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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 4 years ago

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A Chance Meeting

So it turns out I have absolutely no self control. So here you are; Thorin POV of ADM. Enjoy, and be sure to let me know what you think!

Part 1 of ‘Matters of the Heart’. Link to Series Masterlist

Thorin’s POV of A Deep Misunderstanding

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count: 2,267

Warning(s): Rude Thorin, a mild swear word or two

~~~~

I turned the map in my hands, trying to make sense of the twisting pathways of The Shire.

Damn those Hobbits and their complicated city designs. Why couldn't everything be straight instead of twirling around in circles?!

Glancing up to compare a street name on the map with those upon the wooden marker, I scowled in frustration. I had already gone down the wrong path once, and I did not wish to repeat my mistake. Well, then there was the other street I went down and got lost in.

"Why didn't the blasted wizard think to mention that there are multiple streets named after the same bloody plant?" I grumbled to myself, striding down a pathway that seemed to match one on the map the aforementioned wizard had given me at our last meeting.

The dirt was well-trodden beneath my boots; pebbles crunching lightly with each step I took. A light breeze gently guided the few clouds scudding across the bright full moon that lit my way. The faded emerald flannel of my cloak and the hot Dwarvish blood that ran through my veins was enough to shield me from the breeze, but all the same I pulled the cloth tighter around me, disguising my figure.

The last thing I wanted was one of these Hobbits making a fuss about a Dwarf wandering through their streets in the dead of night. That would just be the icing upon the cake to this already disastrous night.

Just then, I came to the top of the hill; a picket fence surrounding a round Hobbit dwelling that had the mark of Gandalf etched on the green door. Vaguely, I could make out the sound of raucous singing and loud voices from where I stood.

Mahal, I was late.

Heaving a sigh of relief at finally reaching my destination, I opened the gate and trudged through up the cobblestones. Stepping up onto the doorstep, I thumped thrice upon the door; my frustration getting the better of me.

Instantly the noise died down and silence fell upon the moonlight night. I turned my gaze to one of the windows, trying to see who had all arrived before me.

Then the door creaked open and I turned my head to look through it, gazing at Gandalf who was bent double as he stood in the entryway of the Hobbit hole. A Hobbit stood just behind him, looking thoroughly put out.

"Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice." I murmured in a low voice, stepping inside. "I wouldn't have found it at all, had it not been for that mark on the door." I undid the chain fastening my cloak around my neck and pulled the garment off; folding it neatly and setting it aside.

"Mark?" The Hobbit exclaimed, pattering over to the door to peer at it as Gandalf pushed it shut. "There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!" He protested. I ignored the peeved Hobbit and gazed around at my surrounds with a smile on my face.

Comfort was a word that described this place perfectly, and comfort was something that I longed for after a long journey from the Blue Mountains.

"There is a mark, I've put it there myself." Gandalf replied to the Hobbit before turning to look over at me. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

I looked down upon the Hobbit, stepping closer to study him with a close eye. "So, this is the Hobbit." I murmured, disbelieving that this was whom Gandalf had talked so highly of. Crossing my arms, I shifted on my feet. "Tell me Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting?" I inquired roughly, walking around the Hobbit to look him over.

He looked small and used to the comforts of home; hardly someone I would take along on a arduous quest. He would be more of a liability than an asset.

The Hobbit shuffled on his feet, looking utterly bewildered. "Pardon me?"

I continued on with my questioning, taking in the fine linens he wore. "Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?" I asked, coming back to face the Hobbit.

He rocked in place, glancing down at the ground before returning my gaze. "Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know." He replied saucily, "but I fail to see why that's relevant."

I refrained from rolling my eyes, turning away from the Hobbit to look over at the others who had clustered in the doorway. "I thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." I smirked, looking back at Kili who grinned and laughed at my poking fun at the Hobbit.

