#and 2. i thought there was a separate tree of knowledge my tales and stories are getting all mixed up in a blender

[absurdumsid]

Also I like to headcanon that nightmare was never possessed by the guy who killed nim

I AM SO GLAD IM NOT ALONE

[365days365movies]

March 5, 2021: The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (2013) (Part Two)

Am I going to watch Kaguya-sama again after this?

It is a funny show, so I’m probably gonna watch a compilation or something. Anyway, where was I? OH RIGHT! The Tale of Princess Kaguya, Recap Part Two! This movie is beautiful so far, and I’m enjoying this adaptation of the classic story reinterpreted. Told the girlfriend about this, and she mentioned one of her favorite games: Okami.

It’s based quite heavily on Japanese mythology, and also has a similar aesthetic to this movie. Rumors persist that they’ll be rebooting this, so fingers crossed! Anyway, let’s get back to the movie! First part of the Recap is right here!

Recap (2/3)

After the dream/return to the palace, Hime seems to accept her fate as Princess Kaguya, and is no longer the rebellious and rambunctious kid she was before. And yes, I’ll be referring to her as Kaguya from now on...until the time is right. She studies (and suffers) in silence, clearly unhappy and depressed.

Miyatsuki either doesn’t understand it, or is completely ignorant of her suffering. He brings her a pet bird to keep, which she somewhat brushes off. However, she lets the bird go, as if wishing she could fly away with it.

But time once again passes, and Kaguya grows more beautiful, and the rumors of this beauty spread. People gather outside to palace to get a glimpse of her, and Miyatsuki has made sure to never show her face publicly. Her servant, Me no Warawa (Hynden Walch) is accosted outside of the palace, with a pile of messages and letters for her. She also brings cherry blossoms to the essentially captive Kaguya, for which she is thankful.

Words of her beauty and bamboo-based origins are also spread by Akita to a group of five suitors, all of whom are completely entranced. These five suitors are a classic part of the story, and are also represented in the recent anime based upon it (Kaguya-sama: Love is War). 

The five suitors LITERALLY race there, spurred on by Akita’s...really horny speech,not gonna lie, dude says that this (13-year old) girl got his “juices flowing”, real fuckin’ quote there. Guuuh. Anyway, Miyatsuki and Sagami are overjoyed, as marrying any of these dudes is a guarantee for a happy and prosperous life. But Kaguya...is honestly surprised that she’s supposed to be happy. FUCK, MAN.

She’s SUPER not interested in these guys, but they are ridiculously interested in her. She meets them in honor of her father, but not on her own behalf. They present their proposals to her, and I’ll introduce them in order! First up, Prince Kuramochi (Beau Bridges), an older man of great wealth who basically compares her to a jeweled tree branch on the mountain of Hourai. Cool? In the anime, he’s translated into the best character in the series, game and ramen lover Fujiwara Chika.

Second is Prince Ishidzukuri no Miko (James Marsden), who’s already completely fucked because James Marsden is voicing him, and he basically only plays characters destined to be cucked. Check out my recap of The Notebook for more on that. He pledges to worship her, and compares her to the Stone Begging Bowl of Buddha. In the anime, he’s translated into uptight rules-follower Miko Iino.

Ishidzukuri’s comparison is mocked by number three, Abe no Miushi, Lord Minister of the Right (Oliver Platt), a corpulent man that compares her to...a robe of fire-rat fur. You’re comparing her...to rat hair clothes? Um...wow, dude, that’s legit insulting. No wonder you don’t have a counterpart in the anime yet.

Suitor number four, Grand Counselor Ootomo no Miyuki (Daniel Dae Kim) agrees with me that that’s a SHITTY comparison, and instead compares her to the Five-Colored Jewel around a Dragon’s Neck. His counterpart in the anime is the main love interest, Miyuki Shirogane. Yeah, sort of rigged in his favor in the show. It’s based on it, not a true adaptation.

And lastly is the sullen Middle Counselor Isonokami no Maro (John Cho), who compares her to a cowry shell from a swallow’s nest, which ensures safety in childbirth. And his counterpart is the equally sullen and video-game loving Yu Ishigami, another one of the best characters in the series.

OK, enough about the anime, yeah? Sorry, I just...I just really like it. Anyway, the suitors’ comparisons give Kaguya an idea. She plays the koto for the men, which entrances them (and me, it’s a gorgeous sound), and she thanks them for the sentiment. However, for her hand in marriage, they will need to bring her each of the treasures they compared her to. After all, they compared her to rare treasures, meaning that she is also not easy to obtain. By doing this, they show that they are worthy of that treasure. NICE.

The men leave, noting that it was quite impossible to get these treasures, and that Kaguya is a rare jewel that no one will capture. Objectifying, but OK. When they leave, everybody around the castle leaves as well. Which, to be fair, was exactly what Hime wanted.

Sagami is PIIIIIIIIIIISED, and quits. Miyatsuki’s not exactly chuffed either. But Hime’s finally free, and goes out of the palace with her mother and Warawa to see the city and the cherry blossom trees. Good for her. ‘Bout time she had some fun and joy in her life.

It’s cut off VERY fast, however, when she encounters a family of commoners, who only recognize her as nobility and nothing further. Realizing how separate she now is from them as they bow to her, she breaks a little. And they leave to go back to the city. While getting back there, though, who should she run into but Sutemaru, who’s just stolen a chicken. She calls to him, and he stops and recognize her...but they leave and he’s caught. And Hime cries.

Time passes. Three years, to be specific, as they actually tell us this time. Hime’s still close to her mother, as they still garden together in the back. However, relationships with her father are less great. He comes in and tells her that the first suitor, Kuramochi, has come back with the jeweled branch after all this time. Hime can’t believe it.

Kuramochi comes in with the jeweled branch, which dazzles brilliantly. Kaguya asks how he found it. He weaves a dramatic tale of happening upon the mountain and the branch. As this takes place, though, a local craftsman comes by to collect his fee for...making the branch. And now that he’s made, the cheap-ass Prince takes the fuck off.

Next up is Abe, the rat skin guy, with fire-rat robe in hand. Kaguya calls his bluff, though, and tells him to drop that shit in the fire. If it’s real, then it won’t burn, and the two will marry forthwith. And that shit BURNS. Which sucks, because dude thought it was real, and spent literally ALL of his money on it.

Afterwards, in a conversation between Hime and Waraka, it’s revealed that Miyuki’s actually going to get the Dragon Pearl, and we see that in a gorgeous sequence. It doesn’t go well.

Meanwhile, Ishidzukuri drops by, having brought something for Kaguya. It’s not the bowl promised to her, but is instead a sweet little flower. He admits that he went searching for the bowl, filled with love for Kaguya. Instead, he found a treasure of nature, the flower, and was meant to represent his devotion and the depth of his feelings for her.

And that’s actually very sweet. But he’s James Marsden, so he’s FUCKED. But she definitely seems entranced by his offer to take her some place natural and beautiful and far away. Impassioned and full of love, he lifts open the blinds and sees...his wife. GODDAMN IT JAMES MARSDEN. The cuckee becomes the cucker.

Which sucks, because she actually did fall for him there for a second. We next hear of the Counselor, sent to fetch the cowry shell. However, he tragically dies in the attempt. This knowledge shatters Hime, who rips up her private garden in absolute sorrow. Her mom, who’s genuinely the best mom, tells her not to blame herself.

Meanwhile, as all of this is happening, Princess Kaguya has the ear of the Emperor, the Mikado (Dean Cain). He wishes for Kaguya to become one of his brides, and will make her father a member of the court. Miyatsuki, ever tone-deaf to his daughter’s desires, is thrilled. But Hime refuses, to which her father says that refusal of the Emperor’s wishes is impossible. And Hime says that she will do it to make her father happy, and then she’ll kill herself immediately after the wedding.

Um...fuck. I...I think I’m giving this one a Part Three. See you there!

[barberwitch]

I was wondering about your thoughts on familiars? 🐍🦍🐆🐺🦉🐈🦚🦔🐇😁

*Cracks knuckles…prepares for the shit storm* brace yourselves...loooong fucking post.

95% of people I’ve seen talk about familiars, post pictures of their familiars and talk about how their *insert animal companion* helps them with their spell work…aren’t familiars. They are animal companions, aka pets. They also insist that because they are a witch with and animal who sits on their tarot cards, that it’s automatically a familiar.

Familiars can come in different forms (not talking about cat vs dog vs snake) but it must be reminded that familiar is shortened of “spirit familiar”. It’s not that pets can’t be familiars, it’s that the people who talk about their pets as familiars take inspiration from pop culture of what a familiar is. It’s not just an animal that follows the witch around. A familiar actively assists with the witch’s work. 

Familiars that come in the shape of animals have been around for ages, and across cultures, but the things that ties them together is they appear of their own volition or in specific ways. They aren’t purchased from a pet store, they aren’t adopted from the shelter…is it possible? Sure I guess? Pet stores weren’t really around when most of the accounts of familiar came from. Oof. I need to organize my thoughts a bit.

Familiars Spirits are traditionally intangible/supernatural entities that may or may not choose to appear in physical form whether animal, entity’s “True Form”, or even under disguise, whether as something else or even as another person. Spirit familiars may also inhabit inanimate objects such as statues, spirit vessels (fetiche) such as roots, clay or earthen figures, empty boxes etc.

Familiars as Gifts

In some accounts, a familiar is given to a witch or cunning folk by another person. 

In these cases it’s usually given by a teacher or mentor, or a family member to assist the practitioner in their path. Traditionally it’s someone with a hand in the recipients magical practice.

The spirit passed down may be the witch (or cunningfolk, but for the remainder of this post, I will refer to them interchangeably) indefinitely. The implication there is that the familiar not only is connected to the witch, but to their specific practice and thus can be viewed as a guardian of the path with the assumption that eventually, the witch will pass the familiar onto the next generation.

It may also be a personal familiar that is passed down. Personal as in this is the first time the familiar is passed on, and could become the type mentioned above (guardian style of either the path or family line) or it may be a temporary contract. The familiar may be with the witch to protect it, and assist in place of the original practitioner and may leave/disappear/die when they are able to conjure their own and enter into a pact with a new familiar (or create a pact with the old familiar).

In the case of being passed on, the relationship between witch and familiar, in lieu of a teacher, may impart certain secrets of the path. IT may also not even give the option to continue the relationship if the previous witch only extended the contract to get the new practitioner to a certain point or through hardship. 

It should also be pointed out that specifically in european traditions and some north american lore, that the spirit familiar is given to the witch or magical practitioner by yet another spirit or entity who is more powerful. This could be a spirit mentor, Faery, or as a pact with “The Man in Black” Ol Scratch, or some iteration that has been interpreted as the devil or satan. In these cases, it is both a symbol of the relationship, a representative of the pact, a gift, and a tool.

 Familiars as Animals

As mentioned and popularized both in folklore and in pop culture, familiar spirits may appear in the form of animals.

In the overly popular example of the Salem Witch trials, we see through trial records the purported importance of a “Witch’s Mark”. The mark is some bodily anomaly that supposedly was where the witch could suckle their familiar. It could be a mole, a birthmark, skintag, and was instrumental in the conviction of the accused.

Certain animals are more likely to be the form of a familiar, and that also depends on the geography of the witch as well as the culture. Example, in the US, black cats are inherently associated with witches, but in Scottland, Britain and other countries, you’re may be more likely to find a connection through hares, toads, and ravens more commonly than the black cat.

One reason that they appear as more common animals is to maintain the secrecy that envelopes the witch.

In pop culture, it’s always obvious when a familiar is a familiar because the animal is represented in stark contrast between the other animals. You will notice if a black crow flies to the same person’s house day in and day out when there are no other crows around. You would also notice if you were in the dessert, and a toad is always standing guard outside a home. The animal forms match the surroundings so it would be conceivable for the witch to deny the familiar as what it is “I found this toad in the scullery, it’s so pesky living near that damnable pond. Please wait a moment while I put this outside.”

There is also a connection and interpretation of familiars as being body doubles, or as having room for 2 spirits. Many stories about the folkloric witch hold that the animal appears throughout the town, or visits neighbors etc and is in fact the witch. Some versions hold that the familiar takes the form of the specific animal because that’s the form the witch can assume (conversely, the familiar teaches the witch to transform into a copy of it). This again maintains the witch’s anonymity because if you see the same animal around for a long time, it’s less likely to raise suspicion. It has also been alluded to that the witch enters the body of the familiar or projects their conscious into the familiar to see what need be seen and do what need be done remotely.

Animal familiar spirits in other accounts assume that shape to better serve the witch whether as lookout, intelligence gatherer or collector of needed ingredients.

Familiars also can assume the shape of multiple animals at once, but usually will be the same one, and smaller such as a cloud of flies, grouping of spiders, several small frogs, and even flocks of birds such as starlings, magpies and sparrows. Again, this depends on both the area and the witch.

Familiar Pets

This is one exception that can easily fall into the category of mundane pets and animals being considered familiars (Please note I said this is the easy exception. There may be others, but those are individual cases.)

Some animals are kept as divinatory familiars. This falls under the branch of Zoomancy - divination done through interpretation of movements actions and reaction of animals.

Ailuromancy, coming from the greek ailouros meaning “cat” is divination through…cats. How this is done varies depending on the culture and time, but it’s done by interpreting the movements, and actions of cats. Noticing how cats jump, where they land, what they do with their tales, whiskers, how they curl up, wash their faces, intonations of their meows. 

Alectromancy is the process of using hens and or roosters for divination. Sometimes its observing their movements naturally, other times it’s done by placing the chicken in a circle with different symbols and placing feed on all the symbols, interpreting the actions and choices of the chicken as the answer to the question.

Arachnomancy is the process of divining knowledge past present and future through spiders. It’s been done in multiple cultures from the Inca who kept spiders to answer questions by placing them in bowls and reading how they moved the leaves around. In China, women would collect spiders at fortuitous times in incense boxes and determine events based on if they made webs or didn’t over night. In other cultures, the keeping of spiders was done to read their webs and habits. In other parts of the world, different type of leaves, or cards were moved by kept spiders to interpret omens and fortune.

The reason that these are considered familiars is because they are used directly in the witch’s work. They are kept and fed and cared for, but they have a separate purpose from just existing, and that is as a tool.

I have nothing against pets, I’ve got three myself. I love them, I care for them, they comfort me when I am sick, or tired, or stressed, but they are mundane animals. They were adopted, they were raised, and they do dog things. I joke when I refer to my black dog Arlo as a familiar because he brings me avocados. I don’t use avocados that often in my craft and there’s a tree in my backyard so it’s nothing spiritually enriching, just adorable.

Is it possible that your pet is a familiar? Yes. But most likely it’s just a treasured animal, and familiar in this definition: One who is often seen, and well known; synonym: Companion. Alt.: in close friendship; intimate. Synonyms: Casual, friendly, comfortable, informal.

The term “familiar”, the noun in regards to witches is a different definition: a spirit often embodied in an animal and held to attend and serve or guard a person.

There is precedent to referring to pets as familiars when it comes to having animals that are integral to your craft.

While it may not do anything inherently magical, if used for magic then it is sometimes referred to as a familiar.

Using an animal/pet for a working can also be referred to as using a familiar. Some people use their pets as a conduit or even as a spell holder to deliver the spell to someone else.

Paul Huson refers to these types of animals/familiars/magistelli as a power object

Yes, I mean you can put a hex on someone through your dog. Yes I also mean you can deliver a hex to someone by them petting your dog. or a blessing...that too

Additional note...If you’ve pissed off another witch and go to their home ask if they’ve read my blog before petting their dog. They may be using it to hex you...or bless you.

What does this mean?

If your pet doesn’t attend and serve you in your magical workings, or used in your magical workings on purpose it’s not a traditional witch’s spirit familiar.

If your pet gives you attention and happiness it is familiar to you.

A witch doesn’t need to have a familiar to be a witch. Yes, the 1648 law in Massachusetts defined a witch as one who “hath or consulteth with a familiar spirit.” But even that denotation of what makes a witch was repealed in 1682, ten years before the Salem witch trials. Even the puritans recognized that not all witches have familiars, and sometimes an animal is just an animal.

Familiar Spirits additionally

Some familiar spirits may appear and be subservient or loyal immediately. No pact or contract needs to be done, it’s more just…there.

Familiar spirits may be other spirits who enter into a pact with the witch. Either appearing spontaneously, or through a summons and communication.

This pact may be for a week, a month, several years, or a lifetime…even longer (see above, Familiars as gifts).

Familiars may not always be present. Some may have a resting place the witch must go to, some reside in a different realm, plane, dimension or whatever and need to be called forth to do work. Some may be around the witch at all times, but there is still the function of the familiar.

Familiars do what witches cannot. If that’s going out, gathering items, retrieving lost things, there is an air of purpose that familiars fulfill in assisting the witch in a real way.

This real way is often either physical or spiritual, and with the exception of popculture, most times it is not in an emotional sense like pets fulfill.

Familiars are spirits, and their forms may change, but they are spirits none the less. 

Plant familiars are a thing. Most famous is the Alraune/Alrune/Alruna made from a mandrake. Other plant familiars are grouped under the title of Magistellius Flora.

