)

Kisapmata(Blink of an Eye;Mike De Leon, 1981)

La Dernière Lettre(Frederick Wiseman, 2002)

The Lady of the Dig-Out(W.S. Van Dyke II, 1918)

Their Own Desire(E.Mason Hopper, 1929)

C) Very good movies made since 2015 seen for the first time in 2020:

Zumiriki(Oskar Alegria, 2019)

Atlantique(Mati Diop, 2019)

J’accuse(An Officier and A Spy;Roman Polanski, 2019)

Richard Jewell(Clint Eastwood, 2019)

Alice et le Maire(Nicolas Pariser, 2019)

Contes de Juillet(July Tales;Guillaume Brac, 2017)

Dark Waters(Todd Haynes, 2019)

Ofrenda a la tormenta(Fernando González Molina, 2020)

Nomad:In the Footsteps of Bruce Chatwin(Werner Herzog, 2019)

Into the Inferno(Werner Herzog, 2016)

The Zookeeper’s Wife(Niki Caro, 2017)

Journal de septembre(Eric Pauwels, 2019)

La Deuxième Nuit(Eric Pauwels, 2016)

Kaze no denwa(Voices in the Wind;Suwa Nobuhiro, 2019/20)

Da 5 Bloods(Spike Lee, 2020)

Izaokas(Isaac;Jurgis Matulevičius, 2019)

A Metamorfose dos Pássaros(Catarina Vasconcelos, 2020)

Tabi no Owari Sekai no Hajimari(To the Ends of the Earth;Kurosawa Kiyoshi, 2019)

La Nuit d’avant(Pablo García Canga, 2019)

My Mexican Bretzel(Nuria Giménez, 2018-9)

Domangchin yeoja(The Woman Who Ran;Hong Sang-soo, 2019/20)

Öndög(Wang Quanan, 2019)

Hatsukoi(First Love;Miike Takashi, 1959)

Million raz pogivaet odin Cheloviek(One man dies a million times;Jessica Oreck, 2018/9)

The Two Popes(Fernando Meirelles, 2019)

Félicité(Alain Gomis, 2016/7)

Salt and Fire(Werner Herzog, 2016)

Ni de lian(Your Face;Tsai Ming-liang, 2018)

Qi qiu(Balloon;Pema Tseden, 2019)

River Silence(Rogério Soares, 2019)

Charlie’s Angels(Elizabeth Banks, 2019)

La boda de Rosa(Iciar Bollain, 2020)

Guerra(War;José Oliveira & Marta Ramos, 2020)

My Thoughts Are Silent/Moyi dumky tykhi(Antonio Lukich, 2019)

Namo(The Alien;Nader Saeivar;co-script-Jafar Panahi, 2020)

Los silencios(The Silences;Beatriz Seigner, 2018)

Terminal Sud(Rabah Ameur-Zaïmeche, 2019)

Tu mérites un amour(You Deserve a Lover;Hafsia Herzi, 2019)

Les Misérables(Ladj Ly, 2019)

Padre no hay más que uno(Santiago Segura, 2019)

Honeyland(Tamara Kotovska & Ljubomir Stefanov, 2019)

Izbrisana(Erased;Miha Mazzini & Dusan Joksimovic, 2018)

This Is Not A Burial, It’s A Resurrection(Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese, 2019)

Primero Enero(Darío Mascambroni, 2016)

Lahi, Hayop(Pan, Genus/Genus Pan;Lav Diaz, 2020)

D) Very good movies made before 2015 seen for the first time in 2020:

Topaze(Marcel Pagnol, 1936)

The SIGN OF THE RAM(John Sturges, 1947/8)

Abandoned(Joseph M. Newman, 1949)

Bewitched(Arch Oboler, 1944/5)

La Femme du Bout du Monde((Jean Epstein, 1937)

The Outcast(William Witney, 1954)

Saadia(Albert Lewin, 1953)