The Hobbit looked disgruntled at my words, but stayed silent as I walked past him towards the doorway where Dwalin stood. He and Balin turned and led me through the kitchen and into the dining room.

There in the dining room, a raven-haired woman worked at stacking plates; her back towards us as she picked up a pile. Turning around, she started in surprise upon catching sight of us standing there, but kept her hold upon the plates.

I was not one for petty, emotional feelings, but it would be a lie if I denied that I did not feel fluttering within my disloyal heart. I was embarking on a dangerous quest; I had no reason to be lusting after a pretty dame. But yet there was something about her that attracted me.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" I asked with a raised brow, curious as to why the Hobbit had a Dwarrowdame in his home. They were rare enough within Dwarvish colonies, so how did she come to be in these parts?

But before she could respond, Gandalf spoke up from behind me. "Her name is Estel and I brought her along with me because I believe she can be of use on this quest of yours."

I turned to look at him, unsure if my ears were working properly.

Take Dwarrowdame along on a quest that might very well claim all our lives? I should think not! Particularly if she is as attractive...NO! I cannot think of her in such a way. I had no business pining after a dame.

"I do not think that she can be of any help on this quest, Gandalf. We do not need another person to look after..." I murmured meaningfully, but Gandalf paid no attention me and went on to take his place at the table.

The lass--Estel--was quick to hurry away with her load of plates, heading into the kitchen where she lingered. I took a seat at the head of the table as the rest of my companions made their way back into the room and found a seat.

Everyone talked quietly as they waited for some unknown signal, but I remained preoccupied in my thoughts. I had seen many different dames during my lifetime, but none--not even the most beautiful--had sparked such feelings as Estel had when my gaze fell upon her.

It was not like she was different--oh, but she was--she was shorter in stature, sturdy, dark-haired with blue eyes that glimmered like sapphires or kyanite gems found deep within the mines. No different than any other dame I had ever met.

But yet, she was entirely different all at the same time. Such a contradictory thing, but true nonetheless.

Soft footsteps sounded behind me, and the woman preoccupying my thoughts appeared at my side with a bowl in her hands.

"We saved some of this back for you, Master Thorin." She murmured softly, setting the bowl down in front of me. I gazed up at her delicate features--ignoring how my heart fluttered as I took in the slight smile she wore.

"Thank you, Miss Estel." I nodded, and she nodded back before turning away to settle herself beside Bofur.

Jealousy rose within me like a dragon as Bofur turned to talk quietly with her. She laughed softly at something he said and I resisted the urge to bolt upright and separate them. Why did it matter? It was not as if she was my One or anything. These were just lustful feelings brought about by my long journey. Nothing more.

But Balin's voice drew my attention away from the raven-haired lass. "What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?" He inquired, setting his elbows on the table before him as he leaned forward with interest. "Did they all come?"

I swallowed my mouthful of warm broth and nodded, pushing aside all thoughts other than the quest we were embarking on. "Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms...."

Later, after the Hobbit had fainted upon hearing the description of Smaug, I lingered in one of the hallways with Balin. We watched as the Hobbit walked away from Gandalf, and Balin let out a sigh.

"It appears we have lost our burglar. Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy makers. Hardly the stuff of legend." He bemoaned, and my gaze flickered over to him as he stood across from me.

"There are a few warriors amongst us." I countered softly, but Balin shook his head.

"Old warriors."

"I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon them, they answered." I murmured, "loyalty, honour, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that."

That was all they had to offer in the first place.

Balin watched me carefully as I twisted the key Gandalf had given to me in my fingers. "You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honourably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace of plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor." He said quietly, but I only shook my head gently.

"From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me."

Balin smiled, his eyes twinkling at me. "Then we are with you, laddie. We will see it done."

I smiled gratefully at the elder Dwarrow, knowing that what I asked was no small feat. We all ran the risk of losing our lives in this quest.