Magistelli is one title for familiars, and some historians denote that the term “familiar” was passed on from the church to further pass judgement on witches for becoming familiar with the devil (through demonic servants).

As mentioned previously, spirit familiars may inhabit objects and go forth from there. The physical tether is usually cared for and attended to by the witch.

Even though the vessel isn’t living, it is fed and tended to usually as part of the pact made with the spirit.

Familiars in Pop Culture That are More Accurate than Others...

The VVitch (Movie)- the hare that appear numerous times throughout the film is a familiar. It’s not made clear if it is there as a watcher for the witch either holding the witch’s conscious, or as the witch herself. Another possibility is that the hare is a harbinger, delivering an enchantment on behalf of the witch to go unnoticed (The musket backfiring while the hare is watching). Another iteration or possibility is that the familiar is taking on the stance of protector or guard. When deep in the woods the hare is seen, and as the location of where the witch(es) live in the woods, it could be implied that it stands guard to repel interlopers, or notify the witch(es) of the presence of the puritans. The hare also, while not as widely associated with witches in the United States currently, must be recognized as still being very intensely connected to witches during the time period. The puritans immigrated to the colonies from England, and it can be inferred that the witch(es) who are at work in the woods also came from England or another European country.

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV) - Sabrina actively seeks a familiar and goes into the woods asking for a (hob)goblin to attend her as a partner. Though it’s also acknowledged that familiars can be subservient and chosen that way. Numerous times, the cat (Salem) acts as a protector for Sabrina. As mentioned above, familiars are sometimes called forth to guide and protect witches through trying times, or to be near the witch to assist with workings when other witches cannot. You also see the spirit form of the goblin before it chooses what shape to inhabit. It’s usual for the true nature of the familiar to only be visible by the witch it has a contract with, but accounts (and experience) of others being able to see flits of the spirit if not discernable details is exhibited by Salem only showing his true form to Sabrina when they enter into the pact.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV) - Being a prime example of the British and Scottish interpretations of Spirit familiars being Fae, Faery, or the Good Neighbors, the story line includes a Faery referred to as “The Gentleman” (Further example of the relationship between fae and witches relating to the importance of names) who wishes to be the assistant, teacher, mentor of Mr. Norrell. A “common” occurence in scottish witch lore is that either the faery that the witch/cunning folk learns from in some cases is a familiar, but in other accounts bestows a familiar (lesser faery, animal spirit etc) unto the practitioner. This also is a fair representation both of the care needed when working with the fae, but also with working with spirits in general as they have autonomy, and a familiar gained through a pact, needs to be respected.

Harry Potter (Movie And Book Series) - While there are plenty of animals, fantastic beasts and witches throughout the story lines, there are only 2 (kinda 3) animals that fulfill the traditional sense of the word “Familiar”. Mrs. Norris the cat and Argus Filch have a relationship that is a parody of who people would assume is a witch (the irony being that he has no magical powers, but lives among those who do). A curmudgeonly man with a bad attitude, snarl and distaste for interacting with the general populous and a craving for torturing children with a cat (reads like a stereotypical witch). Mrs. Norris is described as having an uncanny ability to find rule breakers and an unexplainable connection to her owner. Being able to notify him when there’s rukebreaking afoot with a yowl and also being able to recognize and see through enchantments (Harry’s cloak). Nagini also fits the bill as being an animal with whom only the witch/wizard can communicate who also is able to act independently of them. Also being sent out both as scout, guard and having a connection the owner can use to see through their eyes/inhabit (Voldemort in Nagini/ the department of mysteries. Also the shapeshifting into Bathilda Bagshot and notifying her owner of Harry’s prescience.) **BEFORE YALL TRY AND GO OFF. I realize that as of the newest film, nagini can’t be considered a familiar as she’s a cursed witch blah blah blah. Before it came out, the books representation of Nagini is textbook Familiar.** Speaking of Fantastic Beasts, the Matagat are described as familiar spirits and it’s a little nod to folklore. They appear for like 3 minutes.

Bell, Book, and Candle (movie)- this film is full of tropes. It lays on some pretty thick liberties loosely based on lore surrounding traditional witches mixing it with fairy tale lore about them, namely witches being unable to love etc. But, the cat familiar Pyewacket is an accurate representation of how a familiar can act and be used. Touching on the subject of working magic through the familiar who is more cat with magic, than imp/goblin/demon/fairy/brownie in animal form, the main character uses Pyewacket as both a conduit for her spells as well as sending it forth for her bidding. It also represents the familiars ability to have autonomy and choose whether or not to listen if the pact is broken (this is shown by Pyewacket’s rejection to the main character after she rejects her powers).

Salem(TV) - Another example of familiars, with the additional Witch’s Mark lore incorporated.

Pan’s Labyrinth (Movie) - The mandrake is a textbook magistellus flora root familiar alrune piece of delicious representation.

There are others too but this post is long enough.

So....there are some of my thoughts. Also keep in mind that this is focusing on familiars in North America and European lore. There’s additional context to be had and differences when including South America, Asia, Africa and Australia. Also keep in mind, this is my view and opinions, if you call your parakeet a familiar, I don’t really care. That’s your choice and your practice and as the world adjusts so do practices, but as a traditional witch and folkloric witch myself......I could go on and on and had to stop myself from talking about Greek Genius spirits, Animism, accounts and trial records of witches and familiars, the Allegory of the Cave and more.

TLDR: Familiars are real, I work with them and they are not my pet dogs. If the only reason you call a pet a familiar is because it’s in the room while you light incense and you’re a witch...it’s probably not a traditional familiar. You can call it that sure, but it’s a different definition than is widely accepted and assumed when you say Witch’s familiar. If you do include your pet for workings then that falls in line with some of the iterations of the classical familiar.

🦇Cheers, Barberwitch

[entergamingxp]

A Blessing in Disguise Review — Always Trust the Pizza, Zach

July 8, 2020 9:00 AM EST

Deadly Premonition 2 marks the return of Francis York Morgan and his brand of weirdness. He can also skateboard now. It’s rad.

To call the first Deadly Premonition a cult classic feels like a bit of an understatement. Swery65 and the team at Access Games created one of the most intriguing, yet technically terrible games in recent memory. In 2010, the game felt like a modern-era version of Shenmue’s “gameplay” mixed with an oddball murder mystery like Twin Peaks.

Fans of the original release will be happy to know that the trademark weirdness is still alive and well in 2020. In fact, this prequel/sequel, Deadly Premonition 2: A Blessing in Disguise, feels like it was entirely designed back in 2010, and then Swery just held onto it for 10 years.

As such, this makes it a very difficult game to give you a clean-cut review score. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if several people just read the score and skip my text in their haste to take to the comments section to complain. Your enjoyment of Deadly Premonition 2 mostly comes down to what you value most in your video games.

In short, if you like wacky casts and a harebrained plot that barely makes sense, Deadly Premonition is probably worth a try. However, if you need your games to play at a consistent framerate or want precise control over your actions, maybe look elsewhere.

That dichotomy between two thoughts of game design is represented in nearly every aspect of Deadly Premonition 2. It might be tough to fully explain all of my thoughts on my favorite game outside of NieR: Automata or the Yakuza series over the last half-decade while also feeling hard-pressed to call it good. That said, I’ll do my best while going into some spoilers, so fair warning.

“York is, perhaps, my favorite protagonist in gaming history.”

Let’s start with the most important aspect of Deadly Premonition 2, which is the characters. This cast of misfits is often hilarious, always compelling, and sometimes full of more emotion than you previously thought possible. Obviously, the star of the show is Francis York Morgan and his alter ego, Zach. York is, perhaps, my favorite protagonist in gaming history. His encyclopedic knowledge of B-movies and his willingness to explore anything in the search of truth make him the kind of guy you’d love to have on your side.

At times, he might seem to not really understand normal humans, but then you realize that he’s just on another plane from the rest of us. Sure, he refuses to call Arnold Schwarzenegger anything but Arnold S. And, I’ll grant you that mentally hopping out of conversations to talk to what some would call an imaginary friend is probably not the best way to handle an investigation, but York is always there to surprise you with his deep understanding of how people work. He’s able to assess situations in ways that other characters can’t because his worldview is so different from the norm.

York isn’t the only character worth talking about. There’s David, whose four separate personalities fulfill the roles of your hotel’s chef, concierge, bellboy, and owner. There’s also Mrs. Carpenter, the bowling granny. Or maybe, like me, you love the always-cursing crawdaddy farmer Chuck. The man might have a short temper, but when he goes off on you in his heavy Louisanna accent, it’s a thing of beauty. You haven’t seen a better putdown wordsmith in video games.

And, it would be a mistake to not also talk about York’s young assistant, Patti. As a foil to York’s oddball behavior, Patti is sublime. She refuses to put up with his crap and even takes a few Jim from The Office-like moments to look at the camera, asking “is this guy for real?” with her blue eyes.

Unfortunately, while all the characters in the game are memorable (yes, even you, The Mirror), when you actually start playing the game, it all starts to fall apart.

I’m no frame rate expert. Frankly, as long as it’s consistent, I don’t really care for most games. That said, calling Deadly Premonition 2’s framerate smooth is like calling games with randomized loot boxes a fun form of “surprise mechanics.” It’s just an outright lie.

In the main overworld, the game chugs like a stay-at-home mom whose son just dropped out of college and has taken up binge-drinking boxed wine. I can make that joke because I dropped out for a year before going back to finish. Except, I was the one drinking, not my mom.

“As a foil to York’s oddball behavior, Patti is sublime.”

Anyways, don’t expect technical brilliance. Even expecting technical competency is a big ask. But, does any of that matter when you can skate around the beautiful town of Le Carre in 15fps or less?

The answer is absolutely not. See, Deadly Premonition 2 might not understand what framerate is, but it does understand fun. And, to that end, Swery and his team have replaced the boring driving from the original game with skateboarding.

That’s right, friends. York’s rented hybrid card was stolen during his trip to Le Carre and, in its place, he’s become a true “Sk8er Boi.” At first, all he can do is ride around, but, once you meet your very own Mr. Miyagi in Emma, you’ll quickly learn the ���FORBIDDEN ARTS” of skateboarding. Basically, you’re going to become an impossible-landing machine. It’s super rad.

At least, it (and the rest of the game with it) is as long as it’s working. We talked about Deadly Premonition 2’s frame rate, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Expect to run into several bugs. The game only hard crashed on me once, but, like a jealous former lover, it teased me all the time. Load times in Deadly Premonition 2 are apparently something the game thinks you should savor.

They’re incredibly long and sometimes you’re just looking at a black screen for 10 minutes wondering if you Switch exploded on the inside from running this Xbox 360-looking game. Additionally, I also ran into several soft locks during my playthrough. Basically, what happens is randomly your buttons stop working. You can’t shoot bad guys. You can’t run. Heck, you can’t even skate. Truly, it’s the worst timeline.

That first problem will really hurt you, though. If you can’t shoot, you can’t fight off bad guys in the game’s dungeons. This means you have no choice except to load back to a checkpoint.

Speaking of the dungeon, imagine you’re playing a Persona game. The only difference is that, in place of deep rock-paper-scissors RPG combat, you’re shooting enemies in the face. The best you can say about it is that it’s so easy, you barely have to think about it.

Seriously, I don’t think I used a health pack until the last boss. At the end of the game, I had well over 100 healing items, and it wasn’t because I was being stingy. Personally, I didn’t really mind. The story and characters were the reason to play. However, if you’re looking for good gameplay, this ain’t it.

“Like a good book, the story is a page-turner.”

Deadly Premonition 2’s often bonkers story is full of heart. If you asked me to tell you exactly what happens, I’d be hard-pressed to tell you. However, what I will say is that I was glued to the TV throughout the game.  Like a good book, the story is a page-turner. I’m just not completely sure if the total tale makes sense or not.

To me, it’s an exploration of a man who lost everything and is trying to get it back. It’s also about a man who is willing to follow any possibility in his search for the truth. And lastly, it’s about RED TREES. I’m sure that last line means something to a small number of you.

But, while the main story is a bit of a wild one, I can say one thing with absolute certainty; In his time in Le Carre, York has developed an obsession with bridges. I know this because he’s told me that somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 times.

See, while the cutscenes are mostly great, York only has 15-20 stories that he tells while you’re exploring the town. And he’s going to tell them to you over and over again. If you wanted to hear York wax poetically about Charles Bronson’s name, you’re in luck. He’ll be doing that a lot.

Deadly Premonition 2 is a test of how much crap you can put up with for one of my favorite experiences in this generation of video games. It’s like if a chef brought you the finest crab in the world, but to eat it you have to crack open the shells with your toes while getting mud thrown at your face and being forced to listen to your least favorite song play over-and-over again. At some point, you have to ask yourself, is the crab really worth it?

For me, the answer is a resounding yes. I don’t know if Deadly Premonition 2 will end the year ranked as the best game of 2020 in the annals of DualShockers’ history, but it will probably be my favorite one.

“Deadly Premonition 2 just wants to tell its story, tell it well, and be its own weird, little self.”

The game actually provides one of the best analogies I think of to describe itself. York is a student of cinema. He can tell you the director and year of release for almost any film in existence. However, he’s never heard of E.T., a seminal movie in film history.

Only crazy people and children haven’t heard of E.T. You might not like it, but you’ve heard of it. You probably know the story. You’ve certainly heard about him phoning home. But York hasn’t. He’s too focused on Scatman Crothers’ performance in The Shining to pay attention to that popcorn movie. He doesn’t have time for your summer blockbusters.

Imagine a man who not only hasn’t seen a Marvel movie in 2020, but hasn’t even heard of them. That’s York. He’d see a poster for The Avengers and be like, “This masked man in red, white, and blue tights reminds me of Simon Wincer’s 1996 film The Phantom starring Billy Zane and Kristy Swanson.” And then you’d have to hear him talk about it lovingly for five minutes, while some great smooth jazz plays in the background. Did I mention the music rules? But, like every other aspect of Deadly Premonition 2, that has to come with a caveat. Because, just like the first game, the audio mixing is all over the place.

Anyways, Deadly Premonition 2 is exactly the same. It’s a game that feels like it has never played any games released after the original. It doesn’t care about frame rate or good controls. It’s made a few changes to the overall formula but mostly casts aside the advances game design has made in the last ten years. Deadly Premonition 2 just wants to tell its story, tell it well, and be its own weird, little self. Your ability to either live with that or not will determine how deeply you fall in love with the citizens of Le Carre.

July 8, 2020 9:00 AM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/07/a-blessing-in-disguise-review-always-trust-the-pizza-zach/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=a-blessing-in-disguise-review-always-trust-the-pizza-zach

[dfroza]

the silence of the night sky...

should inspire us to “believe...” in our beautiful mysterious Creator

which is seen in Today’s reading of Psalm 19 for march 19 of 2020:

The celestial realms announce God’s glory;

the skies testify of His hands’ great work.

Each day pours out more of their sayings;

each night, more to hear and more to learn.

Inaudible words are their manner of speech,

and silence, their means to convey.

Yet from here to the ends of the earth, their voices have gone out;

the whole world can hear what they say.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 19:1-4 (The Voice)

and the whole Psalm in The Passion Translation:

[God’s Witnesses]

For the Pure and Shining One

A poem of praise by King David, his loving servant

[God’s Story in the Skies]

God’s splendor is a tale that is told;

his testament is written in the stars.

Space itself speaks his story every day

through the marvels of the heavens.

His truth is on tour in the starry vault of the sky,

showing his skill in creation’s craftsmanship.

Each day gushes out its message to the next,

night with night whispering its knowledge to all.

Without a sound, without a word, without a voice being heard,

Yet all the world can see its story.

Everywhere its gospel is clearly read so all may know.

What a heavenly home God has set for the sun,

shining in the superdome of the sky!

See how he leaves his celestial chamber each morning,

radiant as a bridegroom ready for his wedding,

like a day-breaking champion eager to run his course.

He rises on one horizon, completing his circuit on the other,

warming lives and lands with his heat.

[God’s Story in the Scriptures]

God’s Word is perfect in every way;

how it revives our souls!

His laws lead us to truth,

and his ways change the simple into wise.

His teachings make us joyful and radiate his light;

his precepts are so pure!

His commands, how they challenge us to keep close to his heart!

The revelation-light of his word makes my spirit shine radiant.

Every one of the Lord’s commands is right;

following them brings cheer.

Nothing he says ever needs to be changed.

The rarest treasures of life are found in his truth.

That’s why I prize God’s word like others prize the finest gold.

Nothing brings the soul such sweetness

as seeking his living words.

For they warn us, his servants,

and keep us from following the wicked way,

giving a lifetime guarantee:

great success to every obedient soul!

Without this revelation-light,

how would I ever detect the waywardness of my heart?

Lord, forgive my hidden flaws whenever you find them.

Keep cleansing me, God,

and keep me from my secret, selfish sins;

may they never rule over me!

For only then will I be free from fault

and remain innocent of rebellion.