Un monde sans femmes(Guillaume Brac, 2011)

Dishonored Lady(Robert Stevenson, 1947)

Always Goodbye(Signey Lanfield, 1938)

A Blueprint for Murder(Andrew L. Stone, 1953)

Bedevilled(Mitchell Leisen, 1955)

That Forsyte Woman(Compton Bennett, 1949)

The Miracle(Irving Rapper, 1959)

The Madonna’s Secret(Wilhelm Thiele, 1946)

The Town That Dreaded Sundown(Charles B. Pierce, 1976)

Grayeagle(Charles B. Pierce, 1977)

Barricade(Peter Godfrey, 1949/50)

Tomorrow is Forever(Irving Pichel, 1945/6)

David Harum(James Cruze, 1934)

The Vanquished(Edward Ludwig, 1953)

Keisatsukan(Uchida Tomu, 1933)

...Enfants des courants d’air(Édouard Luntz, 1959, short)

The Winds of Autumn(Charles B. Pierce, 1976)

Suddenly It’s Spring(Mitchell Leisen, 1946)

Uchūjin Tōkyō ni arawaru(Warning from Space;Shima Kōji, 1956)

Swiss Family Robinson(Edward Ludwig, 1940)

Ludwig der Zweite, König von Bayern(Wilhelm Dieterle, 1930)

Faithless(Harry Beaumont, 1932)

Botan-dorō(Peony Lanterns;Yamamoto Satsuo, 1968)

Ginza 24 chou(Tales of Ginza;Kawashima Yūzō, 1955)

Goodbye Again(Michael Curtiz, 1933)

Lines of White on a Sullen Sea(D.W. Griffith, 1909)

You Gotta Stay Happy(H.C. Potter, 1948)

Cave of Forgotten Dreams(Werner Herzog, 2010)

Riff-Raff(Ted Tetzlaff, 1947)

The Moon is Down(Irving Pichel, 1943)

The Bride Wore Boots(Irving Pichel, 1946)

Adventures in Silverado(Phil Karlson, 1948)

The Stolen Ranch(William Wyler, 1926)

Congo Maisie(H.C. Potter, 1940)

Marcides(Mercedes;Yousry Nasrallah, 1993)

Hell’s Five Hours(Jack L. Copeland, 1958)

Daniel(in Stimulantia;Ingmar Bergman, 1967)

Diên Biên Phú(Pierre Schoendoerffer, 1992)

Canyon River(Cattle King;Harmon Jones, 1956)

Dos Basuras(Kurt Land, 1958)

Smart Girls Don’t Talk(Richard L. Bare, 1948)

The Big Shakedown(John Francis Dillon, 1933/4)

Corvette K-225(Richard Rosson;p.,collab.Howard Hawks, 1943)

The Gay Deception(William Wyler, 1935)

The Invisible Woman(A.Edward Sutherland, 1940)

Rage in Heaven(W.S. Van Dyke II;collab.Robert B. Sinclair,Richard Thorpe, 1941)

Wild Side(Sébastien Lifshitz, 2004)

I bambini e noi(Luigi Comencini, 1970//7)

The House Across The Street(Richard L. Bare, 1948/9)

The Doughgirls(James V. Kern, 1944)

The Love Trap(William Wyler, 1929)

Torch Song(Charles Walters, 1953)

The Meanest Man in the World(Sidney Lanfield, 1942/3)

Cole Younger, Gunfighter(R.G. Springsteen, 1958)

Ballerine(Gustav Machatý, 1936)

Via Mala(Josef von Báky, 1945//8)

Sky Giant(Lew Landers, 1938)

Les Invisibles(Sébastien Lifshitz, 2012)

Promène toi donc tout nu(Emmanuel Mouret, 1998)

A Story for the Modlins(Una historia para los Modlin;Sergio Oksman, 2012)

Something in the Wind(Irving Pichel, 1947)