~~~~

Following my conversation with Balin, we made our way into the sitting room where the rest of the Dwarrows had begun to gather before the fire. Instantly, my eyes sought out Estel and after a moment I found her sitting alone, cradling a mug in her hands as she stared into the flames.

Upon my entrance, she glanced up and her gaze met mine for a instant before she looked away again, looking down at her mug.

Ignoring the urge to go and talk with her, I walked over to the mantlepiece, leaning against it and staring down into the orange and yellow flames that danced to unheard music.

Slowly, I began to hum, losing myself in thoughts and memories of a day long past; a day when fire lit up the sky and ground shook beneath the feet of a dragon.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold. To dungeons deep and caverns old. We must away ere break of day. To find our long forgotten gold.

The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.

Gradually, the rest joined in, choosing either to sing aloud or hum the melody. The room filled with the heavy weight of sorrow as those old enough to remember the day recalled everything that had happened. I scanned the room, my gaze lingered on the lass.

She sat mutely, her brow furrowed as she listened to the words. Vaguely, I wondered how old she was. Perhaps she was around Kili's age and had only heard the stories about that fateful day.

I continued to watch her as the last notes faded away, the room falling silent once more, save for the crackling of the fire. Drawing a deep breath, I pushed away from the mantlepiece and walked over to Estel, seating myself by her side.

It was strange; I felt nervous about approaching her.

"Miss Estel, do you not know this song?" I inquired in a low voice, and she turned her head to look at me; raven locks spilling over her shoulder to cascade down her back.

"No, Master Thorin. I have never heard it before." She answered, and I raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't?"

"No." She bit her lower lip, drawing my gaze to it.

I wanted nothing more than to steal a taste... Mahal, what was I thinking?

Drawing in a deep breath, I reluctantly focused my gaze on her eyes. Estel continued to gnaw on her lip--driving me mad--as she glanced out the window behind the two of us.

"It is high time for me to call it a night I believe. I will see you early tomorrow, Master Thorin." She nodded to me as she rose to her feet; shooting me a smile that shouldn't have caused my heart to flutter like it did.

I had no business falling in love.

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#thorin x estel #a chance meeting #fanfiction #fanfic #moth #matters of the heart #thorin's pov #adm #a deep misunderstanding #the hobbit #bag end #the company #thorin refuses his feelings

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adventuresofateenagebitch · 5 years ago

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Destiny

Summary: Your destiny was to rule over Hell, it was your birthright. But you couldn’t help but think of another warlock you knew deep in your heart was also part of you destiny.

Pairing: Nick Scratch X Sabrina (Nabrina!)

Wordcount: 2,694

A/N: This is my first post! I mean, it’s Nabrina people. He’s loved her since he first saw and heard her in choir class. Softboi Nick. But honestly, Part 3 of Sabrina messed me up pretty bad. I wanted to write a Calbrina fic, but honestly, I needed to write a Nabrina one as my first post here. No way in Heaven I would do Nabrina dirty like that. So anyway, enjoy! Leave notes likes, asks and such I super duper appreciate them! Calbrina fic is still a work in progrss. Hope you guys enjoy this. I had an awkward time ending it. LOL.

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Ruling over Hell wasn’t that hard. Growing accustomed to the afterlife where souls who deserved it were meant to live in anguish and suffer in the darkest most deranged forms of torture surprisingly happened pretty quickly, at times you’d even feel like it was more home than good old Greendale where you left behind your best friend who fell in love with your ex-boyfriend, and your family who never even noticed that the Sabrina they were living with wasn’t even the Sabrina of their time, but family can only reach so far to really know you… especially when you weren’t even related to them by blood in the slightest, except for Ambrose. You knew for a fact Ambrose noticed right away, the clever little beast. Perhaps another reason you’d grown so accustomed to Hell, your real father was with you, and as strange as it may seem, it was like you were living in any old house with a father and stepmother, minus the demons and the road of blood leading to Pandaemonium. Your father, Satan, Lucifer, or even the Dark Lord was like any other father out there. He had meals with you, guided you through your newly imbued powers, and even gave you advice on how to handle hellish matters when things came down to it. But more importantly, he never really stopped ruling over Hell, sure he had more free time now, but even then, he’d still be backhandedly working, he’d handle the affairs you couldn’t since you haven’t really gotten a grasp on the whole politics of hell, he knew he had to step in when you nearly instigated an uprising after telling a court of demons that Hell would be reformed from top to bottom. Even Lilith proved to be helpful, especially when you had to go to the mortal realm to collect souls, she’d stand guard making sure you didn’t stray from the path you’d chosen, the path of night to go back to your family and friends. Of course, hell wasn’t a full time gig, you were allowed days off, in fact you were only ever really in the throne room when you needed to be which wasn’t exactly all the time, any decision you had to make was reiterated to you through telepathy so you had free time now more than ever.