So may the words of my mouth, my meditation-thoughts,

and every movement of my heart be always pure and pleasing,

acceptable before your eyes,

my only Redeemer, my Protector-God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 19 (The Passion Translation)

accompanied by Today’s additional reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs for Thursday, march 19 of 2020 with Proverbs 19 along with Psalm 90 for the 90th day of Winter and Psalm 1 as it transitions into the first day of Spring, as well as Psalm 79 for day 79 of the year

[Proverbs 19]

It’s better to be honest, even if it leads to poverty, than to live as a dishonest fool.

The best way to live is with revelation-knowledge, for without it, you’ll grow impatient and run right into error.

There are some people who ruin their own lives and then blame it all on God.

Being wealthy means having lots of “friends,” but the poor can’t keep the ones they have.

Perjury won’t go unpunished, and liars will get all that they deserve.

Everyone wants to be close to the rich and famous, but a generous person has all the friends he wants!

When a man is poor, even his family has no use for him. How much more will his “friends” avoid him—for though he begs for help, they won’t respond.

Do yourself a favor and love wisdom. Learn all you can, then watch your life flourish and prosper!

Tell lies and you’re going to get caught, and the habitual liar is doomed.

It doesn’t seem right when you see a fool living in the lap of luxury or a prideful servant ruling over princes.

A wise person demonstrates patience, for mercy means holding your tongue.

When you are insulted, be quick to forgive and forget it, for you are virtuous when you overlook an offense.

The rage of a king is like the roar of a lion, but his sweet favor is like a gentle, refreshing rain.

A rebellious son breaks a father’s heart, and a nagging wife can drive you crazy!

You can inherit houses and land from your parents, but a good wife only comes as a gracious gift from God!

Go ahead—be lazy and passive. But you’ll go hungry if you live that way.

Honor God’s holy instructions and life will go well for you. But if you despise his ways and choose your own plans, you will die.

Every time you give to the poor you make a loan to the Lord. Don’t worry—you’ll be repaid in full for all the good you’ve done.

Don’t be afraid to discipline your children while they’re still young enough to learn. Don’t indulge your children or be swayed by their protests.

A hot-tempered man has to pay the price for his anger. If you bail him out once, you’ll do it a dozen times.

Listen well to wise counsel and be willing to learn from correction so that by the end of your life you’ll be known for your wisdom.

A person may have many ideas concerning God’s plan for his life, but only the designs of his purpose will succeed in the end.

A man is charming when he displays tender mercies to others.

And a lover of God who is poor and promises nothing is better than a rich liar who never keeps his promises.

When you live a life of abandoned love, surrendered before the awe of God, here’s what you’ll experience:

Abundant life. Continual protection. And complete satisfaction!

There are some people who pretend they’re hurt—deadbeats who won’t even work to feed themselves.

If you punish the insolent who don’t know any better, they will learn not to mock.

But if you correct a wise man, he will grow even wiser.

Children who mistreat their parents are an embarrassment to their family and a public disgrace.

So listen, my child. Don’t reject correction or you will certainly wander from the ways of truth.

A corrupt witness makes a mockery of justice, for the wicked never play by the rules.

Judgment is waiting for those who mock the truth, and foolish living invites a beating.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 19 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 90]

A Prayer of Moses, Man of God

God, it seems you’ve been our home forever;

long before the mountains were born,

Long before you brought earth itself to birth,

from “once upon a time” to “kingdom come”—you are God.

So don’t return us to mud, saying,

“Back to where you came from!”

Patience! You’ve got all the time in the world—whether

a thousand years or a day, it’s all the same to you.

Are we no more to you than a wispy dream,

no more than a blade of grass

That springs up gloriously with the rising sun

and is cut down without a second thought?

Your anger is far and away too much for us;

we’re at the end of our rope.

You keep track of all our sins; every misdeed

since we were children is entered in your books.

All we can remember is that frown on your face.

Is that all we’re ever going to get?

We live for seventy years or so

(with luck we might make it to eighty),

And what do we have to show for it? Trouble.

Toil and trouble and a marker in the graveyard.

Who can make sense of such rage,

such anger against the very ones who fear you?

Oh! Teach us to live well!

Teach us to live wisely and well!

Come back, God—how long do we have to wait?—

and treat your servants with kindness for a change.

Surprise us with love at daybreak;

then we’ll skip and dance all the day long.

Make up for the bad times with some good times;

we’ve seen enough evil to last a lifetime.

Let your servants see what you’re best at—

the ways you rule and bless your children.

And let the loveliness of our Lord, our God, rest on us,

confirming the work that we do.

Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 90 (The Message)

[Psalm 1]

Book 1

The Genesis Psalms

Psalms of man and creation

The Tree of Life

God’s blessings follow you and await you at every turn:

when you don’t follow the advice of those who delight in wicked schemes,

When you avoid sin’s highway,

when judgment and sarcasm beckon you, but you refuse.

For you, the Eternal’s Word is your happiness.

It is your focus—from dusk to dawn.

You are like a tree,

planted by flowing, cool streams of water that never run dry.

Your fruit ripens in its time;

your leaves never fade or curl in the summer sun.

No matter what you do, you prosper.

For those who focus on sin, the story is different.

They are like the fallen husk of wheat, tossed by an open wind, left deserted and alone.

In the end, the wicked will fall in judgment;

the guilty will be separated from the innocent.

Their road suddenly will end in death,

yet the journey of the righteous has been charted by the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1 (The Passion Translation / The Voice)

and in Psalm 1 in The Message translation a tree in Eden is mentioned as a sign of rebirth:

Instead you thrill to God’s Word,

you chew on Scripture day and night.

You’re a tree replanted in Eden,

bearing fresh fruit every month,

Never dropping a leaf,

always in blossom.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1:2-3 (The Message)

[Psalm 79]

An Asaph Psalm

God! Barbarians have broken into your home,

violated your holy temple,

left Jerusalem a pile of rubble!

They’ve served up the corpses of your servants

as carrion food for birds of prey,

Threw the bones of your holy people

out to the wild animals to gnaw on.

They dumped out their blood

like buckets of water.

All around Jerusalem, their bodies

were left to rot, unburied.

We’re nothing but a joke to our neighbors,

graffiti scrawled on the city walls.

How long do we have to put up with this, God?

Do you have it in for us for good?

Will your smoldering rage never cool down?

If you’re going to be angry, be angry

with the pagans who care nothing about you,

or your rival kingdoms who ignore you.

They’re the ones who ruined Jacob,

who wrecked and looted the place where he lived.

Don’t blame us for the sins of our parents.

Hurry up and help us; we’re at the end of our rope.

You’re famous for helping; God, give us a break.

Your reputation is on the line.

Pull us out of this mess, forgive us our sins—

do what you’re famous for doing!

Don’t let the heathen get by with their sneers:

“Where’s your God? Is he out to lunch?”

Go public and show the godless world

that they can’t kill your servants and get by with it.

Give groaning prisoners a hearing;

pardon those on death row from their doom—you can do it!

Give our jeering neighbors what they’ve got coming to them;

let their God-taunts boomerang and knock them flat.

Then we, your people, the ones you love and care for,

will thank you over and over and over.

We’ll tell everyone we meet

how wonderful you are, how praiseworthy you are!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 79 (The Message)

[live4thelord-blog1]

Bite Your Tongue! A Homily for the 8th Sunday of the Year

Msgr. Charles Pope • March 2, 2019 • 1 Comment

The first reading this Sunday reminds us that our speech discloses our character:

When a sieve is shaken, the husks appear; so do one’s faults when one speaks. The fruit of a tree shows the care it has had; so too does one’s speech disclose the bent of one’s mind.

Praise no one before he speaks,

for it is then that people are tested (Sirach 27:4-7).

What we say reveals a great deal about us—more than we imagine. Speech is among our greatest gifts, yet self-mastery in speech is among the rarest. Some of the most common sins we commit are related to speech: gossip, idle chatter, lies, exaggeration, harsh attack, and uncharitable remarks. With our tongue we can spew hatred, incite fear, spread misinformation, tempt, discourage, promote error, and ruin reputations. With a gift capable of bringing such good, we can surely cause great harm!

The Letter of James says this:

We all stumble in many ways. Anyone who is never at fault in what he says is perfect, able to keep his whole body in check. When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, and thus we can turn the whole animal. Or take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go. Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts.

Consider how a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.

All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and sea creatures are being tamed and have been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be (Jam 3:2-10).

Although one may conquer any sin by God’s grace, those associated with speech are among the hardest to overcome. Sometimes it seems as if our speech is being controlled by a separate, baser part of our brain. We can be halfway through saying something before realizing how foolish and sinful we are being. Scripture speaks artistically of the sinful tongue.

Here are some common sins of the tongue:

The Lying Tongue – speaking falsehoods with the intention of misleading others.

The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy (Prov 12:22).

A false witness will not go unpunished, and one who utters lies will not escape (Prov 19:5).

Not every story should you believe (Sir 19:14).

The Backbiting Tongue – talking about others behind their backs, injuring their reputations through detraction.

A man’s tongue can be his downfall. Be not called a detractor; use not your tongue for calumny (Sir 5:13-16).

Never repeat gossip, and you will not be reviled. … Let anything you hear die within you … (Sir 19:5).

The Indiscreet Tongue – spreading confidential, unnecessary, or hurtful information about others.

He that goes about as a tale-bearer reveals secrets, therefore keep no company with such a one (Prov 20:19).

A gossip betrays a confidence; so avoid a man who talks too much (Prov 20:19).

He who repeats an evil report has no sense. Never repeat gossip… Let anything you hear die within you; be assured it will not make you burst. But when a fool hears something, he is in labor, like a woman giving birth to a child … (Sir 19:5, 14).

Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer among thy people (Lev 19:16).

The Flattering Tongue – exaggerating the good qualities of others in order to ingratiate ourselves to them.

May the Lord silence all flattering lips and every boastful tongue (Ps 12:4).

Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses (Prov 27:6).

The Proud Tongue – speaking boastfully or in an overly certain way.

There is a saying that a proud tongue comes with two closed ears. Those of proud tongue are not easily corrected and do not qualify or distinguish their remarks as they should.

May the Lord silence all flattering lips and every boastful tongue, Those who say, “By our tongues we will prevail; when our lips speak, who can lord it over us?” (Ps 12:4-5)

An evil man is trapped by his rebellious speech, but a righteous man escapes from trouble (Prov 12:13).

The prudent man does not make a show of his knowledge, but fools broadcast their foolishness (Prov 12:23).

The Overused Tongue – saying too much, which usually ushers in sin by its excess.

A fool’s voice [comes] along with a multitude of words (Ecc 5:2).

When words are many, sin is inevitable, but he who restrains his lips is wise (Prov 10:19).

The Rash Tongue – speaking before one should, often without having all the information.

Be not rash with your mouth, and let not your heart be hasty to utter anything before God (Ecc 5:1).

Be swift to hear, but slow to answer. If you have the knowledge, answer your neighbor; if not, put your hand over your mouth (Sir 5:13).

Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue (Prov 17:28).

The Quarrelsome Tongue – speaking in an overly opinionated way, attacking others personally, and/or provoking unnecessary division.

Fools’ words get them into constant quarrels; they are asking for a beating (Prov 18:6).

A fool finds no pleasure in understanding but delights in airing his own opinions (Prov 18:2).

Drive out the mocker, and out goes strife; quarrels and insults are ended (Prov 22:10).

The Cursing Tongue – wishing harm upon others, often that they be damned.

He loved to pronounce a curse—may it come back on him. He found no pleasure in blessing—may it be far from him (Ps 109:17).

Whoever curses his father or mother, his lamp will be extinguished in deepest darkness (Prov 20:20).

The Piercing Tongue – speaking unnecessarily harshly or severely.

The heart of the righteous weighs its answers, but the mouth of the wicked gushes evil (Prov 15:28).

Some people make cutting remarks, but the words of the wise bring healing (Prov 12:18).

Do not rebuke an older man harshly, but exhort him as if he were your father. Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity (1 Tim 5:1-2).

The Silent Tongue – failing to speak up when we ought to warn people of sin, call them to the Kingdom, and announce the truth of Jesus Christ.

In our age, the triumph of evil and poor behavior has been facilitated by our silence. As prophets, we are called to speak God’s Word.

Proclaim the message; persist in it in season and out of season; rebuke, correct, and encourage with great patience and teaching (2 Tim 4:2).

Israel’s watchmen are blind; they are all ignorant, they are all dumb dogs, they cannot bark (Is 56:10).

Yes, our speech is riddled with what it should not have and lacking in what it should. How wretched is our condition! Well, James did say, Anyone who is never at fault in what he says is perfect. Indeed, if anyone masters his tongue, he is a spiritual superman!

Set a guard over my mouth, O LORD; keep watch over the door of my lips (Ps 141:3).

Yes, help me, Lord. Keep your arm around my shoulder and your hand over my mouth! Put your Word in my heart so that when I do speak, it’s really you speaking.

[imaginethat]

The Heart Wants what the Heart Wants. Chapter 5

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word Count: 1.940

A/N: I am finalyy done with another part!! Thank you all for loving these series and for supporting me eventho it has been a shitty long time since I updated. I sincerely hope you all enjoy this and that you will continue to love it :). 

Introduction || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 

Flashback

An early dawn set across the Woodland Realm. The sky covered in beautiful pink, purple and blue hues. Colouring magnificent against the white of the snow that had fallen not too many nights ago. The cold air surrounded the forest, reaching two lovebirds that were set upon the branch of a high and rusty tree. Cuddled up to one another as always seen in drawings and told about in stories. Their  feathers puffed up to trap the air in between, warmed by the body heat of the two creatures. They were watched by two pairs of blue eyes, admiring the loving scene before them. How these harsh winters could look so warm by such a simple view.   “When we grow older, that could be us.” The young prince pointed at the figures in front of them, their love was filling the royal elfling with a warm feeling throughout his entire body. The very thought of having what they have one day, it all seemed too surreal. Even though it has  happened many times before. His companion chuckled aloud, which made him turn his head and shoot her a cheeky grin. Not seen by many.   Even at such a young age she possessed gracefulness as if it were named after her. To be more specific, if graceful were to be a person, it would be you. With every breath you took another creature would have its eyes set upon your form and behold it’s present. “When we grow older, that will be us.” The corners of your mouth raised itself into a gentle smile, the spark in your eyes set themselves even brighter than the sun had ever shone. Your companion beamed your statement by taking your small hand into his larger ones, enveloping them in their warmth and loving touch. “Meleth nîn, I wish for nothing more than for your interpretation of the future to be right.” His soft lips pressed softly a top of your head only emphasised the feelings behind his words. “Menathab, the others will rise from their slumber soon enough.” Slowly rising on your feet so you can press your lips against the corner of his mouth, coaxing him to follow you as you slowly take a step back towards the kingdom. Thranduil stands firm in his place, not moving as you separate yourself from him.  With your hands still connected he keeps you within arm length, not letting you take a step further away from him. “I do not yet wish to go my love.” An adoring look sets upon his futures, every muscle within his face is at ease when he is with you. Showing you a side no elf besides his parents has ever had a chance of seeing. It showed kindness, warmth and love. As two magnets working towards one another you are being drawn back into his arms. You raise your head to catch his attention with your eyes. They drew him in every time he looked at them, pulling him into another world where only the two of you existed.   “If we were to stay away un till you wish otherwise,  we would never return.” A hint of playfulness beneath the soft soothing sound of your voice, your eyes formed into half crescent moons when a smile spread across your face. “Right you are again, but do not deny for your wish is the same.” “My wish is for us to be together, wherever that may be.” “Then stay Y/N.”  His grip around your waist tightened to hold you in place, as if you would flee at any given moment. As if a spell of affection was casted over the young lover, he peppered your face with light kisses. A playful sign of his love for you, sometimes words cannot express enough of the feelings one may hold for someone else. “Stay with me forever.” He wished harder than he had ever before as he spoke. For he knew the time shared between the two of you was scarce.

“Off you go now.” With a shooing motion of your hands, you send a small creature back into its hiding place within the kitchen. For you knew that if it were to be found, it would be either chased out into the coldness of the outside world or killed for its existence within the walls.  The creature  hurried back to its own tiny home when another figure entered the room. “*Man cerig Y/N?” a female voice spoke behind you, though it did not startle you since her presence had been long known to your knowledge. “ Mimelra, What are you doing up so far into the night?” Your dearest friend within the Woodland Realm. You had known her for many years, centuries even. She was a kind elf, with a heart of gold and the beauty that would could make even the brightest stars look dull. As a one of a kind her hair was fairer than that of a Silvan elf, yet darker than that of a Sindar elf, beautiful nonetheless. “I was following the light, wondering how it could enter without the sun to provide.” A small smile graced her lips when she referred to your presence. Somehow your appearance  made it look like there was a star somewhere within you. With hair as pure white as starlight and a skin as if it were carved from the finest marble, you were truly a sight to behold. This of course did not go unnoticed by the community of elves. Those who knew you or ever had a glimpse of your being could not deny it’s beauty, while others who had only heard tales could not even imagine what you would look like.