Spoveď(Confession;Pavol Skýkova, 1968)

Guilty Hands(W.S. Van Dyke II;collab.Lionel Barrymore, 1931)

Atto di accusa(Giacomo Gentilomo, 1950)

Suspense(Frank Tuttle, 1956)

This Is The Night(Frank Tuttle, 1932)

Escape in the Fog(Oscar ‘Budd’ Boetticher,Jr., 1945)

The Price of Fear(Abner Biberman, 1956)

Happy People:A Year in the Taiga(Werner Herzog, 2010)

Urok(The Lesson;Kristina Grozeva & Petar Valchanov, 2014)

Le Naufragé(Guillaume Brac, 2009)

Lili Marlen(Peter Mihálik;script.Dušan Hanák, 1970;short)

Deseo(Antonio Zavala Kugler, 2013)

E) Great movies that improved by new watchings:

Shanghai Express(Josef von Sternberg, 1932)

The Best Years of Our Lives(William Wyler, 1946)

Till We Meet Again(Frank Borzage, 1944)

Man’s Favorite Sport?(Howard Hawks, 1963/4)

Along The Great Divide(Raoul Walsh, 1951)

Hondo(John V. Farrow, 1953)

Where The Sidewalk Ends(Otto Preminger, 1950)

Mrs. Miniver(William Wyler, 1942)

Driftwood(Allan Dwan, 1947)

‘Good-bye, My Lady’(William A. Wellman, 1956)

Touch of Evil(Preview version, 1975;not later ‘improvements’)(Orson Welles, 1958)

Le Crabe-Tambour(Pierre Schoendoerffer, 1977)

Unfinished Business(Gregory LaCava, 1941)

Madigan(Don Siegel, 1968)

Big Business(James Wesley Horne;s.Leo McCarey, 1929)

Putting Pants on Philip(Clyde A. Bruckman;s.Leo McCarey, 1927)

The Runner Stumbles(Stanley Kramer, 1979)

Yushima no Shiraume(Romance at Yushima;Kinugasa Teinosukē, 1955)

David Harum(Allan Dwan, 1915)

The Virginian(Cecil B. DeMille, 1914)

Island in the Sky(William A. Wellman, 1953)

All About Eve(Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1950)

L’Eclisse(Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962)

The Roaring Twenties(Raoul Walsh, 1939)

The Plainsman(Cecil B. DeMille, 1936)

JLG/JLG-Autoportrait de décembre(Jean-Luc Godard, 1994)

‘Je vous salue, Marie’(Hail Mary;Jean-Luc Godard, 1984)

La Roue(Abel Gance, 1923)

They All Laughed(Peter Bogdanovich, 1981)

Innocent Blood(John Landis, 1992)

An American Werewolf in London(John Landis, 1981)

The Thing Called Love(Peter Bogdanovich, 1993)

Into the Night(John Landis, 1985)

The File On Thelma Jordon(Thelma Jordon;Robert Siodmak, 1949)

The Little American(Cecil B. DeMille, 1917)

In Our Time(Vincent Sherman, 1944)

The Hunters(Dick Powell, 1958)

Phase IV(Saul Bass, 1974)

L’Honneur d’un Capitaine(Pierre Schoendoerffer, 1982)

Backfire(Vincent Sherman, 1948//50)

Five(Arch Oboler, 1951)

Somewhere in the Night(Joseph L. Mankiewiz, 1946)

A Man Alone(Ray Milland, 1955)

Die Geiger von Florez(Paul Czinner, 1926)

Living on Velvet(Frank Borzage, 1934/5)

La Recta provincia(Raúl Ruiz, 2007//15)

La Noche de enfrente(Raúl Ruiz, 2012)

Carrie(Sister Carrie;William Wyler, 1951/2)

The Spiral Staircase(Robert Siodmak, 1945/6)

The Paradine Case(Alfred Hitchcock, 1947)