That was the problem though.

You wanted to be busy. You wanted to stay busy because whenever your brain had even the tiniest inkling that there was nothing to occupy it with, it came back to a certain raven haired warlock whose smirk could keep you hooked for days. The same warlock who broke up with you because all he could imagine and see when he looked at you was your father who in all fairness did try to overtake his soul. Nicholas Scratch. You look down at the writing in the sand from the Shore of Sorrows and quickly cross out his name. It’s funny, the coven was now praying to Hecate, but you could still hear them, you still imbued them with their dark powers because well, they were your coven, and they really believed Hecate could give them that much power when in reality, casting spells and actually getting them to work required a circle of witches murmuring in prayer to the Goddess. The prayers ranged from offerings to prayers asking for forgiveness, you could hear your Aunties, Prudence, even Ambrose had the quick prayer every now and then even though he claimed to be a Polytheist, but the one voice you’d never heard was his, you’d like to say that you didn’t notice it, but you’d never heard him pray to Hecate.

But you could only keep up this lifestyle for so long. You spoke with your father about this. He was powerful in his own right, already feeling the discord of space and time the second you stepped foot in the throne room. He knew there were two of you, he advised you to first learn everything you could about Hell, because a time would come where you would be forcibly merged with your other self living in the mortal world, and instead of forcing you to choose like he’d done in the past, you’d already agreed to rule over Hell so you would always come back and if not, they would just summon you whenever they needed anyway.

You were walking along the path of blood through the forest where you noticed a tiny scribbling on your palm.

“Spellman.”

You looked at it curiously, and then the realization hit you all at once, there was only one person who had your magic marker. The same person who would use it to have late night conversations with you when he knew damn well that your aunties were sleeping and could hear every single squeak in the house. You quickly clear the forest, hiding the palm of your hand from Lilith when she comes to greet you in Pandaemonium.

Lilith wasn’t and never would be a fan of the Queen of Hell having any romantic life, she always told you to never even think about that.

“Oh, well if it isn’t the Queen of Hell herself.” Lilith has her hands on her hips, talking with an individual who quickly turned towards you, a cunning smirk and devious eyes trained on you. You gulp quickly.

“My, my, Miss Spellman I don’t think I’ve seen you in a long while. I thought you had foregone your magic studies for your mortal friends?” It was Dorian and you realized he was here to bring your father’s monthly stock of alcoholic beverages, he licks his lips, “Never quite thought I’d find you here though.”

You furrowed your brows, “And where exactly did you hear that?”

He turns his body fully towards you, “Why, from Nicky, of course.” Lilith gives you a short nod before going off to find her minion, “And how sad Nicky has been without… well, you.”

Your eyes which had been trained on your shoes snap up to meet his eyes, “W-what?”

He nods silently, eyes closed, “Yeah, he told me months ago and well, there hasn’t gone a day where he doesn’t drink his sorrows away.” He sighs, “Well, that’s what he gets for falling in love.”

He starts to walk around, taking inventory of his deliveries, “You’re his friend, Dorian.”

He hums, “Yes, well, he’s also a customer. A well paying one at that-”

Without even letting him finish, you turn your head in disgust, holding up two fingers to send him back to his bar through a fiery portal.

"Well, aren't you sensitive today." Lilith rubs her still nonexistent pregnant belly, "Has Mr. Scratch got your mind occupied?"

You shake your head, "No. Just-just tell me where my father is."

Lilith moves aside, "Right in his office."

----

You open the large doors shaped like demon hands and without giving him a chance to talk, you ask him, "How do I check up on my other self?"

He grins at you devilishly, "Dear daughter, by now you've already been gifted most of your full powers, it's about time I gift you a another one." He approaches you slowly looking glad to be ripped apart from the paperwork on his desk he holds his hand over your eyes, "Cum his ad divinum manus mea reddere tibi, divina aspectu"

You blink once, twice, thrice. Nothing seemed to have changed, "You seem pretty happy to be away from paperwork " you scoff.