Her insinuation seemed innocent, yet you knew what she truly met. The both of you had known each other long enough to know when ones thoughts were troubled. Knowing she would stay and put on a stubborn front until you told her what issue was weighting your heart.  You closed your eyes and gave a sigh of defeat, allowing to show your troubles through the expression on your face. “They wish for me to travel the valley of Anduin.” “Lothlórien.” The realm of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel within the Wilderland. Where they ruled over a peaceful civilization of elves. Mimelra did not know the reason as to why her friend was requested in another part of the earth, but she had known that it would be unwise to ask why for she knew it would not be her place to know. “You would leave us, you’d leave Thranduil.” “Yes.” Your heart clenched at the very thought of leaving the one that held your heart so firmly you knew it could never be given to someone else. I burdened you with so much pain, nothing could compare to it. However, you knew Galadriel would not ask for your aid if it were not of utmost importance. But would it all be worth to leave behind the one elf who could make you feel as if love was a word created for just the two of you? Could you leave him behind when it was unknown if you were to ever return?. “Have you told him yet?” “No.” You dreaded even the hint of an idea to leave him. Wishing you could take him with you for he was all your heart desired. Yet your mind told you not to do so. It told you to be wise, to follow your duty as a Guardian of Middle Earth and to go to where you were needed. The light and pureness within you could even bring the darkest shadows back to the light, which is why you were of much importance to the elven kin.

“Must you go, my light?” Thranduil held you firmly within his grasp, pressed against his body as his right arm was placed around your waist, the other held you behind the neck to keep your face close to him. He had to crane his neck in order to press his forehead against yours and to skim his lips over your own. You had just told him of the request of your presence elsewhere that was not beside him, nor even close. Your hands were pressed against his chest, in order to feel the very beating of his heart is if it could stop any given time. The both of you bore a painful expression on your face, whilst your minds were taken over by the thought of having to spend an unknown amount of time without being able to spent the time in each other’s arms.   “…” You did not have the strength to answer such a painful question, the truth seeming only justified if you were to answer it. Instead you pressed your lips against his in order to prevent him from speaking such cruel future as well. It seemed to work for a little while as he began moving his lips against yours, trying to imprint the feeling of his lips on yours so it would never fade. But questions needed to be answered, so with much resistance he separated his lips from the heavenly feeling that yours could give him. “What if I were to fall into darkness? Who is supposed to bring me back to the light if you are not here?” He took an extreme scenario, not to talk guilt into your head, but using it as a resort to keep you with him. Just because he himself did not know what to do if you were not by his side, if he was not able to one day call you his. He left hand travelled upwards to envelope the softness of your cheek, sweeping his thump across the flesh in order to sooth you. “Tell me my love, what am I supposed to without you?” His voice sounded desperate, needing you with him. You had been the light of his life for as long as he could remember, separating with it should have been a crime so vile anyone even remotely suggesting it should be brought to the darkest place one earth. Slowly but surely tears began to flood your eyes and blurry your vision, which you much detested. Wanting to spend every last minute you could, looking upon the elf that held your heart. He knew you couldn’t answer such a question, yet he did ask without expecting an answer.

The rest of the night you spend in each other’s arms awake, wanting to be awake for what little time the two of you had together. Neither of you spoke, not knowing what to say that could take away the pain that fell upon your hearts.

Another dawn appeared, yet nothing like the ones you remembered. The air was cold, there were no loving animals around you and even the sky seemed to cry with you. Everything was so blue.

Sharing one last kiss you held out a letter to Thranduil. “Open this when you can no longer see me. “ With a heavy hand he took it from you and immediately set it upon his bed, wanting nothing else but you in his arms. “Then I will never open it for you will be forever on my mind.” You tried to show him a consoling smile, but it was weak and held little meaning. That’s when you let him go, trying not to procrastinate the moment any longer, knowing it would be more painful the longer you stayed together. Fleeing his chambers to return to your own before your travel companions would knock upon your door.

The rain hit your face and mixed together with the tears that were streaming down your face. This morning you had to experience the pain that came along a farewell. It had not been easy, not like other farewells. This one was a thousand folds more painful and you could still feel it, as if it were to never disappear. With one last look behind you could no longer see the place you once called home, nor could you see the person that was your home.

Within his chambers Thranduil was grieving the loss of your presence, he knew you were still alive but for all he knew he would never see you again. His cheeks too were stained with the salty water that left his eyes, not being able to hold any of his emotions inside ones his chamber doors were closed. That night and the day and night after, he did not leave his room if it were not necessary. Everything around him within the castle reminded him of you. Every nook and every corner reminded him of the chaste kisses the two of you shared when no one was looking. Every vase filled with flowers reminded him of the walks you two took at many dawns.  And every time he closed his eyes, he was reminded by the empty feeling of his chest and the presence that lacked in his arms when dusk fell.

When another lonely night fell Thranduil had the letter you gave him in his hands. He promised he wouldn’t open it, but curiosity took the better of him. Wanting nothing else than to treasure the gift you had left him before leaving to perhaps never return. With trembling hands he opened the letter and a single request was written in a familiar handwriting.

“Wait for me.”

*Meleth nîn = My love *Menathab = Let’s go *Man cerig = What are you doing?

a/n: Okay please let me know what you all think of this!!  I am very curious since it is a different approach than I originaly intended. Also… keep looking out for  an update with a serious announcement. 

- Admin Blue

[lilietsblog]

this post is going to get 0 notes i know and am not bitter about it at all. anyway fuck all of you im not putting it under the cut

...so reblogging that post about Chinese culture has brought my thoughts back around to my own individualism ideal

it's this romantic image stuck in my head ever since i first started getting my own interests and aesthetic and social circle and music taste (so, ~14)

like. it's not All That I Think Is Good In Life, in fact i have another romantic image, more recent, that... well, not opposes, but complements it to a whole world? anyway that's a different thing

this one is older and sometimes I feel like its an immaturity thing for me but also the more i grow up and analyze it the more i understand how important the core of it is to me

it's an image that comes from songs. russian 'minstrel' songs. filk? folk rock? whatever. they are a thing. and in them there's a thing - a romantic image of a 'minstrel'. obviously these girls (almost excusively girls) are talking about themselves (and grammatical gender wise the minstrel is usually male but also they absolutely mean themselves and its one part sexism one part breaking down gender boundaries I M H O bc just because the world minstrel is male doesnt mean the person it refers to has to be... ANYWAY)

...so yeah, a minstrel. its actually a pretty extensive and specific image. im not sure if its accurate to anything historically, and obviously its not accurate to anything about these people in real life. its a romantic ideal like i said and i have 2 separate OCs based on it with love and care as a deeply secondary but still important part of their design

The Minstrel is a wanderer. He (imma use he for now bc grammatical Russian gender and im gonna slip into it anyway. just imagine its a gender neutral he) doesn't stay anywhere for long. He does not have permanent employment. He does not own property other than what he can carry on his back. He usually doesn't even have a horse or any other means of transportation because he's pretty much dirt poor.

The Minstrel earns money by performing - making up fiction, retelling existing fictional stories, retelling existing historical tales, fictionalizing recent history, etc. If he performs for the wealthy, in castles and stuff, he is usually treated like dirt. Always -this- close to being killed for rudeness towards his hosts. He does not have a permanent patron. If he performs in front of the general public, he's usually able to make ends meet much better, and will often be universally beloved. He will often spread revolutionary ideas, put himself in danger via political stuff in various other ways, spread truth where it is suppressed. Tell the tales of people who aren't normally remembered, tell the other side of the story. One very particular variation probably based on a specific story that I just don't know is a minstrel who inspired a rebellion, then it was quashed with extensive cruelty, then the minstrel was cursed by the people for bringing all that about and must now wander forever, mute. Or something. I know it from like three separate songs, they are very beautiful but not very specific.

An important part of The Minstrel archetype is that he is like this by choice. He might have a home, property, everything, and then just spontaneously abandon it and go be poor. (Obviously the minstrel is able-bodied and able-minded enough to afford to do that. Although historically at least some people the archetype was based on were blind / otherwise disabled, and earned money by singing because they didn't have any other way. Never said this archetype was unproblematic) A minstrel might abandon his lute (or another musical instrument, personally I favor the guitar, sometimes a flute is featured, but the lute is archetypical) and go fight in a war to defend his country. This is a tragedy and a great unfairness. Usually the minstrel will die because he is a musician and not a soldier. It's a conscious sacrifice, nobody can CONSCRIPT a minstrel. Like, he just won't come and there's nothing you can do about it. (A more cynical variation is a young silly minstrel who is TRYING to die a beautiful death and succeeds, except nobody things it's beautiful they just facepalm and go 'well that was tragic and useless')

I have heard like... one whole song about multiple minstrels travelling together. I think the basic idea is that they meet people, then part again, then maybe meet again, like waves, from time to time. Randomly running into each other, spending like a whole week together, then parting until next time is the name of the game here.

All those are surface attributes. They are easy to gather, and I'm not a particular fan of all of them... it's harder to talk about the core of it, the thing that makes me love this despite everything that is wrong with it.

The Minstrel is an individual who is, for the most part, entirely without attachments in all the new places he goes. He does not have friends waiting, he does not have anyone waiting. Nobody knows his name until he introduces himself. Like, okay, maybe they've heard of him, but they won't know it's him until he tells them, and they might not believe him if he does. (A minstrel whose face is actually well known, who is relatively well off and can afford to travel with like... a bodyguard - he's a separate thing, he's not this trope)

There are many stories that imply that when people are utterly alone, when nobody is there to know about their existence, the reality sort of cracks under them, and they fall through, and they might as well have never existed. This trope takes that and says a hard NO. If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear the sound, the tree itself is still an observer. The Minstrel is somewhere alone, on his own, with nobody's viewpoint to support his existence other than his own, and it's good enough. It's valid. In fact, The Minstrel EARNS HIS LIVING by being just that - a living viewpoint. He tells stories, he shares his perspective. HIS PERSONAL knowledge and understanding is what he brings to the world, and it is valuable. He bears witness. Sure, he can have personal relationships, friendships, but he will leave them and go further forward in a heartbeat. His primary relationship with the world is that he /knows/ the world, and that he /tells/ about it. And the reciprocal relationship is that people know HIS STORIES. If he goes to a new country and hears his own song sung by people there, that is reciprocation, that is validation. He as a physical body does not need to be acknowledged, his presence in other people's minds is via the impact he made, and he himself might as well be a ghost.

(Yet, his physical body doesn't 'not matter'. It matters to HIM, and that is enough. He is a thing in himself, a complete entity, and he doesn't need to see his reflection in mirrors to know himself.)

(The Minstrel can very well be too vain, conceited, or alternatively, filthy and uncouth. In stories that feature echoes of this archetype, it might very well be a conflict that he is All That yet entirely unpleasant to interact with as a person. AND THAT IS OKAY. You might in fact want to try and murder him, and you might even be absolutely justified in doing just that, but you've still just killed a unique person, snuffed out a valuable existence. Hope it was worth it, you murderer.)

The story of The Minstrel is, to me, a story of self-worth. A story of your own story being valuable, no matter who you are, no matter how you are. Just existing, just experiencing things, it already makes you someone of worth. And yeah, the minstrel /tells/ his stories to make his living, but the only reason it works is because HIS STORIES HAVE WORTH. The service he performs is not so much that he sits and talks all day, it's that he travels, that he /listens/, that he /watches/. That he hears others' stories and gathers material for his own. Just being an observer is his profession.

It's... I don't know. I think this is an important ideal to have in mind, an important extreme to acknowledge, no matter how flawed particular incarnations of it might be.

It deserves to be a thing.

[tenroseforeverandever]

Home for the Holidays: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

A @dwsecretsanta​  gift for @chocolatequeennk.

Characters:  Ten x Rose; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Mickey Smith; Jake Simmonds; Donna Noble; Empress of the Racnoss; Lance Bennett

Rated: General (rating may change)

Tags: Doomsday Fixit; Runaway Bride rewrite; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Separation; Eventual Christmas fluff; adventure

Summary: A Doomsday Fixit that also follows the events of the Runaway Bride.

Despite having the victory of the Battle of Canary Wharf behind them, Rose remains resentful that the Doctor tried to send her away after she promised she’d never leave him.

Chapter Summary: Rose begins to make a life for herself on Earth, working for Pete at Torchwood, but on Christmas Eve, when she investigates some low grade alien activity at the securities company, H.C. Clements, she stumbles into much more than she was prepared for.

Notes: Once again, massive hugs and thank-yous to @hellostarlight20​ and MrsBertucci for their brilliant beta services. That being said, all the mistakes are my own, and always will be (I keep finding weird redundant commas and the like! I mean, honestly! The number of times I’ve reread…)

Any recognizable dialogue comes from the Doctor Who episode, The Runaway Bride.

WARNING: No Doctor in this chapter. This is not the chapter reunions are made of… not in the least! We have a little while to go yet before the Doctor and Rose are reunited. And even then, our babies have a lot to work through.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

Home for the Holidays: Chapter 2

Christmas Eve, 2006 (Afternoon /Evening)

Rose had been recruited to Torchwood by Pete almost immediately upon her abrupt arrival back on Earth, and she had been quick to take him up on his offer, wanting to keep her mind thoroughly occupied so thoughts of the Doctor couldn’t torment her. Pete had had his work cut out for him in the aftermath of the Battle of Canary Wharf, and he’d had no reservations about turning to her for help. “I need someone I can trust by my side,” he’d told her. “You have a way with people, and you think fast on your feet. And all that knowledge from your travels with the… well… You’re clever, Rose.”

One of Pete’s primary concerns had been the restructuring of Torchwood personnel, and dealing with the extensive repairs to the Torchwood building. He had also spent a great deal of effort re-establishing relations with the team at Torchwood 3, in Cardiff,  who steadfastly held their little corner of the company to the kind of ideals he envisioned for Torchwood 1, and he was apparently making headway in gaining the trust of the bloke in charge there.  

Rose, however, worked primarily in the field, and welcomed the extensive workload. The large amount of alien activity, in the form of Daleks and Cybermen, had of course, attracted other aliens, and had encouraged those already living on Earth covertly to come out of hiding. Responding to the outpouring of alien sightings, both authentic and fabricated, by a nervous public, and training new field operatives had given Rose more than enough to keep her busy and helped distract her from her thoughts of the Doctor.  

If she was being honest with herself, she missed him… acutely. Despite how outraged she had been at his attempt to pack her off to the parallel universe, now he was no longer at her side, she missed the infectious exuberance that had emanated from him, the loving glances across the table, the delightful kisses and warm hugs he had once bestowed upon her. In hindsight, she was able to admit that she had been wrong to push him away the way she had.  She should have opened up to him more, encouraged him to explain why he had done what he’d done and tell her what he’d been feeling when he’d tried to send her away. And she should have told the daft alien how much his actions had hurt her. Instead, she had closed herself off and allowed her resentment to go unresolved. Now she was living with the consequences.

While she missed the Doctor and the exciting life she had led, racing through time and space with his hand in hers, Pete was right: her experiences had provided her with a great deal of valuable knowledge, and Torchwood needed all the help they could get. Working for Torchwood also provided her with a renewed sense of purpose back on Earth, and she would never again need to scrape by, working in a dead-end job. Which was just as well: after everything she had experienced, she couldn’t imagine ever having to return to that smaller-on-the- inside life she had once led.

Her new job had kept her hopping, but things had been surprisingly quiet in the week leading up to Christmas, and Rose had convinced Pete to take a few days off so he could celebrate properly with Jackie. And her parents were taking full advantage, attacking their short opportunity at a bit of domesticity with gusto. That morning, they had gone out early and brought home a Christmas tree. Now, full of Christmas cheer and listening to Christmas music, they were decorating it.

Rose was not celebrating. She felt like a bit of a scrooge as she sat brooding over the Doctor, her legs draped over the arms of an armchair, hugging a cushion tightly to her chest.

“’Ere are the rest of ‘em, Jacks,” Pete announced, setting a box of Christmas baubles down at Jackie’s feet.

“Aw, ta, love. Mmmmwwwwah!” Jackie blew a big, noisy kiss at Pete, who immediately drew her into his arms, to get a proper kiss.

Rose rolled her eyes with a loud sigh. “Would you two get a room?”

“Oi, missy!” Jackie snapped, but softened again almost immediately at the sight of her daughter. “Look, ’ow ‘bout you ‘elp me decorate, sweetheart? You used to love puttin’ up the tree w’en you was little. Couldn’t keep you out of it!” She laughed fondly. “Do you remember, Rose?”

“Yeah, I remember. You go ahead, Mum.”

“C’mon. You sure? It would cheer ya up. Get your mind off… things, yeah.”

“Mum…” Rose sat up, an undercurrent of irritation in her voice. “Look, you and Dad ‘ave fun decoratin’. I should go… I need to follow up on some leads at work, anyway. I should be ‘ome by supper. All right?” She stood and walked into the front hall, grabbing her coat.

Jackie shook her head. “Sweetheart, don’t you think you should try to–”

“Mum!”

“Oh, all right, off you go. Not that I could stop you even if I tried.”

Rose forced a smile to her lips. “See ya later,” she called over her shoulder as she pulled the front door shut behind her.

