#abbey fools gold

[patchworkbearss]

I’m so normal about them (lying)

[ludmilachaibemachado]

On July 4th 1967, George and Pattie painted Kinfauns🌸🌼🌷

George and Pattie painted the outside of the house in psychedelic patterns; a mural around the fireplace was created by design collective the Fool who also painted several Beatles musical instruments and George's Radford Mini de Ville GT🌺🌸🌻

At the rear of the house was a guitar-shaped swimming pool, while gold discs and the awards the band had achieved decorated the sitting room walls. In front, a tall 15-foot sliding door kept unauthorized visitors out of the garden. The door was soon covered in fans' signatures and autographs. George bought Kinfauns for £20,000 in July 1964, on the advice of Walter Strach, the Beatles' accountant. "It was the first one I saw, and I thought, that'll do," George said about his house hunting efforts🌸🌹🍀

He was joined there months later by Pattie, who lived there until 1970, when George purchased Friar Park in Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire🪷🌵🎍

Abbey Road Tribute🌸

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 8 - Edwardian evening dresses

Let’s be honest: The most attention is usually on the younger generation’s evening gowns. These are the ones that get the bragging rights, the high fashion of their time, the nicest fabrics go into them, the most work. And they are probably the pieces of clothing that get the least wear.

Mary, in a predominantly black dress? In the very same season she began complaining about wearing black? Yeah, we all know Mary is a hypocrite. Especially since she fancies herself a fashion icon, and the color looks good on her. So does red; I ain’t complaining about this one. My favorite part is the wide waistband with the rich red embroidery, around which they keep the dress itself relatively simple except for this ginormous embroidered tassel thing on her chest. Ah well, the fashion of this time is starting to show some experimental features.

Less black, more red; this one looks almost Christmas-y with its golden roses embroidery and glittering rhinestones. So long as Mary doesn’t pull the booored face she does in the first picture, she looks gorgeous. I love the tiny knife pleats on her sleeves and the V over the front of her top. Very classy and classical dress; it looks less playfully designed than the previous, but conservative looks suit Mary well.

Black chiffon is back, but this time, it’s embroidered with golden suns and layered over sage green silk. Lovely earrings and nice enough dress, although it seems a little unspectacular for the occasion of confronting her future love interest in the first family dinner together. Where’s the red to underline her snappy comments? Then again, she looks more on the sulky side here.

I wish I could remember the occasion for this; it looks like it’s foreshadowing a bridal gown, although by the time Mary’s wedding rolls around, fashion has changed a lot. For example, waistlines aren’t really a thing then, so neither are lovely pearl-embroidered waistbands that hold in the V top of a wrap gown such as this. I do wish we’d see a little more of the base fabric of the top because it looks lovely; it either has a pattern woven into it or is covered entirely in whitework that beautifully matches the rose-embroidered trim.

Eh. There’s nothing wrong with this dress; it’s another of those pretty Edwardian wrap gowns the shape of which I really like. It’s just. Grey is fine for a walking suit or a coat, but for an evening gown? It’s a little dull, especially since the lace application and the glittery beading on the hems doesn’t add any color either. I like the slit sleeves though.

This is one of very few occasions on which I actually find Mary’s dress actively unflattering. I don’t know, it’s just not her shade of brown, or I’m graceless about this bib collar, bejeweled though it may be. But perhaps that’s because she’s making a fool of herself trying to turn down a man who’s currently asking out her sister. Just to say something nice though, I do like the sparkly belt.

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On to Edith’s evening gowns. Some corners of the internet (and Mary, of course) say that Early Edith has zero sense for flattering fashion, but honestly, this dress is fine? What’s wrong with golden-flowered damask? And orange is one of Edith’s signature colors; it suits her nicely. Admittedly, it looks better with the second hairdo and the matching headscarf. Cute earrings, too.

*sigh* I only got this one shot of this orange-ish golden dress with half-long sleeves, and of course it’s halfway ruined with that blur on the edges the show had early on. At least I get a glimpse of that heavily decorated gold trim – that’s at least some curled piping and embroidered berries.

I’m… not sure why they picked this for a scene of Edith’s romantic success. Because this lime really is the least pretty shade of green they could find for her. As for the decoration, I think less would have been more in this case. It looks better from the back. No, I’m not being gross; it just appears less cluttered. But I kind of can’t be mad for long because – look. One of Laura Carmichael’s genuine smiles. I was sorely tempted to also leave in Mary’s huffy face…

Back to a nice dress! I like this shade on her, and we get these cute slit sleeves again, much more downplayed and as such more effective trim decoration than before, and the subtle tone-in-tone flowers on the upper damask layer are just the right touch of extra. Plus, the little tassels on her headscarf? I’m here for it.

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

How is this just one shade off from the dress I just complimented on Edith and yet I think this is some fugly pink? Let’s get this out of the way quickly; I only have this dinner table shot of it and Sybil doesn’t wear it again. All the better for it; looks kinda frumpy. The only element of interest I would have liked to take a closer look at are those embroidered tassels around the shoulders.

As mentioned, Edith wears predominantly light blue early on. This one is her most prominent evening dress, and I love the sheer blue lace overlay that goes with her round neckline in the front and dips into a V in the back. It also has some subtle glittery beading on the hem. The belt is a thing of beauty; are those peacock feathers embroidered on it? It’s a little tone-in-tone, I’ll admit; a little element of contrast wouldn’t have been bad. Also, those little tulle flowers / butterflies Sybil has in her hair – are they trying to age her down again?

Huh, I can see why Sybil complains that their seamstress always makes the same. This doesn’t look a whole lot different than the previous dress, except this time the translucent top part is beneath and not over the main fabric. And except I think this is not as pretty. We still have a translucent top though, half-long sleeves, a V-neckline (this time in the front), and some embroidery around the belt region.

This one stands out, in that it is a black evening gown that Sybil wears outside of mourning, and keeps into season 2. It isn’t too monochrome, what with the golden dots on the skirt and the heavily embroidered top. That’s a lot of art nouveau, and I respect it.

Alright. Just one question: After all the fuss that is made about Sybil’s new evening frock, WHY is it never seen again after she presents the outfit?? Did her dad forbid her the pantaloons? I guess there’s an entire conversation to be had here about how the skewed perspectives of orientalism and imperialism influenced fashion in this time, but I feel wholly not qualified for that. So I’ll just comment that I find this quite pretty in and of itself. The top is actually shaped quite traditionally; put a skirt on this and it’s a perfectly acceptable Edwardian evening dress with some gorgeous embroidery. But nah, Sybil is a rebel and has pantaloons… out of silk, custom-made by a seamstress, because she’s a rebel born into an indecent amount of privilege. May I remind you to eat the rich? I like how the heavy bejeweled headband combines with the rest of the outfit though.

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That’s a wrap then! And if you think it’s a little hypocritical of me to gush about all these wonderful pieces of historical fashion while wishing pestilence on the people who actually had this stuff made and got to wear it, you may be entirely right. I shall keep commenting on my sour grapes; I’m not watching this show for Julian Fellowes’ stellar character writing. On to the next season!

[hazel-of-sodor]

Something Holy This Way Comes

Ch.5 Cassandra

Other Stories

Other Chapters

Cassandra was soon shunted back into the shed alongside Tyto.

"I never got to thank you," Tyto said quietly.

"And you don't need to." She said firmly, "Even if it wasn't my Lady given duty, Scotsman did most of the work."

"He pulled them from the yard," Screech rumbled, "but you gave them a home."

Cassandra frowned, "would you ask to be thanked for pulling your trains to time? If you must thank someone for my role, thank The Lady."

"I see why they say you're more stubborn than Gordon." Ceri huffed with amusement.

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

Tyto suddenly laughed, "the inspector!"

Cassandra looked over, bemused, "come again?"

Tyto smirked, "That inspector you saved the other month. They were trying to catch you."