He shrugs, "Well, you did declare a reform of hell and a book keeping of deals made of uncollected souls." He sits back down, "The royalties of Hell cannot be kept away from their collections any longer."

You shut your eyes, imagining yourself, your voice and as if you were astral projecting you see yourself with your friends. You were Laughing with Theo and Roz in the halls of Baxter High in your cheer uniform and before you can move a body passes through you, it was Harvey and when you expect him to make a beeline for Roz, he goes straight to you. The other you, leaning down he pecks you on the lips.

You look in shock as this Sabrina seemingly embraces her mortal life with her friends, in the 30 minutes you'd spent watching her, not even a hint of magic or spellcasting, "No. No, she wouldn't do this she loves her family, she loves her magic." You shut your eyes tight indespair and disbelief transporting you back where you were, not catching the way you voice seemed to have reached the other Sabrina's earsas if a whisper.

Lucifer was leaning against his desk, a knowing look plastered on his face, you walk towards him with intent, "That wasn't me. That COULDN'T have been me."

He chuckles lowly, "But in fact it is." He stands up straight, "You both are Sabrina, when Hell replenishes and provides your powers there are two of you which it splits into, and as time goes on, you and your powers get stronger because she has been slowly giving up the path of the night. It's a slow, gruesome process but she seems to think it was worth it, to keep that Kinkle boy around." He says in disgust.

He leans over you, finally taking the whole two Sabrinas situation seriously, "You see, dear daughter, only a single soul may exist in this world, to have two means it is constantly ripping and tearing the two souls apart one going more to the other, and what is a human without a soul?"

You look at him in shock, "And because the powers from Hell are more powerful with me, and she's trying to rid herself of her powers, she-she's-"

He sighs, "She knows." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "She's spoken with me and she knows everything. She only wished to spend her remaining days living a normal life with her friends and family, before she ultimately dies a slow and painful death. This was her last wish, as she's seen a future where her loved ones were killed by the Pagans." He starts pacing back and forth, "You see, the universe has a funny way of correcting itself. This time paradox which she had created was never to be successful in any way because only one Sabrina was ever meant to exist, the only two things that could have happened were you two would by nature absorb into a single being or second, one of you would have died." He shrugs.

"Now what? What then when she dies?"

Lucifer ponders, "Well, it is up to you to juggle these two lives or to choose one path over the other, but I must warn you that Hell has a way of fighting back if you do not respect the order of your binding to the realm." He sighs, plopping back down on his seat, "Now run along, child. I must finish these papers."

You walk along the corridors, before a voice reaches you, the only voice you’d wish you’d heard, his voice was low and calm as he began his prayer.

“Unholy Dark Lord, I know I have sinned against you but I am in service and gratitude to you for bringing Sabrina Spellman into my life. I only wish for you to bring her back to me. I am merely a vessel in your grand plan as your will commands so long as you bring her back to me. You rule over Hell and our lives, my brothers and sisters of the Order of Hecate do not understand our powers are granted by you our unholy savior. In exchange for my willing service if you cannot bring her back to me, I only pray you keep the love of my life from harm.”

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

You tossed and turned in your bed, unable to sleep. All you could think about was Nick, how the other you had thrown him away and all you wanted was to be with him, to tell him you loved him.

When you opened your eyes you were sat on the couch right in front of the fireplace in Dorian's bar, sitting next to one Nicholas Scratch who you already knew had been there the whole day. He takes another sip from the bottle in his hand and before his mouth touches it, you call him, "Nick."

As if the faintest of whispers reaches his ears, he looks around, catching you off guard.

"Spellman?"

You feel your eyes fill with tears as he looks around, trying so hard to find you, you speak in a clearer, louder voice, "Nick."

As clear as day, his eyes locked on you and he freezes, slowly bringing his hand to your cheek and cupping it, "Is this real? Are you really here with me? The real Sabrina?"

The tears start falling before you nod your head, "Y-yeah Nick, I'm here."

He embraces you tightly, "I-I just knew. I knew that wasn't you. The day you stopped going to the academy and you told me you were leaving behind the path of night to become a mortal, I just knew that it couldn't have been you." Tears start to stream down his face, “I’m never letting you go, Spellman. Not anymore, now that you’re back.”