Standing on the front steps, Rose drew in a deep breath of the cold, damp December air, letting it fill her. It felt good to get out of the house. It had been five months since the Battle of Canary Wharf, and while she was thrilled her mum had got a chance at a happily-ever-after with Pete, she couldn’t help but wish her own story had also come with a fairy-tale ending.

But, Rose told herself, there was no point in wishing her life away. She had work to attend to. She had been planning to follow up on some low grade alien activity she had been sweeping under the proverbial rug for the last couple of months. Although it likely wasn’t anything hostile, it had been nagging at the back of her mind for some time now. And today would be a perfect day to look into it.

She made her way to Torchwood and settled into her little office. Tossing her phone and wallet on the desk, she turned on her computer. A number of alerts immediately flashed up on her screen: strange occurrences at a wedding in Chiswick; exploding Christmas baubles at the reception; the TARDIS sighted, bouncing off the roofs of cars along the motorway; and reports of a woman in a wedding dress jumping into the TARDIS from a car. Well, the appearance of a bride couldn’t be a coincidence, not considering the strange occurrences at the wedding earlier in the day. But, it seemed the Doctor was on the case, and Rose would just as soon let him attend to it and not get involved. Besides, seeing him again would just open up old wounds.

Wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal, if the pounding of her heart was anything to go by.

It occurred to her, it might not even be her Doctor: it could be an earlier regeneration or even a future one, one who had spent hundreds of years without her. Tears prickled behind her eyes at the thought of him moving on without her. With crushing clarity, she realized how devastating it must be for him to allow himself to become attached to his companions; how much he must suffer when they grew old or died, and he was left to travel on his own, with two very broken hearts.

She had, of course, come to these conclusions well over  two years ago in her linear time (she would never admit to her mum just how much time had actually passed between her visits back to Earth), when they had met Sarah Jane Smith. But in the heat of her blossoming romance with the Doctor after the events of Krop Tor, she had shoved these thoughts to the back of her mind and had selfishly embraced the unstinting affection and love the Doctor had offered her.

She shook her head, fighting down the emotions roiling just below the surface. She returned her attention to the alien activity she had actually come to investigate: the activity that seemed to be emanating from around the company H.C. Clements.

With a little digging around, she discovered H.C. Clements had been owned by Torchwood since 1983. That really didn’t come as a surprise. Pete was finding Torchwood had extended its subversive reach to many different companies around the city and beyond. And Torchwood’s involvement at H.C. Clements would explain, in part, the presence of alien activity. It was probably just some piece of alien technology that had been integrated into their infrastructure. The real question was why?  H.C. Clements was a securities firm. Why the hell was Torchwood involved with securities? They had to be concealing something if they had chosen “whatever-it-was” to not be housed at the Canary Wharf building… and that meant it wasn’t likely to be anything good.

She checked the time. It wasn’t too late yet. She could pop over there (it wasn’t far away), do a little investigating, and still be home in time for a late Christmas Eve supper. Her mum would keep something warm for her. Besides, investigating would keep her mind off the Doctor, specifically, keep her mind off the fact that her heart had broken anew when she had discovered he had been so close by today.

Rose spent the next little while doing a more thorough investigation of H.C. Clements. Being owned by Torchwood, their computers were easy to hack. Torchwood had always liked being able to keep tabs on their various projects and the companies that concealed them. Even with Rose’s limited experience, she was able to access their system with a short series of override passcodes. An hour later, after discovering little of interest, she arrived at the business’ front door. Using the sonic wrist-watch she had discovered three months earlier, buried and uncatalogued in the archives at Torchwood, she opened the locked doors of H.C. Clements, neutralized the security alert, and slipped in undetected. An initial survey of the ground floor didn’t reveal anything amiss. Not that she had expected anything to be obvious, but sometimes it was the little things in plain sight that triggered suspicion… Like that button on the elevator that led to a sub-basement she certainly didn’t remember seeing on the floor plan; the one that needed a key to be accessed; the one that her sonic watch could activate in an instant.

--oOo--

Rose stepped out into the dismal, green lighting of the damp sub-basement, looking around in consternation. There was nothing obvious to attract suspicion, and didn’t that just sum up Torchwood to a T? Determined to track down the source of the alien activity, she broke into a jog along the corridor, noting with alarm, the Torchwood logo emblazoned on every one of the heavy, metal doors that appeared at regular intervals. Torchwood had definitely been up to something, and based on the length of the sub-basement corridor, both in front of and behind her, it was something big.

After jogging for about five minutes, she was startled by the sound of raised voices and panicked shouts coming from somewhere up ahead. Breaking into a run, she reached the end of the corridor, and was met with a set of glass doors: the entrance to Lab 003, judging by the placard. The voices seemed to be coming from somewhere in there. Glancing in through the doors, she saw huge, convoluted systems of pipes and machines, and what looked like water bubbling through a series of enormous glass tubes. Oh, the Doctor would have had a field day with this lot, she mused, the fond thought briefly distracting her from her mission.

“Noooooo!” The yelp of fear from beyond the doors jerked her back to the task at hand. She pushed the doors ajar, allowing her to hear the voices much more clearly.

One voice had a strange hissing quality. “Drink the particles! Become the key!”

The panicked voice was male. “You can’t do this! We had a deal! Look, she can’t have gone far! I’ll find her! I’ll bring her back!”

Rose carefully pushed into the laboratory and ducked behind some of the bubbling pipes, gasping at the sight before her. Where the back wall of the lab should have been was a vast, gaping cavern of a room.  And on a metallic platform toward the back of the room was a gigantic, red… spider, for lack of a better word. Looking more closely, the creature did indeed look very much like a spider, but where a spider’s head would have been, was a humanoid torso, topped with a crested head and a face with many large, black eyes. There were even webs cast across the ceiling of the chamber.

The spider hissed, its voice harsh and gravelly. “Oh, my little Lance, so disrespectful to your beautiful bride. You shall now be the one to awaken my children, though I don’t believe you truly appreciate or deserve the honour!”

Rose crept closer to the scene, crouching down and darting between large pieces of gurgling equipment. Beside the spider was a man dressed in formal attire, struggling to escape from the grip of two cloaked figures, his head forcibly tipped back, while one of the cloaked figures poured water down his throat from a huge jug.

As the water emptied, the man, weakened, pleaded with the spider, again. “No! Stop! Don’t do this!”

“Silly, little, human fool!” the spider admonished. It then turned its attention to one of the cloaked figures, its tone commanding: “Hurry! Hurry! Bring more Huon particles. We need more. The rate of catalysis has not yet reached the critical level; there is still not enough Huon energy to waken my children. I long to greet them. I have suffered alone for too many years.”

Rose hunkered down, concealing herself, as one of the cloaked figures entered the lab with the empty water jug.  Its face was gold and metallic and it walked with a stiff gait. A robot of some kind? Rose pondered. It began to fill the jug from a spigot on the side of one of the pieces of equipment.

A flurry of thoughts raced through Rose’s mind as she tried to process what was happening before her. She fought her instinct to run into the spider’s lair and demand the release of its hostage. A closer look around showed her many more of the robots lined up on gangways, high up on the walls of the room, holding long rifles of some kind. A huge, circular pit, just beyond the point where the laboratory ended also drew her attention: there was no way she would get around that without being spotted.  The space was wide open, with no hiding spots. No, she needed to make a proper plan and not go running in on instinct, all hot-headed and full of righteous indignation. That sort of behaviour had landed her in hot water too many times, and this time, she was alone: no Doctor; no Torchwood team; no one to know where she was.

As the robot moved to return to the spider with the water, Rose searched her pockets for her mobile to call Pete. It wasn’t there. With a groan of frustration, she pictured where she had left it on her desk at Torchwood.  She really was on her own.

Helplessly, she watched as the man had more water poured down his throat. No, not water… erm, what had the spider called it? Hoo-on particles or something? When the jug had been emptied, the man began to emanate a yellow glow.

“My wonderful key,” the spider crooned. “Now… bind him!”

The man whimpered as he was shoved forward, into the clutches of the spider. It grasped him with long appendages that jutted out from its torso like arms, while it curled its swollen abdomen forward underneath itself. Silk spurted from the end of the abdomen as the spider spun the hapless man around, wrapping him in silk so he could no longer move his limbs. Once he was immobile, it positioned him face-down, and strung several ropes of silk, extending from his body to the webs on the ceiling above the circular pit, and began to winch him gradually upward.

Rose felt powerless, listening to the man gasping out pleas of mercy as he was raised higher and higher. Every inch he was lifted made it even more impossible for her to assist him. She was frantically running through possible rescue options when the spider spoke again.

“Oh! Oh, but now I have a surprise for you, something to look forward to, my funny little Lance,” it jeered. “I have devised a way to reunite you with your bride, and her foolish physician friend. Activate the recall sequence. At arms!” it hissed to the robots, who responded instantly, raising their guns. “I want no mistakes this time! The Doctor must be neutralized!”

Oh my God! Rose’s brain went into overdrive. The Doctor was here… with the bride. The bride! From the wedding, from the motorway! So this Lance was… the groom!

“You never needed me at all!” Lance whinged, casting his gaze around desperately as he continued to be winched upward.

“Oh, foolish little man! This has always been your destiny.” The spider spat with laughter. “My children will be just so hungry. And if something should go wrong and the bride is lost to me again, you need not worry. You will still make a tolerable key.”

Lance wriggled furiously in a vain attempt to free himself as he was finally raised all the way to the ceiling and secured to the webbing, directly over the pit. The spider only laughed harder. “Return them to me! The bride shall join her groom!” the spider crowed. “What a wedding there shall be!”

Rose’s eyes widened as the TARDIS began to silently materialize in a strange, smoky vortex, only a few yards away from where she hid, just within the laboratory space, in front of the circular pit. Then just as suddenly, it began to dematerialize with its familiar (beloved) wheezing, grinding noise.

“Noooooo!” the spider cried.

Hearing the TARDIS’ rematerializing sequence from the hallway, Rose bolted from the laboratory, the sound of the spider ordering her robots to action ringing in her ears as the doors swung shut behind her.

“She is close, the holy bride in white! Find her! Find her!”

Rose didn’t hesitate. Hope filling her heart that the Doctor was close, she sprinted in the direction of the sound of the TARDIS, silently vowing to Lance she would try her best to rescue him. Before she had run more than a few minutes, she was brought up short by the sound of heavy footfalls and struggling coming from directly ahead of her around the curve of the corridor. She rushed ahead to one of the heavy, metal doorways. The words “NO ENTRY” on a bright yellow field glared at her from above a hatch wheel.  “Sounds like an open invitation,” Rose quipped to herself, directing her sonic watch at the latch mechanism. As soon as she heard the clunk of the latch releasing, she spun the wheel, tugged the door open, and stepped into the space behind it. She pulled the door closed just enough so it remained slightly ajar, still affording her a decent view of the passageway. The sounds of struggling continued, approaching rapidly.

Rose took a quick look around her cramped hiding spot. Using her sonic watch as a torch, she held her hand up into the dark heights of the narrow space where she stood. It was built of industrial brick. A ladder extended up a long way, leading to a portal in the ceiling. A few feet from the top, there seemed to be a maintenance corridor that extended to one side. Rose recognized it as being similar in height to the walkways surrounding the spider’s lair where the cloaked robots stood guard. Was this perhaps another way into the spider’s lair? Weak glimmers of a plan flittered through her mind and gave her a little burst of optimism.

Just then, the frantic noises from the hallway grew louder, and Rose peeked out to see the bride being hauled along by one of the cloaked robots, thrashing and kicking with every step, her indignant, muffled curses coming from beneath the robot’s hand that was clamped over her mouth. Rose smiled in admiration. This fiery red-head wouldn’t go down without a fight. With that knowledge, Rose’s plan became firmer in her mind, and she tugged the door fully closed, poised to leap from hiding into action, as she listened for the sounds of the bride and her captor passing by.

Suddenly, the door swung open in front of her, revealing the robot and the bride. The latter stared at her with wide, startled eyes.

“Hello!” Rose chirped, affecting nonchalance, though her heart was in her throat. Without a second thought, she raised her wristwatch to the robot’s chest, activating a sonic burst. The robot slumped to the floor, releasing its hostage, and Rose expelled a heavy breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well, glad that worked,” she remarked with a shaky grin, waggling her watch at the stunned bride. “Little trick I learned from a friend of mine.”

“Oh, thank God!” The bride automatically straightened her dress and hair as she stepped back from the body of the robot. “Wait! Who the hell are you?”

“Hi.” She gave the bride a little wave. “I’m Rose. Rose Tyler.”

“Donna. And I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you!”

“The Doctor? Is ‘e with you?”

“Was until this one showed up.” She jabbed with her thumb in the direction of the robot’s crumpled form. “Bloody idiot was so busy running his gob so much he didn’t even notice.”

“Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Wait! You know the Doctor?”

“Used to travel with ‘im.”

“Pinstriped beanpole with the weird, blue spaceship?”

Rose’s breath caught in her throat. It was him, her Doctor! “Yeah… and some really, really great hair…”

“Well, yeah, I suppose…” Donna screwed up her face in distaste.

A shaky giggle tumbled past Rose’s lips. “Yeah, that’s definitely ‘im.”

“Well, he’s not here now. Typical man! Now, what are we supposed to do?”

Rose quickly gathered her thoughts. “I hope you’re ready for a bit more adventure,” she told Donna, laying a sympathetic hand on her arm. “We don’t ‘ave much time. Your fiancé? ‘Usband? Is about to be… well, I’m not sure exactly what’s goin’ to ‘appen to ‘im, but there’s a huge spider thing–”

“The Racnoss.”

“W’at?”

“The Racnoss. That’s what she’s called, the spider. Big, ugly, red thing with lots of legs?”

Rose nodded, bemused. “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah, that’s the Empress…”

“The Empress?”

“…of the Racnoss.”

“Well, the Empress’s got Lance up in her web. She filled ‘im with some sort of liquid: hoo… hoo…”

“Huon particles?” the bride supplied.

“Yeah, those. She’s completely bonkers, she is! Goin’ on ‘bout her children. And those particles, in Lance, they’re important somehow: she said she needed the Huon energy to awaken her children.”

Donna’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Oh, that must be it!” Her face lit up with pride as she supplied the information. “That’s what’s at the centre of the Earth. The Racnoss ship. Her children. More Racnoss!”

“Wait! The centre of the Earth? There’s a Racnoss ship at the centre of the Earth?”

“The Doctor took us back to the beginning of the Earth. Still can’t believe it! But I saw it happening.”

Rose fought down a pang of jealousy and a desperate longing to be traveling with him again. Now was not the time. “But how’s she goin’ to get Huon particles down there. That makes no sense.”

“I don’t know…” Donna’s face scrunched in concentration, but her eyes quickly widened in realization. “Oh! The hole! That huge flippin’ hole! Right in the middle of the floor? Did you see it?”

Rose nodded, trying to pull all the bits of information together in her head.

“The Doctor said it goes all the way to the centre of the Earth… where the Racnoss ship is!”

“And somehow,” Rose spoke slowly and deliberately, making sense of it all, “she has to get the Huon particles down there. Lance! She’s gonna…”

“But, but… I’m filled with them too. That’s why she needed me. She was going to…” Donna’s eyes suddenly filled with fearful tears.

“Well, she hasn’t got you. Not anymore,” Rose asserted.

Donna’s lip trembled. “That’s not all, though. The Doctor… he said they’re dangerous, the Huon particles… deadly,” she murmured. “Promised he’d save me, but now… I don’t even know where he is.”

“Hey.” Rose squeezed the bride’s hand. “Don’t worry. If ‘e said ‘e’d save you, ‘e will.”

“How do you…? Tell me something. Do you trust him?” Donna peered into Rose’s eyes intently, searching for something there.

“Yeah, I do. And ‘e won’t let you down. I promise.” Rose swallowed thickly, all of her adventures with the Doctor rushing through her mind: those many times she had feared for her life and he had done everything in his power to protect her. “’E’ll do w’atever it takes to keep you safe,” she spoke with conviction. “’E may not be right ‘ere, but I know ‘im. ‘E’s close by, workin’ ‘ard to save us all. That’s what ‘e does, an’ we ‘ave to do whatever we can to ‘elp. And rescue your ‘usband.”

“My fiancé,” Donna corrected, her expression turning hard. “My bloody ex-fiancé, at that! Let the Empress have him, I say!”

Rose recalled the Racnoss’ reprimand to Lance, about how he had been disrespectful to his bride, and offered Donna a sad, sympathetic smile.

Regret passed over Donna’s face. “I didn’t really mean that. Well I sorta did. After what he did to me! He’s the one was poisoning me. For six months! With these bloody Huon particles. Brought me coffee every morning, and me being so stupid… I mean, who brings the secretaries a coffee?”

Rose’s heart sank for the red-head. “I’m sorry about what ‘appened, I really am. But, Donna, listen to me. You are not stupid. An’ I’d love to ‘ear the whole story, yeah, but right now, we need to ‘urry. I’ve got a general sort of plan… but I’ll need your ‘elp.” She squeezed Donna’s hand again. “It’s going to be dangerous…”

Donna huffed, rolling her eyes, a trace of a sardonic smile on her lips. “Doesn’t that just sum up my life today! Got nothing to lose at this point. Go on, then.  Let’s do it.”