Cassandra snorted, "The only thing he was close to catching was the broadside of a truck. I asked Percy for a distraction..."

Ceri burst out into laughter, "You didn't..."

Cassandra sighed, sinking lower onto her frames, "Not my best plan I know but..."

Tyto snorted, and Cassandra gave her a dirty look.

"It was either have Percy cause a distraction or try to sneak a class 6 past the waiting inspector."

"And you chose to trust Percy," Ceri smirked.

"...I blame Thomas."

 "You are Thomas!" Ceri said, laughing along with Tyto, "Thomas is just what you go by when presenting male!"

Cassandra sniffed dismissively, "Exactly, male, I claim no responsibility for what he comes up with."

Tyto lost it, laughing hard enough to rattle the roof, steam billowing from her nose and funnel with every laugh.

 Abbey meanwhile had noticed something, or rather a lack of something. "Cassandra, where's your plow?"

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably, "in the works at home. I was towed behind a goods to Uman then ran here light engine."

"You need a plow!" Abbey admonished. "And why is your plow in the works?"

"Indeed, you wouldn't wanna get stuck again," Screech said innocently.

Cassandra glared, "You know the books." She said flatly.

"My old driver would read them to his daughter."

 "Of course." She sighed, she turned to Abbey, who was impatiently waiting for an answer.

"It's damaged..." She began.

"Of course it is." Tyto sang.

"You're far too rough with it." Ceri chimed in.

"I am Not." Cassandra's eyes, which had settled to a green, flickered gold in anger.

"Then why is it damaged?" Tyto demanded.

"Again," Ceri added.

"Because it doesn't Fit!" Cassandra wheeshed. "Every year I tell them it doesn't fit right, and every year they ignore me."

"Why would they ignore you?" Blaidd asked, baffled.

"Because they want everyone to have the same type, and no one else has the problems I do. It's my blasted bufferbeam."

Everyone glanced to the tank engine's bufferbeam, which sat lower than their own, with larger buffers.

"Why is it shaped like that?" Becca asked.

"When I took over my branchline, it still had rolling stock that predated standard buffer heights. I was given these so that I could buffer up to either height."

"And they never rebuilt the rolling stock?" Enid said with a wrinkled nose.

"The ones we owned, but some are private wagons... it's a right pain." Cassandra sighed.

"What even are you?" Enid asked curiously, wincing as Abbey glared at her.

Cassandra smirked, "I'm an LBSCR E2."

Gwyn looked up from where he'd been cleaning out Screech's firebox.

"If you're an E2 I'm the bloody queen."

Her smirk widened, "The NWR has the purchase papers."

Gwyn scowled at her, shaking a rag playfully, "You can't fool me lass, you're at least 10 tons too light to be a bloody Billington."

"Then why do I regularly exchange letters with my siblings in Southampton?"

She chuckled at Gwyn's glare, "The LBSCR sent an E2 to Sodor in 1915, I arrived. The NWR bought said E2 in 1920 and I became their Number One. As far as anyone knows or can prove, I am former LBSCR 110. Driver suggested writing letters to my siblings in the 20s, and we've been sending monthly letters ever since."

"Then you're an E2," Abbey said simply.

"She's nothing like a bloody Billington!" Gwyn spluttered.

"If the other E2s say she's their sibling, then she is," Screech said firmly.

Gwyn groaned in exasperation.

 Freda just laughed, "It's no use. I dare say the engines know better than you."

Gwyn grumbled under his breath.

Cassandra smiled smugly, "I was painted black with red lining originally if that helps, although I've been heavily rebuilt since then.."

Gwyn gave her a flat look, "that could be almost any railway, especially during the war." He sighed, "I guess it doesn't really matter."

"It's going to bother you until you figure it out, isn't it," Freda said, amused.

"Yes!"

Freda shook her head at her husband's antics. She turned to Cassandra. "Don't worry dear, we'll get you a plow that fits you so well you'll hardly know it's there.

[youwouldntlietopapa]

24- with Primo. Please and thank you.

First, I was hoping for some Primo prompts. I feel like I don't get a lot of chances to write him and I'd like more.

Second, HOW DARE???? I HAVE A HEADACHE NOW FROM CRYING??? WHY??? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME YOU MONSTER??????

Third, I'm not even sorry.

No real warnings on this one except for maybe emotional pain over yet another old man I love. Please refer any complaints to the account above. It's all on them.

Also available on AO3

ahem @the-cardinale just... if you're interested.

_____________________________________________________________

It had always been something when it came to Primo over the years. A few false starts. A few missed opportunities. Always the wrong time, the wrong place. The Ministry, duties, family, Papa, all of it. The stars simply hadn’t aligned. Not like you’d wanted. Not like you’d prayed. And, Satan help you, you had prayed. Each morning and night, before the great altar and alone in your room. Everything you did for the Abbey you offered up as a prayer.

But, instead, you had watched him, year after year. Rising in power, basking in his unholy glory, becoming the man you knew he was meant to be. His radiant beauty and his noble bearing only shining brighter each day. Even as you watched his silken hair of spun gold shift to silver and his taught, perfect skin begin to loosen and droop. Like the finest wine, grown nearly priceless with the passage of time.

If only time had been so kind to us both, you thought, looking into the mirror with a heavy sigh. Pulling your hair back tightly, winding it into a practiced bun at your crown. Trying valiently to put such thoughts out of your mind. The same thoughts you’d been trying to set aside for years… decades.

Fool. It’s too late now. Best to just let him go.

You shake your head and sigh, duty calls and you haven’t risen so high in the ranks to loose your footing now. Just forget it and get on with your day.

You manage it, reasonably well, as you do most every day. Assigning duties to the new Sisters, overseeing others, paperwork, emails, prep for lectures and seminars, making calls about bookings, sceduling meetings. The list is endless. Endless enough to keep you occupied with other things. The way you like it. The way that keeps you sane. Head down, nose to the grindstone.

Right up until you look up and find yourself standing in front of the greenhouse.

You could have sworn you only came out to get a little fresh air, to enjoy the warm early days of fall before the winter chill takes hold. Lost in your own thoughts, a million miles away. While your treacherous feet have betrayed you once more and carried you here, quite against your will. They know the path too well, walked too many times, years ago and all the time in between. Slowly spacing out the visists when it hurt too much to be there. Finding excuses and other places and busy work and anything else that didn’t remind you of the smell of fresh turned earth and the humid heat and sun warmed skin…

“Been a while, Sorella.” His voice catches you off guard. Still low and soft as a summer breeze. The gravel just beneathe is more pronounced than it used to be, but it’s the most beautiful sound in the world as far as you’re concerned.

One hard swallow is hardly enough to clear the decades of desire and regret caught in your throat and threatening to choke you. But it’s all you have before you turn to face him. “… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to interrupt… I should go.”

But his hand grabs your arm and roots you to the spot. You don’t want to look, too afraid of what you’ll see. Anger, hatred… Lucifer preserve me, indifference. Still his hand holds you firmly.

“Please… look at me.”

And how could you say no? How could you ever say no? Even if it hurts. Especially when it hurts. You turn back and his eyes lock on to yours while the world around you crumbles to dust and the once solid ground falls away while you drop into the pit desperately trying to cling on to him just for a moment. Just for one precious, perfect moment where he might actually be yours. The man that he was, that he is, that he will be. Not the nothing it’s been for so long, too long, so painfully, foolishly, hopelessly long.

“I miss you, mia rosa.” His fingers loosen, sliding down your arm to catch your hand. The sensible part of you is desperate to pull away. You know this pain too well. How it will cut the heart out of you again. Again and again. Like every time before. “Please… please… don’t go. For me.”

“Papa, I…”

“No.” He says firmly. Not angry, just final. “No. Not here. Not from you. Non quando ho aspettato così a lungo che tu tornassi di nuovo qui, amore. Non sono quell'uomo, non per te, non posso esserlo. Preferirei morire.”