L’Amore(Una voce umana+Il Miracolo)(Roberto Rossellini, 1947/8)

The Heiress(William Wyler, 1949)

F) Very good movies watched again

Bluebeard’s 10 Honeymoons(W.Lee Wilder, 1960)

The Five Pennies(Melville Shavelson, 1958)

Take a Letter, Darling(Mitchell Leisen, 1942)

Escape(Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1948)

Appassionatamente(Giacomo Gentilomo, 1954)

Así como habían sido(Trío)(Andrés Linares, 1986/7)

San Antone(Joseph Kane, 1953)

The High and the Mighty(William A. Wellman, 1954)

Taki no Shiraito(The Water Magician;Mizoguchi Kenji, 1933)

The Web(Michael Gordon, 1947)

The Buccaneer(Anthony Quinn;s.Cecil B. DeMille, 1958)

The Buccaneer(Cecil B. DeMille, 1938)

Desire Me(uncredited:George Cukor/Jack Conway/Mervyn LeRoy/Victor Saville, 1946)

Flaxy Martin(Richard L. Bare, 1948/9)

Swing High, Swing Low(Mitchell Leien, 1937)

Death Takes A Holiday(Mitchell Leisen, 1934)

Irene(Herbert Wilcox, 1940)

Beloved Enemy(H.C. Potter, 1936)

The Cowboy and the Lady(H.C. Potter, 1938)

Der Golem, wie er in die Welt kam(Paul Wegener, 1920)

Mia madre(Nanni Moretti, 2015)

Hell On Frisco Bay(Frank Tuttle, 1955)

Stormy Weather(Andrew L. Stone, 1943)

The Milky Way(Leo McCarey;w.Harold Lloyd, 1936)

Pietà per chi cade(Mario Costa, 1954)

Repeat Performance(Alfred L. Werker, 1947)

Das indische Grabmal:1.Die Sendung des Yoghi,2.Der Tiger von Eschnapur(Joe May, 1921)

Julie(Andrew L. Stone, 1956)

The Member of the Wedding(Fred Zinnemann, 1953)

Winterset(Alfred Santell, 1936)

The Right to Romance(Alfred Santell, 1933)

As Young as You Feel(Harmon Jones, 1951)

You’ll Never Get Rich(Sidney Lanfield, 1941)

The Woman Accused(Paul Sloane, 1933)

Foma Gordeiev(Mark Donskoí, 1959)

The Parent Trap(David Swift, 1961)

High Wall(Curtis Bernhardt, 1947)

Mr. Lucky(H.C. Potter, 1943)

Un Marido de Ida y Vuelta(Luis Lucia, 1957)

The Safecracker(Ray Milland, 1957/8)

She’s Funny That Way(Peter Bogdanovich, 2014)

Oh...Rosalinda!!(Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1955)

Caribbean(Edward Ludwig, 1952)

Harper(The Moving Target;Jack Smight, 1966)

For You I Die(John Reinhardt, 1947)

Crashing Hollywood(Lew Landers, 1937/8)

Le Souvenir d’un avenir(Chris. Marker & Yannick Bellon, 2001)

Susan Slept Here(Frank Tashlin, 1954)

Bishkanyar Deshot(In the Land of Poison Women;Manju Borah, 2019)

Pollyanna(David Swift, 1960)

A Tale of Two Cities(Jack Conway;collab.Val Lewton & Jacques Tourneur, 1935)

Café Society(Woody Allen, 2016)

Shadow on the Wall(Patrick Jackson, 1949/50)

Tonnerre(Guillaume Brac, 2013)

Le Jouet criminel(Adolfo G. Arrieta, 1969)

‘Once more, with feeling!’(Stanley Donen, 1959)

The Shopworn Angel(H.C. Potter, 1938)

The Absent Minded Professor(Robert Stevenson, 1961)

Gavaznha(The Deer;Masud Kimiai, 1974)

#listas

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