“Right!” The heady exhilaration of adventure filled Rose and she gave Donna a manic grin. Bending down, she tugged the cloak off the robot, swinging it over her own shoulders. Removing the face plate, she slipped the strap around the back of her head and settled the mask over her face. Finally, she pulled the hood up over her head. “Won’t fool anyone for long, but it might just get us close. And, look, a gun! A machine gun, I think!”

Donna’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “A machine gun? Isn’t that a bit dangerous.”

“Yeah, I ‘ope so.” She took the rifle from the robot’s body, and slung it over her own shoulder. She struck a pose. “W’at d’ya think?”

“You’re loony, is what I think! Have you ever shot one of those before?”

“Well, no. I don’t really like guns,” Rose answered awkwardly, thinking of how the Doctor would disapprove of her carrying the weapon. “But I think it would be silly to leave it be’ind. Never know w’en it might come in handy.”

“You’re jus’ like that bloody Doctor! You’re jus’ makin’ this up as you go along, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am.” Rose beamed at Donna. “So are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

“So, think you can climb in that dress?” Rose gestured up the ladder.

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

“Right then! Allons-y!”  

[stubblesandwich]

The Princess and the Apple Tree - Part Three

Author Note:  Thank you all for bearing with me and being so patient in awaiting this last part, the conclusion of our tale. I can't say thank you enough for all those who have left comments and messaged me directly about this story. I never expected it would be so enjoyed, and it warms my heart. I hope I've done well by you all in the end.

Thanks to my girl @bleebug for looking over this for me and squeeing in all the right parts. I'm also incredibly thankful to my dear friend @sunbeamsandmoonrays, who made a lovely graphic based on the first chapter of this story. (If anyone felt compelled to do any type of artwork based on this tale, I'd die of happiness, so please tag me if you do!) Thanks for reading!  Summary:  Princess Emma knows no better place than the expansive garden that was built for her as a small child. When a young thief dares to scale the garden’s walls, Emma finds herself befriending Killian Jones, a boy who lives in her kingdom. Over time, they become inseparable, and as they grow, so does their love for one another–until the day Killian mysteriously disappears, and Emma finds herself strangely drawn to an apple tree that appears in her garden. A Lieutenant Duckling-inspired fairy tale, inspired by an A.A. Milne story with the same title.

Words: 3,700+

Chapters on A03: (1) / (2) / (3)

Chapters on Tumblr: (1) / (2) 

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Throughout time, there had been much speculation about True Love—whether it existed, firstly, and secondly, in a more secretive debate, whether it held power. Most kingdoms were not built upon love's promises, as few royals married for affection when arranged marriages and business mergers were generally much more beneficial. Those who did marry for love, royal and commoner alike, always wondered whether their love met the standard for what could be considered True love.

With some couples, for better or for worse, it was self-evident.

King David and his Queen, Snow, were one such couple. Their love was one of which sonnets were written, and ballads sung in the streets. Their kingdom thrived, its denizens secure in the knowledge of their rulers' hearts. For when one ruled in love, the whole kingdom felt it.

Much speculation had also been made through the centuries about what came of True Love. A child born of it, rarer still than True Love, itself, was said to possess power all its own, the lightest and purest form of magic.

Of course, this was speculation derived from mages, sorcerers, and other magic-wielding folk who had the experience and knowledge to even entertain such thoughts. Most people gave little thought to True Love and absolutely no thought to what extra power one such couple's children could potentially possess, and life went on as usual.

In truth, True Love was a magic all its own, and the power it created when it brought forth new life was insurmountable.

Unbeknownst to her, Princess Emma possessed such power. It lay in recess, a subtle hum of strength beneath her skin, a fire behind her eyes. It was why her garden flourished beneath her touch, thriving far better in her care than any of the palace gardeners had ever seen before.

As the ax struck again, Emma's heart seized. The basket slipped from her hand, her breakfast spilling out onto the grass as she took off, racing along the main path, toward the center of the garden—toward her apple tree.

Her father stood before it, ax in hand. King David, not hearing her approach, raised his ax to take another swing at the tree, which already bore a deep, irreparable gash. Emma slammed into him, nearly knocking the king to the ground. With a ferocity that made her father gape in shock, she reached for the ax and began to wrestle it out of his hands.

The king, momentarily flabbergasted, soon found his voice. “Emma,” he said, all the authority of a ruler threading his tone, “This is for your own good.”

The look that flitted across her face was enough to break his heart, but he held fast.

Emma paused and stared up at her father. Her face bore an expression of utter disbelief, which quickly morphed into a stubborn anger.

“No,” she said, firmly.

For a long while, neither spoke a word. A tense silence spread out between them.

Emma was the first to move. She stepped back, away from him, moving to stand in front of the apple tree. The king's face fell, his stern expression melting. He watched his daughter as she pressed her back to the tree, holding out her arms as if to shield it, leaning into the gash he had created with the ax.

King David heaved a sigh, eventually letting the ax drop heavily to the grass. The moment remained strained, each at a loss for words, completely unable to understand the other. Emma continued to look at her father, questioning everything she had ever known him to be, and the king watched his daughter with mounting worry.

As soon as the ax fell and Emma knew her tree was out of danger, she turned toward it. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the gash the blade had left. It was deep, nearly reaching the middle of the trunk. Had she been a minute later, the tree surely would have been felled.

Tears sprang to her eyes, spilling immediately. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered once, and then again, until the words became the only ones she knew how to say. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against its trunk, utterly and completely heartbroken. The gash was below eye level, nearly lining up with her chest. She could feel the tree quivering weakly beneath her, but broken as it was, it still held her weight faithfully as she leaned against it.  

Suddenly, the bark beneath Emma's palm began to glow faintly, turning white beneath her hand. Slowly, the trunk began to heal, knitting back together beneath her touch.

The king's jaw dropped in amazement. Never had he seen such magic. The trunk of the apple tree was completely healed. Had he not cut into it himself, he never would have known an ax had been taken to it.

The princess stood completely still, pressed against the trunk of the tree.

“There,” she whispered softly. “All better.”

In a sweet gesture beseeching forgiveness, she pressed her lips to the tree's bark, over the scarred knot of wood where the ax had first sunk into its trunk.

Abruptly, there was a quick burst of colorful light and a force that knocked Emma backward. She landed hard on her back, the breath driven from her lungs in a rush of air. Her father cried out, starting toward her, but he stopped as the tree began to tremble, its branches thrashing violently above their heads.

The apple tree's branches shrank back, pulling themselves out of Emma's view, and she was left staring up at the clouds.

Dazed, she pushed herself up slowly with one elbow, lungs still aching from the force of her landing.

“Emma?” came a low, quiet voice that made her freeze.

Emma's blood ran cold, as if she had heard the whisper of a ghost. She scrambled into a sitting position, eyes nearly bugging out of her head.

Killian Jones stood a few feet in front of her her, dressed in his naval officer's uniform. He looked about as dumbfounded as she felt. His mouth had gone slack as he stared at her with widened eyes.

The tree was gone, seemingly vanished into thin air, and in its place stood her childhood friend.

A sob hitched in her throat, and without so much as another thought, she was running for him, launching herself into his arms.

As shocked as he seemed, Killian caught her easily enough, raising her up above his head as he threw his head back with a loud laugh. Her skirts twirled as he spun her once, before he brought her down to the ground gently and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He barked out a quick laugh, grinning at her wildly as he pulled back, and suddenly Emma's heart was soaring.

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him to her as if her life depended on it. Killian laughed again, a deep, hearty bellow of mirth that she had missed so dearly. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him with no intent to ever let her go.

Emma's eyes were streaming a continuous flow of happy, unbelieving tears. “You--” she started, her words lost in a shaky, incredulous laugh. “You were--”

“I'm here,” he assured her, voice hitching, “I'm right here. I've always been here.”

They clung to each other, desperate to be near one another after all the time they had spent apart. Emma was the more desperate of the two, and she kept pulling back to touch his face, making sure he was really there.

She began kissing him, over and over, pecking his face with affectionate little kisses, as if he was going to disappear again at any moment. Killian slipped his fingers beneath her chin, guiding her mouth to his, to capture her lips in a kiss.

The king, who was standing to the side as the horrible realization dawned over him that he had somehow nearly cut a human being in half with his ax, turned away as the two began to kiss, his cheeks dusted in blush. When the moment began to grow more heated between the two, the king cleared his throat loudly, and Emma and Killian separated with a start.

Frantically, Emma reached for Killian's hand, grasping it firmly in hers.

“Oh, papa,” she said, “I'm sorry, this... This is Killian.”

Killian, slightly breathless from their kissing, blushed fiercely and leaned forward in a short bow.

The king still could not manage to wipe the shock from his face. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few long strides, and pulled them both into a tight embrace.

“Gods,” he whispered hoarsely, “I nearly killed you.” Tears sprang into his eyes, and when he pulled away, he clapped Killian once on the shoulder. “How on earth did you--”

“The Dark One,” Killian answered gravely. The king's eyes went wide and Emma gasped softly at his side. “I was waiting here to see Emma, and he cursed me so I could never be with her again.”

King David nodded tersely. He put his hand on Killian's shoulder again, squeezing it gently. “My boy,” he said, “I am so sorry. Emma,” he turned to her, “Please, forgive me. Please.”

Emma stared at him for a moment before her eyes flitted back to Killian. She hesitated, then gave a short nod. “You helped me find him again, papa.”

King David released the breath he had been holding with a huff of relief. His gaze shot back and forth between the two of them. “If I had any idea, I...” he trailed off, unable to voice what he had almost done. “We were so concerned for you, Emma. We couldn't get you to leave that tree,” His eyes shot to Killian, who offered up a weak smile. “We were worried for your safety. I didn't know what else to do. I thought if the tree was gone, you might come back to us.”

Emma released a shaky breath as she squeezed Killian's hand tighter at her side. The thought of what had nearly happened to him still made her want to faint. She shook her head once. “It doesn't matter. Not anymore, now that Killian's come back to me.”

King David smiled gently, and his heart swelled with pride at his daughter's grace. “You knew,” he said quietly. “Somehow, you knew it was him, didn't you? That's why you hardly left that tree.”

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. She hadn't known the apple tree was Killian—not really. How could she have known?

“I don't know,” she finally managed to offer. “I just felt drawn to it—to him. I was so worried, every day, because no one seemed to have any idea where Killian had gone. But, my tree...” She trailed off, and turned her gaze again to Killian, who was looking at her with nothing shy of adoration. “My tree gave me strength.”

The King nodded. “And that was... That was True Love's kiss that changed you back,” he murmured. “The same magic that awoke Snow—your mother—from her glass coffin.”

Emma gave a slight blush and nodded. Killian's jaw dropped slightly, and he stared at Emma with widened eyes, as if he had been missing that piece of the puzzle until that very moment. David chuckled.

“I'm going to go tell your mother,” he said, and his eyes flit between Emma and Killian, lingering an uncomfortable amount of time on the latter, until Killian began to shift on his feet nervously. “I'll give you two some time alone,” David continued, “And then we shall have a feast to celebrate.”

David winked at his daughter, who beamed back at him. With that, the king left. The heavy wooden doors to the castle swung back into place with a heavy clang, and the two  were finally alone.

They turned to one another slowly, almost shyly. Emma squeezed Killian's hand, and he responded by pulling her closer, letting his other hand rest lightly on her hip. In their reunion, all propriety had been discarded. The appropriate distance for a princess and an unofficial, commoner suitor was disregarded, each anchored to reality by the other's touch.

Tears welled in her eyes again, and her lower lip began to quiver. “Killian Jones,” she whispered, and he leaned his forehead into hers in response, “I have missed you so much.”

His nose swept over hers, and he bent forward to take her lips in another kiss. It was sweet, laced in tenderness, and for a moment, the two were lost in the slow dance of the other's lips against theirs. Killian brought his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, and she gave a hum of appreciation.

Despite the tenderness of their kiss, they were breathless when they finally parted. Killian reached up to brush a wayward strand of her hair from off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Emma smiled adoringly at him, the two of them swaying just slightly as she leaned into him. “Could you hear me?” she asked him. “When I was telling you all those stories?”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I was hanging on every word, love. It was your voice in my head that kept me sane.”

She smiled at that, until the smile faltered abruptly and her lower lip began to quiver once more. “I should have known,” she whispered, voice breaking halfway through, “I should have known it was you.” Killian shook his head vehemently. He took her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth, and kissed it.

“All this time,” she went on, “And you were right here, in my garden. I thought you were dead! Killian, I thought you were dead.” She was crying openly now, weeping over the time with him she had lost, her heart cursing the Dark One and all he had stolen from her.

“Hey,” Killian whispered, pulling her out of her wayward thoughts and back to his side, “Emma, my love, please. Don't do this to yourself.” He brushed his lips over hers, tasting the salt of her tears. “You didn't know. Darling, you didn't know. You couldn't have known.”

Emma nodded, but they both knew she didn't believe his words. Killian watched her for a moment, mulling a thought, until he gave a quick nod and, taking her hand, led her to their bench. “Come,” he said, “Sit with me awhile.”

He sat first, pulling her hand gently, until she came to sit beside him. Her head immediately found his shoulder, leaning into it wearily.

They sat quietly for a few moments, each simply enjoying the other's company. The garden was quiet, as it was most afternoons. Now and again, a bird would call out a short melody from among the hedges.

Emma sniffled now and again from beside him. Killian was playing with a strand of her hair, flipping its end absentmindedly between his thumb and forefinger. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “There once was a young lad, poor in circumstance. One day, his eyes happened upon the most beautiful princess in all the land. She was gracious and kind, which only made her all the more beautiful to the boy. Every day, as he worked, he would think of her, and the hours would race by. At night, he dreamed of her. She had taken him as her own, heart and soul, without ever having met him.

“One day, as luck would have it, the boy and the princess did come to meet. The boy was enchanted with the garden she often visited, drawn by its magic. But, nothing would prepare him for the enchantment of the princess, herself. She was more beautiful up close and proved herself to be even kinder than the stories told of her in the village. Just as simply as that, the boy knew he loved her, that he never wanted to be parted from her.

“The boy came to know the princess, and even came to call her his friend. She was the north star by which he had come to guide himself, calling him back day after day. She had captured his heart completely.”

Killian paused then, peering down at Emma. Her head still rested on his shoulder, and her eyes were closed, as she sat lulled by the deep timbre of his voice. “Shall I go on, love?” Killian asked, grinning down at her. “I will warn you, though, the next part gets a bit dicey, but I promise the tale ends happily.”

Emma pulled her head from him and looked up, the smile she wore threatening to split her face in two. “Killian Jones,” she said slowly, “Will you marry me?”

+++

They wed in the garden on a cloudless afternoon. The ceremony was small, minuscule compared to most royal affairs, but for them and to them, it was perfect.

Killian had asked his brother, Liam, to preside over the ceremony. The elder Jones brother had scarcely known a prouder moment in his life.

Killian wore his naval officer's uniform proudly. For her part, Emma wore a long, white gown with elegant, flowing sleeves. It was modeled after the styles the women of Camelot wore, but it fit Emma perfectly, and when Killian lay eyes on her, his smile outshone the sun.

Their vows were simple as they held hands, each promising themselves to the other, knowing even the darkest magic in the kingdom could not part them. In the privacy of an empty garden, they had each said all they needed to say to prove the depth of their love for each other, and that was enough. In front of  a small, albeit eager crowd, the young couple was almost shy, much more reserved with their affection.

(King David, for one, was glad for this.)

As the ceremony ended, the well-wishers came up afterward to congratulate the young couple and offer their blessings. The queen managed to pull her daughter discreetly off to the side, and wiped the tears from her own eyes before she tugged Emma into an embrace.

After a few moments, the queen pulled away and kissed her daughter's forehead, smiling gently at her. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly, “For ever pushing anything upon you but this. You deserve this. You deserve each other. To marry for love is--” She paused, and tears shone in her eyes again, even as her smile held. “A precious thing,” she finished, and Emma had to blink back tears of her own.  

“Thank you, mother,” Emma said. Queen Snow nodded and took her daughter's hand, squeezing it gently. The king came to them then, offering his wife his arm. She took it demurely, and after issuing a sweet kiss to his daughter's brow, the king escorted his queen back to the castle to help organize the feast.

Killian was talking with his brother when Emma rejoined him. “Your highness,” Liam said, offering a smile and a slight bow at the princess' approach. “Though, I suppose now I should be offering Prince Killian here the same treatment.” Killian put his hand on his brother's shoulder, preemptively halting what he anticipated to be a jesting bow.

“No,” Killian said, laughing despite the blush that tinged his ears pink. “Please don't.”

Liam shot Emma a wink. “In all seriousness,” he continued, “It is truly an honor to have you as part of my family, Emma. I can scarcely think of anyone more deserving of my little brother's devotion.” Ignoring a scoff from Killian, he continued, “It was my great privilege to marry you both today.” Emma smiled gratefully and she opened her arms to pull Liam into an embrace. “Thank you, Liam,” she said, issuing a quick kiss to his cheek as she pulled away. “For everything.”