There’s a desperation in his eyes you don’t know that you’ve ever seen before and his hand holds on to yours like you might drift away.

“You know my name. You know who I am.”

“Primo... please.”

He’s already closer, so close you have to look up at him. So close you can feel his warmth and smell the lingering scents of the garden clinging to his clothes. His warm, gentle hand cups your cheek and he stares at you until you’re sure he can see right into your soul.

“How long are you going to hide from me? If you won’t stay… tell me how long is my punishment? I need to know. Please. So I can, at least, see an end. Tell me and I will wait, without complaint. But don’t just leave me here. I beg you.”

“Primo…” Decades. Decades upon decades. Still he steals the breath from your lungs and the sense from your head. Just being close is enough to drive you to madness. Every wall you’ve built around yourself to keep yourself safe feels as solid and secure as damp tissue. “The punishment isn’t yours. You know that. You know that. How many times have I told you? I know. I understand. It’s all right. I don’t begrudge you one ounce. But it hurts and it will keep on hurting. It’s no one’s fault… but, Satanas… It hurts until I can’t breathe.”

“Amore…”

“Please… it… it’s never forever, Primo. And I can’t do for now. It’s too late for that. Much too late.” It feels like a betrayal. Like an attack he doesn’t deserve. Just to say it out loud. That the tiny spark of hope that refuses to go out isn’t really enough to sustain you after so long.

For half a second you think he might let go, half a second that drags out into eternity where you are terrified he will let go. It’s one thing to say the words, to insist that it’s what’s best. But your stomach lurches dangerously and your throat tightens painfully at the terror that you might be right. That it really is just… done. And when his fingers slip free of yours, it’s all you can do not to scream until you shatter.

Instead it joins the other, cupping your cheeks tenderly. The warmth of his palms seeping deep into your skin and setting that tiny, dying ember back alight. “Not for now, angelo mio.” He says quietly, gently. His work callused thumb brushes a tear from your cheek. “No more for now. I am done with stolen days. With lost time. No more.”

His lips brush against yours, so softly it’s more like a memory.

“No more puppet pretending to be king. No more smiling court jester.” His brow furrows and his eyes glisten with tears barely contained. “Ho dato loro una vita, amore mio. Non ho mai avuto intenzione di dargli anche il tuo. E sono fauci spalancate e insaziabili. Ma non più. Ho finito. Hanno tutto ciò che otterranno da me. Non permetterò loro di avere anche questo.”

Primo’s forehead presses against yours and you can feel him fighting to control his breathing. Shaking from the effort of holding together. “It can’t be too late. Please. Tell me it’s not too late.”

“Look at me, Primo… really look at me. I’m not a girl anymore. Whoever she was was worn down with time and this is all that’s left. You… you deserve better. More. That girl got old, my love. And there are too many pretty young things here who would make you happy. Give you a son.”

“I am looking at you. You think I am so blind?” He says with a hint of a smile, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “It’s not them I want. And I raised three sons already. I don’t need another. What would I do with a baby, amore? I have my children here.” Primo waves to the garden. “They are enough.”

“It’s you I don’t have and you I want. Always you. Only you.”

“Hell’s teeth, you are stubborn as ever.” You huff.

Primo finally smiles, chuckling softly. His arms wrapping you in his warm embrace. “Si, I am. More maybe. You know how old men get.”

Your hand reaches up and cups his cheek as he did yours. Noting all the subtle changes and all the things that are still the same. Drifting along his jaw and around behind his sun baked neck. Letting your fingers run through his hair. Thinner now, more silver than gold, and still like the finest silk. His eyes slide closed and the hum of pleasure that rumbles in his chest still echoes through your soul.

His lips are on yours again. Tentative at first, waiting for you to pull away, and claiming your mouth deeply, desperately, passionately when you don’t. His strong hand cradling the back of your head, holding you steady. You’re vaguely aware of moving and the sound of the greenhouse door. But none of it matters. Nothing else matters outside of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the familiar press of his body. When you drop into his old chair, the years fall away and you’re curled in his lap once more. Hands buried in his hair. His own hand deftly loosening yours from the bun, letting it spill down your back. Combing his fingers through with a soft moan.

“Amore mio…” He breathes against your lips. His grip on your hair holding you close. “Forgive me. Forgive me, please. Ask of me anything. I will burn the greenhouse. I will tear up the garden. I will give you the world if you ask. Only forgive me.”

“Anything?”

“Si.”

One hand slips from his hair. Tracing the lines of his face, all the victories and defeats, all the loves and heartache, the joys and sorrow mapped out over the face that’s been in every one of your dreams from the first time you laid eyes on him. Staring back into his mismatched eyes that have seen even the darkest coners of your mind and never once flinched away.

“All I want is all I’ve ever wanted.” Your hand finds his and you lace your fingers together. “You.”

A rosy blush blooms across his cheeks and he smiles a little sheepishly, dropping his head. “Sono tuo, dolcezza. Come lo sono sempre stato. Completamente, interamente, irrimediabilmente tuo.”

“I forgive you. I have always forgiven you.” You lift his chin and smile gently.

“Now kiss me, you fool.”

_____________________________________________________________

Sorella = Sister

mia rosa = my rose

Non quando ho aspettato così a lungo che tu tornassi di nuovo qui, amore. Non sono quell'uomo, non per te, non posso esserlo. Preferirei morire. = Not when I've waited so long for you to come back here again, amore. I'm not that man, not for you, I can't be. I'd rather die.

Ho dato loro una vita, amore mio. Non ho mai avuto intenzione di dargli anche il tuo. E sono fauci spalancate e insaziabili. Ma non più. Ho finito. Hanno tutto ciò che otterranno da me. Non permetterò loro di avere anche questo. = I gave them a lifetime, my love. I never intended to give them yours too. And they are gaping and insatiable maw. But not anymore. I finished. They have all they will get from me. I won't let them have this too.

Sono tuo, dolcezza. Come lo sono sempre stato. Completamente, interamente, irrimediabilmente tuo. = I'm yours, sweetness. As I always have been. Completely, entirely, hopelessly yours.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy Rating: Explicit Chapters: 7/20, part 1 of 3 Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong, Aemond Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

READ ON AO3

Chapter Seven - The Look You Give

“Nor when you pulled him behind the tapestry outside mother’s room to kiss him,” Helaena said knowingly, a smile playing across her face. “Or when Aemond found you pushing him up against the bookcase.” Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see Wylla’s face going red from how hard she was trying to keep her grin at bay. Failing, of course, but she appreciated the effort. She shifted on her feet and smoothed her fingers over the delicate satin bodice once more. “I don’t think that’s true. Tis I who…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely into nothing. “It’s rather unbecoming. He never initiates anything. He’s exceedingly good about it.” Which continued to confuse her to no end because she’d seen the way he’d ogle serving maids and the other ladies, not to mention how he did, in fact, like kissing her. She’d seen him reach and pinch a lady’s hip while passing, that stupid and devastating smirk crossing his features. His hands would encompass her waist or cup her cheeks, but other than that, he surprisingly did not reach for her. He also didn’t complain when she reached for him. Aegon didn’t resist when she was the one who dragged him into quiet spots, grinning at her giggles and returning her kisses. “It’s Aegon. He’s a fool, and he drinks too much, and if you don’t think he’s as nervous about you as you are of him, then I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to our whole lives.” Helaena’s tone was gentle, if firm, as if patiently explaining to a child that the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Her lavender eyes looked down the hall towards the grand staircase and then reached up to adjust one of the combs in Abby’s hair. Helaena’s own silver-gold hair was braided back from her face, a vine of pearls woven into it. Guilt stung her that she hadn’t been the one to do Helaena’s hair. “So you’re saying he’s too nervous to, um…” “Accost you?” Wylla supplied helpfully. “In a good way.”