You freeze, reluctantly, you clear the air, “Nick, I-I’m not actually back-I, I took the role as Queen of Hell. It’s my domain now.” You can’t seem to find the strength to look him in the eyes, “I’m not even really here. I’m in my bedroom, probably levitating while I meditate my physical and astral body here. Nick, I-I love you, but I can’t give up Hell, I don’t want to anymore. This is my destiny, and even if I did, the hierarchies of Hell would never let me.”

The giant grin on his face slowly lowers to a frown in realization, “H-Hell? You live there now? What happened to the Sabrina here?”

You shake your head, “It’s a time paradox. I’m from this time, but her, well she’s from a different timeline where Caliban was crowned King of Hell and you all died.”

He looks into your eyes, mind made up, and a determination burning in them, “You said before we broke up that you’d give it all up… for me, you would give up your destiny, Hell, Heaven, Earth, you’d give everything up for me.” You didn’t like where this was going because if he was going to make you choose, you knew you would choose Hell, “And Spellman, being apart from you only made everything all the more obvious, I thought my destiny was to become the best warlock of the Church of Night, but now I know my destiny has always been to be by your side-” He holds your hand tenderly in his, “Holding your hand as we travel and explore the path of night together and discover our place in the Underworld. I don’t ever want you to give up your place as Queen of Hell, I know this is what your were meant to do, but I would never ever let you go again, Spellman.”

You shake your head, “Nick, I don’t understand what you’re saying-”

He grasps your hand tighter in his, “What I’m saying is, Spellman, I’d follow you anywhere, even through the gates of Hell because you will always be worth it. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be because it’s where I’m meant to be.”

You blink away the tears in your eyes, relieved Nick finally opened up to you, “Nick.” You hug him tight, “You’re willing to leave behind everything and everyone, the world, to be with me in Hell?”

He nods confidently, “I don’t care about the world, Spellman. I just care about you.” He leans in pressing his lips against yours as you come back to your physical realm and teleport him to Hell.

He breathes a sigh of relief, “Spellman.” He embraces you, “I love you, Spellman.”

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, “I love you too, Nick.”

#nick scratch #nabrina #sabrina spellman #sabrina morningstar #nabrina fic #nabrina oneshot #oneshot #chilling adventures of sabrina #lets be real nabina was not the ship of this season #i badly miss part 2 nabrina #but caliban #ugh #caos is making it so much harder to pick a ship #destiny

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rayne-storm · 4 years ago

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50 Word Prompts - Malcolm Astr, Martin Esmer

Hands

"Surgeon's Hands" have never been so literal, or so beloved. At least, that's what the younger man thinks as he feels them caressing his body with expert care.

Sleeve

The first time Malcolm sees the fairie without his arms covered - since the Incident - he has to remind himself that maybe the man is sensitive. He stares, but in simple admiration.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, cautious as ever with his fragile lover.

"Not any more."

And like that he's touching and kissing, pressing adoration into the marked and starred limbs.

Rescue

"I'll get you out for good some day."

Well, it was some day. The sirens blaring and the riots diverting most of the attention, it's a simple thing, really, for the changeling boy to slip in, pick a few locks, and slip right back out with his beloved in tow.

Opera

Martin never heard his boy sing before, he realizes, as a lovely tune floats from down the stairs where Esmer is making breakfast. He doesn't recognize the words, but it's all in French anyways.

Mostly he's amazed at how well it carries. A miracle they haven't gotten noise complaints. He'll have to try harder, then. And maybe introduce his boy to Mozart.

Water

It very quickly becomes apparent to Malcolm that the childhood "game" Astr is describing is straight up torture.

"And your father told your 'friends' to play this with you…? Even after you asked them to stop?"

Shopping

Martin immediately notices the unconscious longing Esmer holds in his gaze as they pass the baby clothes. Suddenly envisioning his lover plump and round and full of his legacy, he can't help but long as well. Soon, he resolves, they'll be adding that aisle to their weekly outing.

Street

"Astr, I told you, it's a grid system."