Liam nodded and clapped his brother on the shoulder once before pulling him into an embrace of their own. Assuring them he would see them both at the reception, he took his leave, and finally, Emma and her husband were left alone.

Killian took her hand in his, brought it delicately to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Sit with me, love?” Emma nodded, and he led her to their bench.

As strange as it was, Emma had grown accustomed to the shade of the apple tree covering her bench, and when they sat, she had to turn deliberately from the strong light of the sun.

Killian put his arm around her, letting his hand rest at her waist. He leaned in to kiss her temple, pausing to whisper into her ear, “I love you, Emma.”

Emma gave a little hum and turned to look at him. “And I you.”

“You look stunning.”

“And you look--”

Killian gave a half-shrug and smirked at her. “I know.”

Emma snorted quietly, rolling her eyes at him. “I was going to say dashing.”

A genuine smile overtook his features, and it only expired from his face when he leaned in to kiss her again. Emma found his other hand and laced their fingers together as she brought it to rest in her lap.

They were quiet for a few minutes, each reflecting, lost in their own thoughts. As she leaned into him, Emma was struck suddenly with the realization that the same steadfast peace she had felt with her apple tree she felt now with Killian. Only it was different now, and much better. He was here, he was safe, and he had married her.

+++

The celebration in the kingdom lasted an entire week. If the Dark One had gotten wind of his victim's triumphant return to human form, he gave no sign. Emma and Killian each grappled for many years with the idea of seeking revenge for the turmoil he had wrought between them. But, it was a fruitless endeavor, one that would needlessly endanger the entire kingdom. Stories of the Dark One's infamous deeds were cropping up farther and farther away from their land. For the time being, they were safe.

King David and Queen Snow ruled for many years, and the kingdom continued to flourish beneath their reign. When the time came, Emma was a righteous queen, fierce and gentle all at once. Killian was the rock by which she steadied herself, and his deft mind was matched by no other kingdom's rulers.

And when darkness began to creep upon their doorstep, they were ready, hand-in-hand, together.

-----------

Tagging a few people who might be interested 

@queen-mabs-revenge @caprelloidea @flslp87 @laschatzi @ms-babs-gordon @lenfaz @ripplestitchskein@brooke-to-broch @justanotherwannabeclassic @couldnthandleit@trueromantic1 @phiralovesloki @completeshippertrash @cherrywolf713 @galadriel26

@captain–kitten @thejollypirate @seastarved @captainswanismyendgame @the-lady-swan@cinnamonduckling @sunbeamsandmoonrays @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @gusenitsaa@kat2609 @captainswanslay @imhookedonaswan@ohmykilly @weplaydumbb @optomisticgirl@killianisacupcake@briannachick42  @thegladelf  @j-philly-b@thisisevenharderthannamingablog @flipperbrain @nfbagelperson @thegladelf @galadriel26 @welllpthisishappening @the-reason-to-sail-home @blowmiakisscolin @littlebabeswan @ahsagitarius @dreadpirateemma @hisemma @a-faekindagirl @itsalostgirlthing @mrandmrsswan @32variations @onceuponaswans @melsbels @once-a-sailor-always-a-dreamer @i-spilled-my-smoothie @oye-genesis @unfolded73fics

[virtualamtgard2021]

Rowe (ch 1 pt 2) (Dragon)

Persona Name: Eliora Migurdia

Kingdom/Park: Golden Plains/Evermore Hollow

Award Level: Dragon 2

Entry Name: Rowe pt 2

Brief Description: This is the continuation of Rowe chapter 1

Write Up: Eliora Migurdia Crickett Stonebold D'avenir. [Dragon entry] Rowe, introduction and Chapter 1 part 1 category: Writing "Rowe" is the tale of Esset Len Wyrmborne, a young woman of 19 and rookie hotshot adventurer on an expidition with the goal of seeing the world. Growing up in a small theocratic region wherein magic is heavily suppressed and even criminalized, she quickly finds a passion for storytelling as a means to record her experience with the vast, open world. Early on, she's made aware that she can use magic, and struggles to merge with a world so accepting and even appreciative of magic use compared to her home in the south Gale-lands. The introduction and first chapter have taken me ~28 hours from first drafts to current form, spread over the course of the last month. It's been a process of writing paragraphs and expanding upon the ideas presented therein, to hammer out the world I wish to convey.

Part 2~

Instantaneously, the colossus in front of me became a whirlwind, a flurry of brown and green that whipped the wind into a spiraling column of raw energy. I felt the ground shake and a light gale, followed by a tremendous wave of air and varied debris that I shielded my face from. The wind blew me back into a tree a few feet behind me, knocking the breath out of me. I hit the ground with an embarrassing thud. As I pushed myself over onto my back to breathe, I winced from a sharp pain in my arm. Looking down, every inch of my skin and clothing was covered in dust and clusters of coarse, black dirt that crumbled sporadically at the slightest touch. No good, not a fan of that sensation one bit. I pulled myself to my feet, stiff from the impact, head throbbing. I felt a sensation of tiny hands crawling up my mud-soaked leg and couldn’t help but squirm in my clothes a little. The hands ran up my side and down my arm and I was greeted by a familiar little face. I was overcome with relief that he was okay.

Pulling myself to my feet, I looked towards the clearing. In the middle, among all the debris, was the answer to the question of what had just happened. The tree stood firmly planted in the ground, tall and stout, its rugged bark and glossy rosettes catching the sunlight, casting a wide circular shadow beneath it, almost shading the entire glade. I looked on in awe as it gently swayed in the breeze, that being who had just wrought such havoc now stood so majestic, so peaceful. I felt a pull, drawing me closer to the tree. It was strange to feel such a

compelling urge to approach a being that had just caused such destruction, but I started to feel my feet move against my will. As I strode carefully down the hill, around fallen logs, I became numb to the pain that was coursing throughout my body. It took so long to descend that when I stopped halfway down to catch my breath, I noticed the shadow of the tree beginning to encroach, inching its way up the hillside with the sun now passing behind it.

At the bottom of the hill, in what remained of the field of tall grass, I stood. In front of me, stretching into the sky, was the great tree. It was truly otherworldly to see it so close that I could reach out and touch it. The cracks in its bark were weathered and jagged, a mark of the ancient. It stood silent, looming above me. I backed up and stared a few moments longer before I turned to walk around it. I’d met the edge of its shadow and set foot outside of the shade to be met with a clear blue sky. Ahead of me, the treeline seemed to split off into two different directions. I walked away from the tree, deciding it best to not disturb it.

I took a moment to process what I had just experienced. Somehow or other, the tree seemed to have spun itself to drive its roots into the ground. Maybe that’s why it had cleared so much space? So that it wouldn’t have any competition for the clearing it wanted to occupy? I didn’t know its true intentions and it was probably rude to make assumptions, but that seemed the only reasonable conclusion. Somehow or other, when it spiraled down, it caused such an immense wind that it was able to send me flying. Truly majestic. I had a story to tell in the next tavern down the way.

Looking back one last time, I pushed onward towards the far edge of the clearing. This area was much less steep than the slope behind me, and I’d made it to the treeline within minutes. Where I could still see the two separate paths, I looked down each as far as I could. The one on the left was relatively dark and the right much brighter. Having spent most of my time in the shaded stretch of the wood, I found the path to the right more enticing. As I started to make my way down the path, I noticed that intermittently there were small pillars of smooth gray brick, marking the path. They were adorned with banners of tattered green and white, which rustled gently with age. In the afternoon it started to cool down, so I figured the night would be cold. It was probably best to find a spot and set up camp before too long. I started to shiver lightly when the breeze swelled, though I maintained my pace. My companion had crawled around and nestled within my sleeve, below my arm. That greedy bastard was nice and cozy while I did all the hard work. I chucked to myself at that thought.

Rounding a sharp bend in the path, on my right appeared a bench of fine metalwork. The legs were cylindrical with intricate carvings depicting merfolk swimming in a raging sea. This was helped aesthetically in no small part by the tarnished condition the bench was in. It had long since gone a deep sea shade of greenish-bluish-grey that would make any sailor feel at home. The armrests were finely curved at the front in a spiral that started wide and thin on the outer edge, but got thinner and rounder as it circled in on itself in a snakelike manner. The curve was connected to the back of the bench by a relatively simple bracket of metal, carved into a crosshatch pattern of square holes so small, you’d have trouble getting a needle through them. The

backboard of this bench was tall, shaped like a garden gate festooned with vines reminiscent of those enveloping the surrounding trees. I’m sure that when viewed from a distance it would be difficult to differentiate the metalwork from the nature surrounding it.

Next to the bench stood a lamp post. It was about one and a half times my height and much more simple in design than the bench adjacent, with a trapezoidal base converging to a sleek metal pole which looked just slim enough to grip in one hand. At the top, the metal curved around the glass of a lantern, rounded at its base and slender at the top. The top of the lantern was a metal lid, square in shape with ridges along its edges and a spike jutting out of the center. A small lectern, similar in color and presumably cast of the same metal as the other structures, sat about my waist height in front of the lantern. Looking closer, I could make out text inscribed in the open metal book placed atop the stand. It was certainly no language I knew, but the characters were the same. I read it aloud to try and gain some understanding.

“Hwey od lyew Fyr Grune saar,

In Inkhidts, Just, fyr Syrikh Daar,

Ignis Fyr, Ley od Stronne Ses,

Od es, Ignis, gratus est.”

I had no clue what this nonsense was supposed to be. Hwey? Ignis? What could I possibly do with this information? It was then I noticed a handle on the side of the lectern. I reached down and pulled at the cold, rough protrusion. With an ungodly scraping noise, it came loose and

from the lectern I drew a rectangular drawer-like compartment with an imprint in the shape of a hand. Not dissimilar to the pull I had felt towards the treant, I felt my hand gravitate towards the slot. I didn’t even try to stop it. I felt my hand sink into the cold metal. It fit my hand perfectly. The next thing I felt was a searing pain. I tried to pull my hand back, but I couldn’t. I pulled harder and harder, but my hand wouldn’t budge. The burning sensation grew more intense and as I looked down, I saw a black mark beginning to appear on the back of my hand. It was taking form like it was being written, tens of small curves converging to one point and another. It was a star of some kind. Counting the points, there were seven. As the lines met at the final point, I felt the grip on my hand diminish and pulled myself free.

Too shocked to move, I could only stare in disbelief at my hand. The marks began to glow a faint red. I felt warm to the core. It was soothing, especially when I was starting to get cold. My companion crawled down my arm and leapt clear over to the lectern. He turned back, looking at me as if to call my attention to it, and it immediately became clear as to why. The lines forming the letters were slowly shifting, as though the metal they were inscribed in was alive somehow. Given what had just happened, I somehow didn’t find the concept too bizarre. The text shifted for a few moments more before becoming clear. I read it aloud once again.

“From lands afar, a gift was sent.

To wanderers and scholars of the night.

A gift of fire, felt within,

Channeled by mere thought, a blessing and a curse.”

I was dumbfounded. A gift of fire? Scholars of the night? A curse?! The text, while decipherable, was no less confusing now than it had been. Connecting the pieces, the burning sensation I had felt in my hand, the words upon the lectern, the pattern now part of my skin, I had to assume this “gift of fire” was somehow mine now. I had no idea what to do with this knowledge. The small, green one scampered up the lamppost to the top, looking down at the latch and then to me. I reached up and flipped the latch open. As the creaking metal lid swung open, he crawled into the lamp, wherein a large candle remained unlit. I looked back to the lectern to see the lines had once again shifted. They now took the form of a picture. Upon the open page, they drew a hand with a finger extended.. To a candle. A small flame shot out of the fingertip, catching the wick alight. Beneath it, only one word was written.

Focus.

[barefootblogger-france]

Ms. Dotty McDaniel

A few months ago a dear friend from my days in Beaufort, South Carolina, passed away — age 95. “Ms. Dotty,” as she was lovingly called by all in the historic district of the small Southern town, was the Barefoot Blogger’s inspiration, my muse, and my confidant.

It’s best to describe Ms. Dotty by some of the stories she told during the time we were neighbors in Beaufort. The tales were remembrances of her life that she shared while we sat together in the little backyard patio she called the “Sky Room.” I wrote down some of the stories and started my first blog “Tales from the Sky Room.” I never published it. I told only a few of our best friends that it existed.

One early evening in the springtime, while Ms. Dottie and I were enjoying our first cocktail of the day together, I took my laptop out to the Sky Room to tell her about the blog I had created in her honor. I had been saving the occasion until there were several posts published. I read them to her with much fanfare. I thought she would be thrilled. To my dismay, she was not happy at all. In fact, in her Ms. Dotty “way,” she exclaimed: “I was going to write a book myself someday.”

I never wrote another. She was right. They were her stories.

Ms. Dottie never got around to writing her book of stories. She did, however, write letters. One friend says she received as many as 65 of Ms. Dottie’s letters in one year. Hopefully we will see them someday.

Asking Ms. Dottie’s forgiveness, I would like to share one of her stories with you. I believe she would be pleased to be remembered. 

  Black Coffee and Devil’s Food Cake

(How to Get Rid of Your Man)

Ms. Dottie is my newest BFF and becoming one of my life’s true treasures. She lives next door to me in my adopted “home” in Beaufort, SC.

Born and raised in Robeson County, NC, “A dirt farma’s daughter,” Ms. Dottie says with her slow, Southern drawl. She’s spent 45+ of her 89 years in Beaufort, living in one of the beautiful historic homes near the waterfront. Married twice, Ms. Dottie’s been a single woman most of her life. She wed “Cecil”, a teacher at Porter Gaud in Charleston, when she was in her 40’s. This marriage and subsequent divorce was followed by another “Cecil” who brought her to Beaufort.  They were married only 5 years before he passed away.

For a few years Ms. Dottie worked at the Paris Island Marine base as a secretary. “Wastin’ my time peckin’ away on a typewrit-a,” she lamented. Then one day she received a message from the base General’s office that he wanted her to apply for his administrative assistant’s job. When interviewing for the position with the General, in the early 1960’s, the General asked Ms. Dottie: “So, what do you think about the integration ‘situation’?” 

Ms. Dottie responded quickly in her dry, matter-of-fact way: “Sir, I believe we all have aptitude.”

She got the job.

After more than 20 years working in the office of various Paris Island base Generals, Ms. Dottie retired to dedicate her life to her beloved Craven Street house and garden. She was blessed that the house had a large back lot that she could nurture. “It was really not a flower gah-den,” she described in her most apologetic Southern way. “It was a tree gah-den” she said, thinking back about the big house she’d given up when she could no longer manage it. 

I’ve learned Ms. Dottie’s love for trees is only exceeded by her love for puttering. The first day we met, she was puttering in the “Sky Room” that she has created for all of us who share back yards. Taking the two parking places she is allotted in the back of our townhouses, Ms. Dottie has designed a little piece of “heaven.” Albeit asphalt is the garden’s floor, flowers and trees grow in boxes, urns and various make-shift containers in and around a perfect square. The Sky Room has become a favorite gathering place for the town home neighbors. So much so that those on either side of her have given up some of their parking space for the plants that are encroaching into their boundary lines.

I have found that over the few weeks that I have been in Beaufort, I’m spending all my spare time with Ms. Dottie, enjoying the Sky Room. Sharing Ms. Dottie’s space, however, comes with two definite rules:

1 No talking about trash cans

2 No talking about parking spaces

Naively,  I accepted those two rules during my first visit to the Sky Room. Now I’m finding it hard to abide by the rules because they seem to be the only issues Ms. Dottie and I can’t solve after a couple of glasses of wine.

Routinely now, first thing in the morning or in the evening after work, I open the back door of my townhouse to look for Ms. Dottie. Actually, I’m checking for the small green throw pillow on the glass table in the Sky Room. That’s our signal that she’s accepting guests. If the pillow is there, I’ll grab my cup of coffee, wine, beer, or whatever’s handy and appropriate for the time of day, and head over for a visit. Inevitably, she greets me with the widest grin and a “howdy!”

“My dea-ah, Debby, ple-ease do come over here,” she implores with far too many syllables in her words. “I’ve been hope-ng to see you this (morning), (evening),” she exclaims. “Ther-rahs so much I’ve been saving to shar-rah with you.”

How can one resist? It’s like having a puppy dog meet you at the door after you’ve been away. I just want to run over and hug her neck. Often that’s exactly what I do. 

Now you would think after a few days of constant chatter the two of us would run out of conversations. Not true. There’s so much to say to and to learn from someone with a lifetime of wisdom like Ms. Dottie. She may not be world traveled, yet her knowledge and curiosity seem boundless. One particularly amusing story she shared with me one evening was about Cecil #1. 

Ms. Dottie and Cecil separated before their final divorce some years ago. After a brief time apart, Cecil realized the mistake he’d made losing Miss Dottie and he wanted to reconcile. He invited himself and a friend over to visit Ms. Dottie one evening. The man friend was rooming with Cecil during the separation. “It was the last thing I ev-ah wanted to do,” wailed Ms. Dottie. However, not to be rude and mostly because she’s a proper Southern lady, Ms. Dottie agreed to the visit.