There are so many silent readers out there! Know that I adore and appreciate you all. If you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog, or feel free to drop me a DM or even a guest comment so I know you enjoy! The only way I know people like this fic is if you let me know!

Taglist behind the cut! DM me if you'd like to be added!

@fyeahgotocs, @fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446

[miloinouterspace]

I made a Monty playlist!

Spotify link:

List format:

Monty Finch

"I never asked to be human, with all these... feelings."

☆ Blackbird

The Beatles

☆ Things That Make It Warm

Cavetown

☆ Rule #4 - Fish in a Birdcage

Fish in a Birdcage

☆ Two Birds

Regina Spektor

☆ Gold and Green

Slaughter Beach, Dog

☆ Two-Headed Boy

Neutral Milk Hotel

☆ thumbelina

Lizzy Hilliard

☆ Oh What A World

Rufus Wainwright

☆ Such Great Heights

The Postal Service

☆ Telescope

Cavetown

☆ No Shadow Left Behind

Rob Crow's Gloomy Place

☆ Die Alone

Ingrid Michaelson

☆ King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1

Neutral Milk Hotel

☆ Snail (feat. Chloe Moriondo)

Cavetown, chloe moriondo

☆ I'm Fine

Daisy the Great

☆ He Loves Me (He Loves Me Not)

Baby Bugs

☆ I Miss My Mum

Cavetown

☆ Eyes Blue Like The Atlantic (feat. Subvrbs)

Sista Prod, Subvrbs

☆ Wishing Well

Cavetown, Drew Monson

☆ Cloud 9

Beach Bunny

☆ Pyjama Pants

Cavetown

☆ Strawberry Blond

Mitski

☆ passing papers

egg

☆ I Want to Meet Ur Dog

Cavetown

☆ Smitten

Leanna Firestone

☆ Can I Call You Tonight?

Dayglow

☆ 888

Cavetown

☆ Abigail

Frankie Cosmos

☆ I Won't Say (I'm In Love)

Susan Egan (Hercules Cast Recording)

☆ wouldn't it be funny

Lizzy Hilliard

☆ Acolyte

Slaughter Beach, Dog

☆ if you were a worm (bonus track)

Lizzy Hilliard

☆ (You) On My Arm

Leith Ross

☆ In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

Neutral Milk Hotel

☆ We'll Never Have Sex

Leith Ross

☆ Sweet Tooth

Cavetown

☆ Sappho

Frankie Cosmos

☆ Like Or Like Like

Miniture Tigers

☆ Dream Boy

Beach Bunny

☆ There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

The Smiths

☆ Lola

Maude Latour

☆ Famous

Daisy the Great

☆ if i were a fish (feat. Olivia Barton)

corook, Olivia Barton

☆ The Record Player Song

Daisy The Great

☆ Lemon Boy

Cavetown

☆ I Eat Salads Now

Sidney Gish

☆ Washing Machine Heart

Mitski

☆ IDKW

Daisy the Great

☆ Aftershook

Frankie Cosmos

☆ Seasoned

Daisy the Great

☆ She Wants Me (To Be Loved)

The Happy Fits

☆ What Do You Want From Me Tonight?

Sidney Gish

☆ Homesick

Cavetown

☆ Fool

Frankie Cosmos

☆ Why Am I Like This?

Orla Gartland

☆ Dance in Room Song

Sipper

☆ Abbey

Mitski

☆ You Just Didn't Like Me That Much

Leanna Firestone

☆ Liquid Smooth

Mitski

☆ That Funny Feeling

Bo Burnham

☆ Heather

Conan Gray

☆ Pigeon

Cavetown

☆ Every Single Night

Fiona Apple

☆ Grocery Store

Cavetown

☆ Cannibal

Tally Hall

☆ Feb 14

Cavetown

☆ Fruit Stand

Frankie Cosmos

☆ Fool

Cavetown

☆ The Way I Feel

DENTON

☆ Idea of Her

Cavetown

☆ Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

The Smiths

☆ This Is Home

Cavetown

☆ Sorry For Me

Ricky Montgomery

☆ Silly Girl

chloe moriondo

☆ Snow

Ricky Montgomery

☆ When He Sees Me

Kimiko Glenn (Waitress Cast Recording)

☆ Ramblings of a Lunatic

Bears In Trees

☆ Hug All Ur Friends

Cavetown

☆ Just Someone With a Sweater On

Claire Young

☆ Evermore

Dan Stevens

☆ I'm Still Here

Kate Winton

☆ The Alcott (feat. Taylor Swift)

The National, Taylor Swift

☆ Better Go

Mal Blum

☆ Glowing

Slaughter Beach, Dog

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

In the Footsteps of a Saint

FAITH TODAY：MAY 2011

Catholic actor Charlie Cox is making waves across the Atlantic – and he’s about to hit the cinemas in his native UK playing a saint in a new movie.

FAITH TODAY went to meet him.

How does it feel to be a saint?  That’s something no-one alive can ever really know, since sainthood is only acknowledged after death: but up-and-coming actor Charlie Cox knows more about it than most. Cox, 28, is the star of There Be Dragons, a new movie about the early life of St Josemaria Escriva, the Spaniard who founded Opus Dei.  So – given that he’s a Catholic himself - how did it feel to Cox to walk in a saint’s shoes, and to portray his holiness on screen?

What struck him most, says Cox, is that ‘there seemed to have been no single moment when Josemaria was saintly... instead, what people who knew him spoke about and wrote about was a lifetime of consistently good decisions and a dedication of his entire life to God’.  So in fact, he explains, portraying him meant being very human – and yet aware that decisions often had to be made that weren’t directed at other people, but were directed at God. Playing Josemaria is the latest step on a path that’s fast feeling like the road to the big-time: Cox first appeared on the showbiz radar in 2007 when he got the role of Tristan Thorne in the movie Stardust, and he went on to play the Duke of Crowborough in the ITV drama Downton Abbey.  And just a fortnight before we meet, he’s filmed his first episode of HBO’s prohibition drama Boardwalk Empire, the flagship programme of the new Sky Atlantic channel, in which he plays an immigrant from Northern Ireland with ties to the IRA.  Cox says he’s loving the part: Steve Buscemi, who recently won a Gold Globe award for his portrayal of Enoch ‘Nucky’ Thompson in the series, is one of his all-time heroes, and he can hardly believe his luck in being cast with him.

’Working with Steve feels amazing, I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been,’ he says, as we chat over coffee at a Madrid hotel on the morning of the premiere of There Be Dragons.  He jetted in this morning from New York – he’ll be there filming Boardwalk Empire through the summer and, he says, he can’t imagine a better way of spending the next few months. ‘They’re the nicest bunch of people – and everyone is so confident about how good the series is, so there’s a great buzz about it.’

Working on Boardwalk Empire has taken him a long way from his Sussex roots.  He grew up in Hearst Green, the son of publisher parents – and he was raised a Catholic, like his father, although he was educated at a non-Catholic independent school, Sherborne School in Dorset.  ‘Only about 70 out of 700 boys were Catholics. We had to get up early on a Sunday to go to Mass at a local girls’ school... it would have been easy to skive off it, but actually we never did.  I’ve always loved churches – even now, in a strange city, I’ll often wander around looking at churches.’ There was no history of acting in the family – bar a grandmother who had been at RADA before the second world war – but even as a youngster, Cox was smitten with the idea.  ‘My mum and dad had a fantastic attitude to it,’ he says.  ‘The school wanted me to go to university, play it in safe mode, have a back-up plan.  But my parents came to see me act, and afterwards my dad sat me down and he said: ‘I think you’d be a fool not to pursue this’.  And I don’t know whether I’d be here now if it hadn’t been for that one comment...’ Despite living in the US at the moment, and the fact that his parents spend most of their time these days in France, Cox says Britain will always be home – and he’s very close to his family.  He has a brother, and three half siblings from his father’s first marriage, and his parents have flown to see him in Madrid while he’s over for the premiere of There Be Dragons. After school, he spent a gap year working for a photographer – and even before he could take up a place at Bristol Old Vic Theatre School, he’d landed the role of Theo in the movie Dot the i.  ‘An agent took a punt on me and put me up for the part,’ he says.  ‘I’ve been incredibly lucky, and that was just one of my lucky breaks.’

But it’s not just luck – Cox is immensely likeable, and he’s obviously genuinely passionate about acting.  He’s also been smart enough to realise that he can learn a huge amount from more seasoned actors – so he saw acting alongside Robert de Niro and Michelle Pfeiffer in Stardust, for example, as a fantastic opportunity to soak up knowledge.  And he’s learnt lots more, too, from Roland Joffe, director of There Be Dragons, who was also the film-maker behind The Mission (about the early Jesuits in south America) and The Killing Fields (about the murderous Pol Pot regime in Cambodia), both of which were Oscar nominees.

‘I didn’t think twice about taking the part of Josemaria, and that was down to Roland,’ he says.  ‘He’s such a great director – he really understands the processes that actors have to go through to give their best.  I learnt so much from working with him.’

Given the subject-matter of There Be Dragons, Cox also spent time in the run-up to filming learning about Opus Dei, which has the status of a ‘personal prelature’ within the Catholic Church.  ‘I visited several Opus Dei houses, and I went on a retreat and had a lot of help from an Opus Dei priest, Fr John Wauck.’

Before he made the film, he admits, he’d never heard of Josemaria – and all he knew about Opus Dei was what he’d read in Dan Brown’s book The Da Vinci Code.  But researching Josemaria, he says, what struck him most was the saint’s humanity – and his ability, examined in the film, to forgive.  ‘It was an example I had to put into practice, because one day when we were filming I returned to my trailer to find someone had broken in and cleaned the place out completely,’ he says.  ‘They’d even taken my computer, and the charger, and even my clothes.’ ‘The following day I was due to film one of the big scenes in which Josemaria shows how he can forgive, and I remember thinking: this is really interesting.  And the thing is that I did manage to forgive the guy who nicked my stuff.’ ‘And what I realised, through that incident, was that – though we think of forgiveness as something very moral and impressive, it’s actually something that works totally in your own favour.  Because if you don’t forgive then you’re angry inside – and that anger doesn’t hurt the other person, but it really hurts you.’ Since filming finished for There Be Dragons, Cox has been working on another movie – Moby Dick, due to be released later this year – and now Boardwalk Empire.  It all suggests, I tell him, that fame – which he’s told previous interviewers frightens him – could be beckoning. ‘It’s tricky,’ he says, candidly.  ‘I’ve got friends who have gone on to extraordinary fame, and what I’ve realised through them is that it’s never quite as appealing as it promised to be. ‘On the other hand, like everyone else I want recognition.  I like people to think I’m good at what I do. That’s human nature, isn’t it?’

~*~

[joanofexys]

Music asks 4 and 7?

4. A song you’d put on a playlist for a character you love

Sun Bleached Flies for Jean Moreau, I’ve got Fool’s Gold on my Kevin playlist, and I’ve got Abbey for both Andrew and Neil. Also I have Thèrése on my Padme Amidala playlist idk

7. A song you know every word to

most of the songs i listen to. memorization comes pretty easily to me plus just being able to recognize the order that words seem to fall into and guessing at what comes next in a sentence. But one recent one that I’ve been actually singing a lot lately is Stick Season by Noah Kahan

[winterfest-gift-exchange]

The Brat and the Fool

This fic was written by KelsingraByNight ( @kelsingra-by-night ) for Gwenllian ( @gwenllian-in-the-abbey )and can be found on AO3.

What a treat! Regal X Fool is a gem of a rareship and this fic truly did them justice. All of the character voices are absolutely brilliant and the story is comedy GOLD.

Thank you for participating and bringing this masterpiece into the world:D

Books: Farseer Trilogy

Rating: T

Pairings: Regal Farseer/The Fool

Summary: Regal needs to find a replacement after his favorite minstrel is booked

Excerpt:

“If it embarrassed my bastard nephew, I want to hear it!” Regal declared for all to hear, lifting his cup, and the guests cheered at that. The Fool bowed his head dramatically, and moved to obey “Wait!” Regal called in between mouthfuls wine. “You’ll be needing a bastard as a prop, fool! You!” He tilted his head at his useless valet “Go stand by him.”

“Oh no, my Prince. It would not be realistic ! For even when I jest, my song sang but praises. And the Fitz is far prettier than that.” The Fool waited a moment, almost as if to taste the sudden silence in the room “Why don’t you join me instead?”

[lairn]

I was tagged by @gwenllian-in-the-abbey. Thanks, time to review some stats!

How many works do you have on AO3?

6

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

13,400 (is there a non-manual way to do this?)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Realm of the Elderlings and only RotE, haha

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

When you only have 6 works this doesn't say much! Patience in Winter I'd Rather Die Alone Weak Willed Loomings or, A Short Tale of Woe Never Know Peace (surprised anyone even saw this one)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, virtually always. If anybody takes the time to share their thoughts with me, I at least want to thank them.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I was just noticing all my stuff ends with a little bummer even if the tone beforehand was more pleasant. But probably Weak Willed.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Unfortunately, probably I'd Rather Die Alone. Or Patience in Winter.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, very few people read them to begin with! I'd be confused to receive hate, although it's not impossible it would happen.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

A lot of what I've written is based on prompts. My default would probably be no smut and so far I've only written erotic (sub)text once. But maybe I'd write it if I got a request. It's just not my natural impulse.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Before I had an AO3 I started a NBC Hannibal/Minority Report crossover, haha! I only wrote a few paragraphs, and as soon as Hannibal showed up I quit. Much easier to write Will Graham's voice.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I really doubt it.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No, but I've done a little beta reading.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I'm not really a shipper. If I see enough fan-content of a ship, it wins me over but not passionately. Serizawa/Reigen is an example. But I do feel pretty strongly that Fitz and The Fool have a queer relationship. I'm more in the QPR camp, but really enjoy the romantic fitzloved shippers' works. And sometimes the thought crosses my mind, "Oh Fitz, you fucked that gold man."

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don't have any unless that Hannibal story counts. The recent Malta one took so long I thought I might not finish.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Mm, I think I can get a pretty good sense of characters and their voices. I'm not sure how clearly that translates to the page, but the clarity exists in my head.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I like including sense details (sight, sound, smell, etc.) but I'm not sure if they enhance things or are more intrusive. Dialogue feels bad, man.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I haven't and probably won't. If the characters understand it, I'd probably write in English and indicate it was said in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I wrote an additional chapter to add to the end of One Hundred Years of Solitude for a high school assignment. I think it counts because we had the option to do an analytical essay, but I was so excited about the book that I had to take the creative writing option. Nobody else did I think.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Maybe Weak Willed. I feel like it's fun to read and someone did fanart of it!

tagging: @smalltownfae

[patchworkbearss]

I OFFER THE GAYS

Been listening to way too much of the crane wives lately

[itschrisboys]

okay so i made @dingodoodles's fools gold's characters in the sims. ive been playing for less than 2 sims days and already

sneeze and sips became best friends in less than a day

abbey went to work without eating, peeing, or showering even though THE BATHROOM WAS FREE and THERE WAS FOOD RIGHT THERE, she had AN HOUR TO DO THESE THINGS, and i was TELLING HER TO DO THEM THE WHOLE TIME

xanu walked in on sips in the shower, walked out embarrassed, then immediately walked back in ALONG WITH JACK.

jawbone stayed up all night and then got cranky like it was MY fault.

i got a phone call saying to go into the bathroom and not unlock the door for anything??? also i got a text hitting on half of the household.

not something that happened, but gothi has to sleep outside because there wasn't enough room for all the beds. she seems fine with it.