Since she wasn’t fond of either of her intended guests, Ms. Dottie was quite perplexed as to how to get them in and out of her place without too much ado. Certainly an unfriendly or less than cordial attitude would not be acceptable to her. “We may-ve been dirt po’ farmers from Robeson County,” she claimed, “but we were taught how to act with gen-til-ity,” she strongly admitted.”

So when Cecil and his friend came on the appointed evening for the visit, Ms. Dottie met them at her door with her welcoming grin. She graciously seated them in her front room. On straight back chairs. They carried on a strained, yet civil conversation about nothing important. When she had just about enough, Ms. Dottie rose from her chair and offered her guests some refreshments. “Cecil expected me to remember that he lo-oo-ves a cocktail in the evening,” she explained. “He was looking forward to a stiff drink,” she said with her sly, crinkled smile and a wink.

Ms. Dottie returned balancing her silver tray in her hands, sat down beside the two guests, then proceeded to serve them refreshments. Black coffee and devils food cake. 

When escorted out of the house soon after, Cecil never graced Miss Dottie’s doorstep again.

Tales from the Sky Room 

***

Views of Ms. Dottie’s beloved Beaufort:

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      Thank you, “Ms. Dottie”…

For all that you have meant to me over the years that we have known each other. You are a true gift to womankind because of your spirit, your enthusiasm, and your love.

Thank you, “Ms. Dottie”…

For sharing your “Sky Room” with me during a time that I needed it most. You will never know how much I cherish our morning coffee times and cocktail afternoons.

Thank you, “Ms. Dottie”…

For helping me to become the woman I am today. Your strength and encouragement helped show me the way. I am stronger, wiser, and more knowledgeable because of you.

Thank you, “Ms. Dottie” …

For being here for me now … and forever.

With deep love and admiration,

Your friend,

Deborah

  Sign hanging in the Sky Room, Beaufort SC

  The Beaufort Island Packet printed a wonderful tribute to Ms. Dottie, complete with more humorous stories. Please click here and enjoy!

  Barefoot Blogger’s Inspiration A few months ago a dear friend from my days in Beaufort, South Carolina, passed away -- age 95.

[alphacenturian4]

Genesis 2 Commentary

By Alphacenturian4

           Let’s be clear this polemic narrative is obviously “an artificial and religious interpretation of history” (NRSV Oxford Commentary). But that doesn’t make it false, that makes it non-factual, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Just as an actor must find their truth in their performance, just as a painting of a cigar is not the cigar itself. So too is there truth here, and more so, there is genuine wisdom and understanding of greater truths.

           And those truths are echoed in the creation myths that predate it. Interesting enough, the Genesis stories only show up in post exile text. When the Israelites left Babylon at the beginning of the Persian Achaemenid Empire. During the seventy-one year period of exile, the learned scribes of Israel would have picked up on many if not all the major religious narratives of Babylon from Sumerian to the Assyrian traditions. And it is against these traditions that Genesis was written, to explain how we are us and not them, to differentiate the Israelite beliefs from the Mesopotamian and Persian way of thought.

           So why read it, it’s not science, it’s not real history, and if you can find a period of time that, the tradition it sprang from existed without it? Well you should read it for the same reasons you read Jane Austin or Shakespeare, for the same reasons I read The Epic of Gilgamesh and Livy. For the same reasons you might watch Interstellar or read the book the Martian. Because there is a greater truth, a spark that connects with your soul and feeds your imagination and dreams. To say there is no history there is say there is to say that there is no history in the movies “The Alamo” or “the Patriot,” or “the 300.” Was there a time before earth existed? Yes. Was there a first man and woman? Yes. Is this their story? Well …

           This is the story of the first time we became human, the story of our first human thoughts, of the birth of reason. In a sense, Adam is the first philosopher and Eve the first researcher. Or, maybe this is the story of the 1st humanoid primates to experiment with psychedelics, I don’t know, and neither do you.

           But what I do know is that Genesis two is the second telling of creation in the bible, and according to scholars, it is the older of the two versions. In the NAB the idea of a second creation is more pronounced, here expressed more clearly as a second version of creation form Genesis one and an alternative to other popular Mesopotamian and Mediterranean creation myths. All the animals are created for a second time, if not third. This makes me think of the great extinctions at the end of each epoch. While in Genesis one, we see God created the Earth out of watery depths, where there are allusions to Tiamat and the Enuma Elish; in Genesis two we get creation out of nothingness, creation from the word. What we also get is an inversion of nature as we know it today. In the first tale man is created last, here man is create before the other animals, perhaps hinting that first a mind must perceive and name a thing before it can understand a thing exist.

           We also get the invention of the week. We have the Seventh day, a day of rest, and a holy day “Sanctified” (KJV). How man 1st came to recognize a seven-day cycle to the week still amazes me. And the fact that this mythological observation just happens to be scientifically true is even more amazing. What we see, with the observances of creation is that people view the world as it suits them; they 1st see how it can benefit them and how they can exploit it. Of other religions and denominations that believe or ascribe to this story I cannot speak to their belief but I will give mine and I will try to couch it in my faith, that of Roman Catholicism.

           In the catholic, God is the progenitor, the pre-casual. His works were in and of the creation; yet the creation itself could be self-determining and random. God here is more as a cause and gift-er of freewill and not seen as a Greek Fate or Hindu Destiny ascribe-er.

           To my modern eyes, when read with some distance and much reverence, the biblical history of the earth seems to follow the geological historical in a nice parallel; that is if you, the reader, can get over the metaphorical use of word “Days” (NIV). Days here equaling “generations” (KJV). For example, “While as yet there was no field shrub on earth and no grass of the field had sprouted, for the Lord God had not yet sent rain upon the earth … (NAB).” This makes me think of the Precambrian Eon, specifically the pre-Hadean & Hadean period just before water formed and the earth just began to cool, four to five million years ago.

           When someone hears these kind of verses, one can see a desert people, maybe even a lone wanderer, or a small family of nomads pondering existence and waiting for, or being surprised by, a sudden gush of underground spring water coming up from the burning sand and soil. The water of life, the “mist” (KJV) of creation, that gives rise to primordial earth. And the land is most definitely wild before man learns to harness it.

           So to with mankind and humanity, is there a great poetic and maybe even pre-philosophical element. The creation of man seems to be an understanding of decay in reverse. For this to be true, someone would have had to have watched a body die and decompose out in the open. Think about it. A man is created from dust, then his body is a still thing, then he gets breath, and then has life. This is death in reverse. One has breath, when it is lost the body is a still thing, then it decomposes into dust. The “Breath of life” (KJV) to my mind makes me think of CPR.

           Man is infused with “a living soul” (KJV). Which make me ask, as oppose to a dead soul? Here in the catholic tradition it seems to intimate that the body and soul are one, not two separate entries like they are in other understandings of other denominations. To me, this sudden breath of life makes me think a consciousness. A first awakening. Our primate ancestors’ first coming to realize they existed and were living.

           According to every commentary I have read, from nondenominational, to protestant, to Catholic, Adam is the Hebrew word for man and is closely related to their word for ground, humus, and clay (adamah).

           Then we get to “A garden in the east” (NIV). My guess is, to the east of the storyteller and his audience, when this story was first told? Eden is a Sumerian derivative meaning fertile plain, one can easily think of the Fertile Crescent from these words. Eden in the Hebrew and the Greek takes on a meaning more akin to a “Paradise of Pleasures” (NAB commentary). A garden of delights, if you will.

           Here God sounds like a good father or parent providing for and protecting his young. And we hear of two trees in the center of the garden. The Tree of life, and Tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Here the trees are a left over from ancient sematic nature worship, were the trees represented feminine powers. The word knowledge here could be exchanged for wisdom or Sofia, another abstract divinity.

           After the trees we hear about the four branched river. It’s heads, or sources, are the Pishon in Havilah where there is gold. Gihon, in Cush, which is Ethiopia in the KJV, but is more likely a reference to the Kassite region, in Aribia. The Tigris or Hiddekel, in Ashur; that’s Assyria. And then, the Euphrates.

           Here in the historical, theological, and mythical cradle of civilization actual cultivation begins. This cultivation is a first step towards civilization, though far from its true beginnings.

           Here, some say we get the 1st lie of the story, at least the Gnostics would say so, and a few skeptics out there too. But as I said earlier, this is a polemic, and the whole story shows that before knowledge all Order and Nature is inverse to what we understand now as rational beings. And to this yet unconsumed knowledge, God seems to promise an immediate death upon consumption. If that is true, then it would be unto a type of death, a death of a previous self and a death of innocence.

           Again, here god reminds me of a parent talking to a child in simple terms. This is edible, but this is poison, eat it and die. What parent wouldn’t explain that to a child when in the wild, even in the controlled wild of a garden, let alone a first garden? A first an attempt at taming nature.

           But it is in the naming things and the power of language that things are 1st tamed. Yet, this cataloging does not satisfy the man and the story turns to the longing for companionship. And, comically it explains how a pet does not equal a person. So instead, we get The rib of Man. But. How would you explain the sudden appearance of an individual that arrived as you slumbered, especially if you were a child, or if you had an extremely limited understanding of reality? And, here again, we see nature as we understand it inversed. We see the reversed order of birth, here the man “births” the woman, not the other way around.

           Most organized religions state that this is a claim to the origin of marriage. And indeed it does say that “Two of them become one body” (NAB). It could easily be a metaphor for sex; or genetically speaking it could be a good description of what a child is, two separate individuals becoming one new individual.

           But. It is also a play on words. Eve here meaning something like the word Wife. Though, in most versions she is not named until the next chapter. The same play on words is done with man and woman, Ish and Ishah in Hebrew.

           The chapter ends with, a time of nudity without shame. Though mankind is still uncivilized here, unlike later in the bible, humankind is “very good.” It is almost comical how the relationship between man and woman must be affirmed so early in the text and twice in the first two chapters of the bible. What was going on at the creation of this story, that this was a matter that had to be addressed so often and so concretely? I honestly don’t know what the Babylonian perspective was on homosexuality. I’ve read recent articles that speculate that Enkidu and Gilgamesh could have been in a homosexual relationship, but that is mere speculation on the reader’s part. I have read multiple accounts of the epic of Gilgamesh, and honestly, to me, their friendship sounds like a best friend bro thing and nothing more, you’d have to really read into things to get anything more out of their relationship. And it has been about ten years since I last read a translation of the Hammurabi code, but I don’t remember anything sex positive in there either. But, maybe there was something with the Babylonian priests’ or priestesses’ practices that I’m not aware of that the teller of these stories would be railing against with this last line. Either way, it is an odd and yet beautiful way to end this part of the story, nude without shame.

[agameforgoodchristians]

Adam wishing he had stuck with the sheep with "come-hither" looks (Genesis 3:12, Genesis 2:20)

Note: this is a revision of our first Card Talk ever, from 2013 when we were a little blog on Tumblr. Changes have been made for the purpose of formatting, clarity, and more biblical/rabbinic nerdity. 

Genesis 2:18-25 records the story of YHWH deciding "it is not good for the man to be alone," and the creation of woman from the man's rib. 

In short, after YHWH comes to the conclusion that man shouldn't be alone, YHWH creates all the beasts of the field and birds of the air and presents them to the man; the man names all of the earthly creatures before him, and suddenly realizes that he is not like them. He gets lonely.

The Sunday School version of the story (anticipating the tale of Noah, since all the flannel board creatures had already been purchased) displays the animals parading before the man in pairs. This version of the story basically plays out with the man saying, "Mr. Sheep, Mrs. Sheep over here. Mr. Goat, Mrs. Goat over there. Mr. Orangutan, Mrs. Orangutan. Wait. What the ...?! Everyone has someone, but me! Even that ugly, feces throwing mongrel!" The man realizes his need, YHWH knocks him out, and creates the woman. They live happily ever, until they screw everything up for all of us throughout time.

There is another version of this story, with slightly different details. For centuries great biblical minds, including some found in the Talmud (Tractate Yebamoth 63a) have argued that the man didn't just name the animals, he had sex with them.

We'll give you a second to re-read that.

Even Sheep Need Love

The idea that "Adam" diddled the animals is based on a reading of the Hebrew phrase employed in Gen 2:18 and 2:20: 'ezer kenegdo [עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדֹּֽו].

Gen 2:18: Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper ('ezer kenegdo) as his partner.” 

 Gen 2:20: The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field; but for the man there was not found a helper ('ezer kenegdo) as his partner.

'ezer kenegdo translates in a variety of ways, but they all circle the same idea: "A helper corresponding to him." "A sustainer beside him." "A suitable helper." In other words, someone that was appropriate to the man in a way that the animals were not. So far, so good. But where does the sex come into play?

 The argument goes as follows: the man was alone and YHWH saw it was not good, so the animals were made. YHWH paraded all of the animals in front of man, a creature with sexual desires, and the man had sex with each animal. This reading posits bestiality was not a sin prior to The Fall of Man. Which is not as far fetched as the current taboo might have you believe. Part of The Fall is a stark separation between humanity and the rest of nature. This could have been one of those separations. Furthermore, the Torah does not record bestiality as being a sin until the Moses received that word on Sinai (Exodus 22:19). In any event, this take on the story says that the man had intercourse with Mr. and/or Mrs. Sheep, Goat, Orangutan and all the other cute and ugly creatures, but found that none "corresponded," "fit," or was a "suitable helper" (depending on your translation) to his body. 

In this reading of the tale, when YHWH presents woman, and the man says, "this at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh" (Gen 2:23), it is because after all his experimenting he has found something/someone he, uhm, fits. In light of this interpretation, verse 23 could be paraphrased to read, "Finally! Something my body corresponds/responds to!"

This might also explain why the man was so quick to throw his wife under the bus after God questioned them over the whole incident with The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil: the man blames God for giving him the woman, in essence saying (as one of our seminary professors once quipped), "Look man: I was happy with the sheep: this woman you gave me — and the serpent you made — screwed everything up." (Gen 3:12)

Of singular importance is the idea that this interpretation requires a physical reading of 'ezer kenegdo; That the phrase is about how the bodies of two people join together physically, not mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or socially.

We feel this view is in error. 

Divine Help

As we state above, this reading of 'ezer kenegdo is too simplistic. It leaves out the very real (and sensible) possibility that the mental, emotional, spiritual, and social joining of bodies is more important than merely the physical. That YHWH felt and feels that when one corresponds with another, when one sustains another, it it more than a testament to the intersection of genitalia. 

As stated above, 'ezer kenegdo means "a helper corresponding to him" or a "sustainer beside him." But some argue a closer parsing of the Hebrew shows that it literally means to be "opposite" or "against" something. Therefore, "a helper against him," in the sense of a support propping something up, like the third leg of an easel. The famed Rashi took this thought further arguing that "if the man is worthy, the woman will be a helper (“against him,” as a support); if he is unworthy, she will be against him (opposed to him)". In other words, the 'ezer kenegdo requires active intervention from one on the behalf of another. But this all begs the question: why do people need other people?

 Over the centuries, scholars, clergy, and Sunday School students who were paying have noticed what comes before this story: the man was given a job to do:

Gen 2:15: The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.

It is after this that YHWH says it is not good for man to be alone. The man was given a job to accomplish that required more than animal assistance. He needed someone who was suitable to the divinely given task. Someone who corresponds with another human. Someone who can sustain another human. Someone who mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and socially fits. Someone who can help him do the work he has been given to do. Thus the relationship between the two humans was predicated on them fulfilling a divine purpose that was more than interlocking privates. 

 Now, some have used this passage to show the dominance of males over females, "Adam" over "Eve." Some have cited this passage as an example of the male patriarchy subjugating women through antiquated narrative. Both are basing this off the idea that the woman comes from the man and her only purpose was to be his "helper." Both camps need to STFU and actually read the Bible. 

'ezer  is not the Hebrew Bible's go-to word for "help." And it certainly is not used as a term of subjugated status, or second class citizenry. 

When 'ezer is used in the Bible, it overwhelmingly refers to God (ESP IN PSALMS). 

(c.f. Exodus 18:4, Deuteronomy  33:17, Psalms 33:20; 70:5; 89:19; 115:9-11; 121:2)

 Rashi, with his quote above, understood this. As did the commentary writer Matthew Henry:

That the woman was made of a rib out of the side of Adam; not made out of his head to rule over him, nor out of his feet to be trampled upon by him, but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected, and near his heart to be beloved.

Though we would say he did not go far enough: equality means that the woman protected and loves the heart of the man as well. That they love and care for each other, are helpers, sustainers, and corresponding parts, just as God is for humanity (we'll leave you to make the connections to an egalitarian reading of Ephesians chapter 5 on your own). 

 Perhaps Adam understood this better than we do. 

Perhaps that is why the first words we hear a human speak in the Bible is his joy at finding his corresponding, sustaining, equal partner. 

Perhaps we are too much like him and forget the same when things get tough, throwing the other under the bus, blaming God, and wishing we had something that fit less well. 

 Perhaps we all have our bouts with mental, emotional, spiritual, and social sheep sex.

   But what do we know: we made this game and you probably think we're going to Hell.