[cinemaocd]

This is a gold mine. It goes back farther than 500 years and you can search by time period or subject matter as well as the individual words. When I was working on a long fic about 10 years ago, I consulted the online etymological dictionary frequently, but this resource doesn't allow such specific searches, nor can you really search for commonly used phrases, such as the delightful 16th century phrase, "eel skin merchant" or "selling eel skins" which just means a liar or a bullshitter, owing to the unlikelihood that a person would try to sell such a useless and unpleasant item.

A cursory look through it I found so much relevant to my interests. Especially hilarious are words that I think Thomas Cromwell might have coined, or at least been among the first to print for example:

Abbey-lubber: a waster or fool that is in Holy Orders, 1538

Oh, and our friend Erasmus, the lettuce eater, calls out crooked lawyers as "ambidexters" (meaning playing both ends...hmmmm hmmmm). I wonder what crooked, bisexual lawyer he could be talking about?

I was surprised how many words from the early 16th century describing corrupt religious practices:

"Bishop has put his foot in it" or "black as the bishop's foot" was written about by Tyndale (the irony!) anything burned, destroyed, wrecked or just the color "black" in general in reference to the burning of heretics.

There were several specific words for sexual partners being snuck into churches and monasteries in disguise: authem (which had several other meanings, less vulgar, more informal about things in the area around a church, also interestingly could be Yiddish in origin) and doxy, which was specifically a sex worker being snuck into church grounds.

"Winchester goose", was a venereal disease as far as I can tell, not a term for the prostitutes themselves, "goose" was a verb meaning to pinch or bite (still used this way) and Winchester was an area with a lot of sex workers. "He is recovering from a Winchester Goose." Also "goose" as a verb morphed into meaning anal intercourse in early 20th century U.S.

There was also: jarkman-a monk who uses their ability to write Latin to forge documents.

Patriarch: phony priest that performed illegal marriages.

Domerer: a monk that pretends to be deaf to get more alms.

legem pone: meant "money down" or an earnest payment, it comes from the first two words in one of the psalms that is associated with the first of the month or payday.

All of these were first printed in the early 16th century, though many were probably older.

It's also fun to see how many commonly used vulgarities are at least that old if not older: bitch, fuck, cunt, cock, cuck, faggot...

about the last one, I'd always heard it came from "faggot" the bundle of sticks used to light fires, since homosexuals would be heretics that are burned. This source disputes that and says that women and children were often derisively called faggots, because they were the ones that carried the bundle of sticks, so it became a term of abuse for homosexuals, as a way to link them with weakness and femininity. The earliest in print usage of the word to mean homosexual, came from WWI in the U.S.

"Bird" could be a woman or an effeminate man at this time, "nan boy" and molly also were effeminant men, a bit later in Shakespeare's time as well as Betty and the area of london associated with gay activity became: bettyland...

hey boy don't kill yourself. green's dictionary of slang is available online and allows you to explore 500 years of english vulgarity. you can search by part of speech, source, time period, etymology, and usage. there's a whole category for gay slang. they even have specific citations listed so you can see the exact context for yourself. boy did you know that in 1927 "to kneel at the altar" was slang for "to sodomize"

[bllsbailey]

Trump Floats Death Penalty for Drug Dealers

Acknowledging Americans might not “be ready for it,” Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump called for the death penalty for drug dealers to help combat the effects of becoming a “drug-infested nation.”

Trump made the comments during a speech at a rally in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, carried live by Newsmax on Friday, a key battleground in the upcoming election. Trump said a drug dealer in the U.S. kills 500 people, on average, over the course of dealing fentanyl and other dangerous drugs. 

“So a drug dealer kills 500 people. And the only thing they would understand would be the death penalty. If you had the death penalty for drug dealers, you wouldn't have any more drugs,” Trump told the crowd.

Trump recounted a conversation with Chinese President Xi Jinping during his first term as president.

“Why don't you have a drug problem?” Trump said he asked Xi. “'Because we have the death penalty,' he said, for drug dealers. 'If they sell drugs, they die, he said.' … but they do in many other countries. In countries where you have that, you don't have a drug problem. And we are becoming a drug-infested nation, whether you like it or not,” Trump said.

“And if you did that, meaningfully, you will in one week, stop the drug problem. Nobody's going to be selling drugs. I don’t know that the country’s ready for it, but they should,” Trump added.

Trump also took aim at Democrat presidential nominee Kamala Harris over her first interview since becoming the nominee more than 40 days ago. He assailed Harris for being afraid to do the interview one-on-one, despite it being pre-taped and done on the Democrat-friendly CNN, he said.

“Did you see her on television last night? Sitting propped up in a desk with this guy, this ‘tampon Tim,’” Trump said of Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz, Harris’ running mate.  

“And if you're too weak to do a one-on-one interview with a person that was so soft. You know, I know Dana. She's always, you know, always nasty. She was so nice to the Democrats,” Trump said. “But it was a very weak interview, from the standpoint of CNN.

"I think CNN should be ashamed of themselves. … If that were me: Sir, I heard you want the death penalty for drug dealers. Why? Well, you know, I'd like to end the drug epidemic, if that's OK.”

Trump also panned the mainstream media outlets who reported on his appearance and alleged altercation at Arlington National Cemetery this week with Gold Star families who were honoring sons, daughters and family members were killed three earlier at Abbey Gate at the Kabul, Afghanistan, airport. Trump gave his side of the event, not attended by President Joe Biden or Harris.

Trump said he was at Arlington at the request of some of the 13 Gold Star families.

“Then they said to me … 'Sir, would it be possible for you to have a picture with us by the tombstone of my son?' … I said, 'Absolutely.' I wasn't doing it for, I don't need publicity. I get a lot of publicity. I would like to get a lot less publicity. … I'm the only guy who would hire a public relations agent to get less publicity,” Trump said.

“And then later on that day, I heard that we were using the graves of those soldiers for public relations purposes, you know, and that was all put out by the White House,” Trump said. "Joe Biden killed those young people because he was incompetent. And then they tell me that I used their graves for public relations services, and I didn't.”

The suicide bombing came in August 2021 amid Biden’s “incompetent” withdrawal from Afghanistan, which was a goal of Trump’s when he was in office.

“And pulling out was OK, but not pulling out like a bunch of incompetent fools,” he said.

“And we were getting out,” he said separately over his own plan. “I had it down to 5,000 people. But we were going to keep Bagram, which is the big air base, one of the biggest in the world. We're keeping Bagram for a different reason. One hour away from where China makes its nuclear weapons, right?”

Mark Swanson ✉

Mark Swanson, a Newsmax writer and editor, has nearly three decades of experience covering news, culture and politics.

© 2024 Newsmax. All rights reserved.

[thebard490]

Paladins Chapter 13: Power of a Godless Fool

            I am The Bard, who was there when the sons of Baal were cast down, and likewise many other servants of the ones who call themselves gods.

The paladins could scarely afford to linger much longer than they already did with the halflings. In order to lay low the mighty works of Pompey, and see his legion broken before him, they moved with all haste from one battle to another. Julian had barely had time to recover from his powerful attack, but onwards he moved, contrary to the other’s concerns. They raced back again as they had come, returning swiftly to the chapel to crush Numa and his expeditionary force.

In the hidden wooded chapel, Numa fumed. Not only were there no undead in this forgotten place, but this place was no longer forgotten. Seven pyramids of golden coins lay upon the altar. Seven idols to seven gods, seven refugees of broken pantheons. Jofur the dwarf-father, the high smith and first son of the Seven Mountains. Silver-Handed Tyr, last of the Aesir and righteous god of war. Esther, Queen Mother of the Haflings, Hearthkeeper, Mother to the Motherless, Watcher of Wanderers. Valtiel, greatest student of Thoth, Wizard-King of ancient days, unmatched in knowledge. Byleth the Redeemed, Master of Music, brother to Baal, once king of the Sixth Hell. Nirah, the Messenger, surviving only by their endless wandering away from catastrophe. And Bahamut, son of the High King of Heaven Mardok, born of Chaos, crowned by dragons, the heir to the true throne of Akar, the Dragon Prince and first Paladin. Each and every one a remnant of a mightier age, each and every one destined to kneel before Tamur, the Lord of Conquests.

Seven were the high peaks of the High Heavens, standing above all with the high councils. Nine were the worlds once appointed, once warding heavens, now unyielding hells opposite and hateful of the heavens which appointed them, calling for a queen to answer their king. Dragons to answer Dragons. The son and daughter of Mardok, in interminable conflict. Three were the worlds of men and elves. One for the living. One for the dead unclaimed. One for the undying. Countless were the stars and afterlives of weaker pantheons and neutral gods, concerned only for their smaller domains or peoples. One was the black pit, the Nadir, its true name Sheol, to which all evil eventually sank, and rose up like horrors gushing from the mantle of reality. One was the city that stood between all, the Door-World, the nexus, Axle, upon which creation turned, worlds converged, and no god dared to tread. One was the Lord who would conquer all, Tamur, dominator of the world, soon to be the dominator of heaven and earth.   

Such was the mind of Numa as he stepped forwards, his small Decanum of inquisitors with him. He swung his mighty axe into the stone pulpit with enough force that the blessed weapon lodged itself in the stone. His hands shook with fury, as he swept the gold from the altar with a roar of fanatical rage. As he struck each one, a flare of radiant energy rippled across his arm. But he did not flinch away, and though his arm lay badly blackened from the effort, he soothed the pain and forced back the burn marks with a spell of healing.

“Consecration.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “Strong, and more than that, recent. A heretic walks the lands.” He said, saying heretic in the same way normal people might say “A man-eating blob of seagull splat the size and shape of a six-foot-long phallus”.

“Who, who, WHO? WHO DARES SET UP SUCH IDOLS? WHO DARES TO DECLARE SUCH INSOLENCE AGAINST THE CONQUEROR?” He screamed, worked up into a downright fanatical zeal.

“Who dares defile the altar of the heavens undivided?” Senket’s voice brazenly answered.

“Who dares oppress the sons and daughters of Esther?” Peregrin followed.

“Who dares teh dwell in an abbey built by the sons of Jofur?” Kazador rumbled.

“Who dares to become a stench upon the land, and a stain upon her beauty?” Yndri challenged.

“Who thought it was a good idea to waste time with these stupid chants?” Julian complained at his party, as he raised his crossbow and fired at a surprised hobgoblin going for his sword, punching through armor and arm and raising a fountain of blood. “Just kill the bastards already!”

The priest ripped his axe from the pulpit with a cruel laugh. “So, a mishmash of the weaker races, a stunted child playing at being a swordsman, a scheming knife-ear to herald the rest of her slaving kind, a godless human, a dragon pretending to be a dwarf, and funniest of all a devil daring to claim the heavens for her own. Oh, the conqueror has blessed me with a greater joke than any that pathetic jester has ever invented. I might almost consider keeping the devil as a pet for the sheer amusement factor of it all, after of course I bring you to your knees and offer your skulls as a sacrifice to- Ack!”

The mad priest’s monologue was cut off as Julian walked forwards, drew his greatsword, leapt up to him, and nearly took his head off. “Shut up already! I’ve had it with this nonsense. Just die so I can get some sleep!” The singularly irritated Aasimar demanded as he brought down his mighty blade, forcing the cleric to dive to the side to retrieve his axe and not get bisected.

“Alright, inquisitors, kill this one, and bring down the others, their skulls shall become the new centerpiece of the Conqueror’s newest chapel!” Numa shouted as he rose to his feet. The hobgoblins shook their heads free of their fervent trance and horrified shock that a protagonist would actually interrupt a villain’s monologue and drew their weapons. Seven rushed the party while two moved to assist the priest with Julian.

Senket deflected three out of the four blows that the hobgoblins rain upon her, but barely, taking a blow on the leg. It was quite clear that these hobgoblins were far more skilled than their normal counterparts. Noting the larger threat, she focused on one of the pair attacking her, slamming him into a wall and then laying into him with her Morningstar. The first blow cracked his arm, the second smashed into his ribs. He gasped for breath, and Senket answered his refusal to die by channeling a smite to remove his chest altogether in a swirl of golden flames.

Senket turned from one dead fanatic to the next, parrying his first blow with her mace and catching the next on her shield. She threw the blade aside and lashed out with a cloven hoof, striking him in the belly. As he doubled over, her morningstar swung up and smashed into his mouth. She ripped upwards, crushing his skull into his brain and ripping his face off with the cruel spines of the star.

Kazador had the worst of it, as three goblins launched themselves at him. His armor and skill protected him somewhat, but he stepped back with three long cuts in his arm, leg, and chest. He uttered a curse in draconic and retaliated with a gout of flame, driving the inquisitors back with blackened armor. One fell back, screaming briefly, as he had suffered the brunt of the fire. He did not scream for long before his blasted lungs failed him, howls of agony rapidly fading into a choking death rattle.

The smoky hobgoblins approached the massive dragonoid more cautiously, spreading out around him. However, the burns fouled their blows and Kazador gained no new wounds. Then, he retaliated. His blows were precise, a smith’s eye for detail highlighting weak points in his foe’s armor, then maximizing the force of his monumental strength. He shattered the sword of one hobgoblin, and his blow kept going until it clove the soldier’s arm off at his elbow. At the same time, his other axe deflected a strike from the other hobgoblin. Kazador wrenched his arm back and caught the blade by the head of his axe, tearing it away from the legionary’s grasp. In a single motion, he struck with both axes, and both hobgoblins fell to the ground, followed shortly thereafter by their severed heads.

The hobgoblins underestimated Peregrin, deploying only a single one of their number to deal with him. That lone fanatic was surprised with the smiling halfling slapped aside his attacks like mosquitos. The diminutive duelist responded, opening wounds on the hobgoblin’s forearm and legs.

For a moment, he shuddered in fear and hesitated to strike. “Lay down your arms, there’s no need for you to die.” The halfling counseled him, hoping to get through, but the words of Tamur were too strong, and he shook it off as he leapt forwards with a cry to his god upon his lips. Peregrin pulled back with a cut on his shoulder, then caught the sword on his own and slid upwards into the young man’s stomach, a mortal and painful blow. He sunk to his knees, a look of unbelieving pain on his face.

“You fought well, go Tamurhalm proudly.” The halfling congratulated his opponent sincerely, before removing his head from his body and his soul from its mortal coil.

An ancient grudge against elven kind brought the hobgoblins attacking Yndri to such rage that they discarded their shields to strike at her harder. However, fury alone was not enough to outdo the agile elf’s defense, and their lack of defenses proved a mistake as her dancing blades flayed the skin from one’s face before her dagger plunged into his throat, the narrow tip emerging on the other side of his neck.

The death of his comrades was not enough to dull the hatred of the surviving inquisitor, who hammered down Yndri’s defenses and delivered a devastating two-handed cut across her throat. Blood ran down like a waterfall, turning the white tunic scarlet, but the paladin did not fall, for hers was the strength of ancients. Instead she stepped forwards, to the amazement of the one who dealt her that blow and drove both her blades into his stomach. He doubled over, dropping his weapon to grab at her arms, but she spat in his eye. Reflexively he let go and she ripped her blades out on either side, nearly ripping him in two. As swiftly as it had begun, the flow of blood ceased. The cut had torn open a major artery, but had been mended before she lost consciousness. Even so, Yndri took several steps back from the conflict, stamina sapped by the wound and effort to heal it.

As the priest and his acolytes assaulted Julian, the exhausted Aasimar remained calm. Stepping away from one hob’s swipe, he used his armor to deflect the other. The priest called upon his mighty god to enhance his martial prowess, his stance shifting into that of a veteran warrior. Noting the increased threat, Julian called upon his own power to remove the distractions. He stepped into his swing, bringing the great blade down with enough force that even though the hobgoblin blocked, it carried through into where his neck and shoulder met regardless. Julian stepped back, ripping free his sword and carrying its momentum through into an upward swing that sent the other acolyte’s arm, and a great deal of his blood, flying into the air, and the unfortunate hobgoblin onto his back. His head hits the stones with a sickening crack.

Julian turned his attention to the priest and readied his sword, and with a flicker of will an echo of it slid off it into the air besides him. Two blades shimmered in the dying light, each one’s angelic beauty forming a fearful symmetry with their bloodstained purpose. “Come then, let us see the strength of your god.” Julian snarled.

After a moment of tension, the servant of the goblin god and the paladin without a god flew at one another. Axe and blade clashed off one another in a shower of sparks before one went low, and the other high. A gash appeared on Julian’s leg and a slash on Heraclius’s arm. The phantom blade swiped through, splitting open the hobgoblin’s eyebrow.

Senket watched the duel as she healed herself, her code preventing her from intervening. Yndri reached for her bow, but the two warriors moved too swiftly for her to take a swift shot, and her weakened body could not hold the draw overlong. Peregrin turned and laid a hand on her shoulder, channeling his own magic to bring back what color there was to the already pale elf. Kazador, seeing that this situation was well in hand, moved forwards to assist with the priest. As he rushed forth, he stretched out a claw and crushed it in his hand. For a moment, Numa went stiff, before he shook it off with an oath.

Julian took advantage of the momentary pause, two swords leaving three cuts along the priest’s body. Heraclius stepped back and his black eyes gleamed darkly. “Do not interfere, lizard!” He shouted, and a similar stiffness seized Kazador and hurled him back across the chapel. Yndri drew with renewed strength, firing into the melee. However, her shots missed as she had to place them more narrowly to avoid hitting Julian. Senket moved to help Kazador up.

“Ye dinnae seem awful concerned fer Julian there, lassie.” Kazador mentioned through gritted teeth.

“You took care of one of these slaves, and I’ve seen him fight often enough that I know he’s at least as good as you in a fight.” She said calmly as she set him upright.

Julian stepped forwards to make good on that promise, catching the priest once in the shoulder, and then again in the other arm. Numa snarled and slapped aside the phantom blade before stepping forwards, feinting, and then shooting out his open arm, shrouded in black energy. Julian felt his entire body go cold with the weight of ages as the priest grabbed him around the neck, an inverted healing spell, channeled not to mend flesh and bone, but to rot it away to nothing.

The black vines, pulsing darkly once more emerged from around the hobgoblin’s strangling fist and spread across Julian’s body and face, thriving and writing as if looking for a place to take root. Yndri shouted a warning and fired twice, catching the hobgoblin in the shoulder but not breaking his grip. Peregrin lunged, cutting into his legs but getting kicked back. Kazador finally broke free with a shout and charged, stepping into mist and bringing his axes down. One was parried by the priest’s axe, and then interposed Julian as a human shield. Kazador halted his blow, and shifted position, seeking a way around this obstacle.

The flames of heaven again leapt atop Senket’s horns as she delivered words of divine authority unto the black infestation that dared writhe within her holy place and upon her friend’s flesh. “Back! Back to the shadows thou wretched vine! Here the heavens hold power, thou art banished!” The vines flashed and screamed in golden fire as they were forced to relinquish their brief hold on this plane.

Numa looked through the slits of the rounded helmet and saw eyes blazing with fury and determination to rival the heavens themselves. Julian seized the arm holding him in a grip of iron. “My turn.” He growled, and crimson light flared. The flesh was boiled away, the bones splintered, forcing the priest to release his grip. Julian raised his greatsword, struck aside Heraclius’s defense, cutting through armor to the bone. The nephilim pulled back, and with a furious precision like that of a war god drove his blade through the priest’s heart up to the winged crossguard.

Numa gasped and coughed up blood on the paladin’s arm, painting the golden hilt red. “The conqueror… shall strike you down…” He rasped, and Julian began to laugh. His laugh was long and cruel, like stained glass crashing to a stone floor.

“Why hasn’t he then? Come now oh Conqueror, save your servant,” He mockingly prayed, then looked around. “No response, maybe he’s away on a journey, or perhaps he’s sleeping?” He asked the dying priest. “Maybe you just aren’t close enough to him.” He advised as he twisted his sword, mangling the cleric’s heart.

“You will die… terrified and alone, blasphemer…” Numa wheezed out his dying curse. “With no god to comfort you.”

“Of course, I will.” Julian said unfazed. “After all, even after you dedicated your life to him, your god cannot spare the time to comfort you.” He finished coldly. He rips his blade out, and blood fountained from the mangled priest. He fell dead in a swiftly growing crimson puddle, the blood flowing out in across the mortared cracks of the church.

The others looked at Julian with uneasy eyes. “Was that really necessary laddie?” Kazador asked. “Ah ken ‘es a goblins but really now.”

“No, it probably wasn’t, but after his insufferable prattle and nearly killing me it was extremely satisfying.” He said as he reached up and healed his throat. “Come on, let’s get these out of here, at least we’re surrounded by graves already.” The party hauled the dead outside, stripped them of their weapons, save Numa’s axe, and dumped the bodies in graves before burying them.

“You really don’t believe in anything do you.” Yndri asked Julian as they shoveled dirt over the dead.

“No, I believe the gods exist, hells I was born probably no more than a day’s walk to every heaven and every hell you can name. I simply don’t bother wasting my time hoping they’ll decide to help me, or anyone else for that matter.” When the others gave him confused looks, he sighed.

“How many thousands of years have the gods been busy with their great game between good and evil? At the very least it’s been going on at least as long as Mardok has been dead, and all creation seems damned to line up behind his son or daughter. It could have been going on since eternity depending on who you ask. An eternity of heroes and villains, goodly races and wicked ones fighting over some cosmic idea of morality. It’s a stalemate. Good isn’t strong enough to defeat evil, and vice versa. All the while this eternal grandstanding is going on what happens to us mortals? A woman bears a dozen children and all but two are taken from her by sickness. A drought struck the land, and thousands starve as harvests fail. The winter takes countless crawling masses into her grip and smothers them because they have no proper clothing or housing. A village rises and prospers only for gnolls to burn it to the ground and devour the inhabitants. All across the world the children of the gods suffer and die while their parents do nothing, too concerned with their great game of good and evil, or if we’re being more honest, power politics on a divine scale.”

“What does help mortals then? Science, magic, technology, medicine, civilization. I have no interest in the battle between good and evil, I’m fighting to see those things that actually end suffering prosper. If the gods decide to help after all this time then fine, but they’ve had eternity to fix it and they haven’t, so I will. Not in my lifetime, and probably not in my grandchildren’s, but I fight to see the day when the suffering of mortals is a bad memory, left to the history books. So yes, I believe in the gods, but no, I don’t count on them. I mean to abolish chaos and arbitrary suffering, to set people free from the cruel whims of fate and birth. I seek to do what the gods either cannot, or will not do, and thus, I have no use for worship, only allies. And while I freely admit I’ve got an ego, there is no god, barely even an angel, that will lower itself to dare to work with someone rather than ruling over them. I will not waste my time with their game, I have work to do.”

The party was silent for a long moment before Kazador spoke “Yer a wee bit daft there laddie, an’ I’d wager ye’re forgetting a bushel o’ moments when the gods did help out, but I cannae say yer wicked.”

Yndri looked at Kazador as if the dragonoid had just fallen out of the moon. “And here I thought dwarves were judgmental.”

“We are, but I’ve learned tae nae judge faces from havin’ mine judged. Now come on, we need tae get some rest before we worry about any more theology!”