"And I told you I don't know what a grid is."

Window

He found glass markers in a discount bin and has been painting the windows for an hour now. It's the only part of Notre Dame that he misses, and Martin has been such a help, printing photographs and using those surgical hands to do the intricate linework.

Cooking

"And you're sure this one won't poison me?"

"My love, I can't even tell with you any more. But no, I've let other human people try this and no one's died yet."

Quiz

"And this is..?"

"The… the hippo… hippocampus?"

"Very good, my boy! You're doing great."

He is so grateful he decided to try and understand Martin's passions. It's only fair.

Storm

Malcolm had thought the faerie would be afraid of thunder, but it's adorable to see him running and dancing in the rain. He hasn't really been… joyful, since Malcolm saved him that night. It's a sign of healing. And, he idly thinks, he has a part in it.

Time

"It doesn't really mean anything to me any more."

Go figure. Allegedly a thousand years of living will do that to you.

But he does see the need to spend as much of it with Malcolm as possible.

Picture

Martin sketches and paints the young man constantly. He cannot help but be offended when he learns Esmer has never seen himself in a photograph, and several tasteful shots (and a brief break with a decidedly un-tasteful couple of shots), and a small pack of photo paper later, Esmer really can appreciate how accurate the art is.

Blanket

When it starts to tatter, Astr gifts Malcolm with a new, larger weighted blanket for their cuddle sessions.

Light

Martin had never really appreciated the rainbow of colours different times of the day could have on skin until he had a darker lover. Blues and purples dance in the moonlight, followed by hours at an easel trying to mix the paints just right.

Shade

"I burn easy. Even easier now," the faerie mutters from beneath the parasol. He however will force Malcolm out to get some sun. It's good for him.

Pool

Large bodies of water frighten him, but if Martin gets in, he can too. He feels safe, knows he won't drown, knows Martin won't shove him down until he passes out. So he can get in, can also enjoy the sight of his lover's body, which seems like his reward.

Leaves

"No way. No. No. You're kidding."

Cronch cronch.

"Delicious."

He really just ate a leaf. Was he taking a joke too far? He won't tell.

Sweet

Strawberries taste much better stolen from his lover's lips.

Color

"So, are all faeries as colourful as you?"

"My brothers are, yes, but we come in all shades and palettes, really."

Malcolm finds he likes a little more blue in his life.

Phone

"Do I really need this?"

"Yes. I need to be able to reach you if I need to."

He didn't expect the addiction to bejeweled, and maybe he regrets getting his love a smartphone.

Race

"Okay so you're a faerie. But you have a brother who's an elf?"

"Half-elf. He has a tail and pointier ears and no wings, and he's a lot more muscled than me or our youngest brother, but he's also a lot more colourful than most elves and his skin takes tattoo ink very well."

"So is this a distinction in species or…?"

"No, it's more like how you humans are all different colours."

"But it's more dramatic than that?"

"A little. But thinking about it now I think it's a lot of political nonsense."

Stroll

Walking in the forest beneath a full moon, he can see the ethereal beauties of his lover.

Film

"Okay so you call picture-shows what now?"

"It depends on the length."

Human technology is so confusing sometimes, but definitely worth it to watch "Great British Bake-Off."

Bottle

"Is that the green fairy I spy? My dear boy I didn't know you had a thing for absinthe..."

"Not really. I just like the colour of the glass."

There are more valuable liquids to fill it with anyway.

Art

It unites them, in its way. Though they may not share a common medium, they're happy to create in a shared space.

Cork

"Much nicer than rocks," he murmurs offhandedly. Malcolm has no idea if he's serious. It's one of the things he loves the most.

Grasp

"I have you. I promise. I have you." He clings to his lover and bawls, finally safe enough to feel the anguish before he loses his mind.

Space

"Do you believe in aliens, or is that just a human thing?"

"It would be silly if anyone looked up there and didn't wonder if we're really all alone. Though interpretations differ."

"So just like humans yet again."

"You say that like it's surprising, my love."

My love.

To think the first time he said that would be looking up from the roof of the precinct during a five minute break.

Dream

His sleep looks more peaceful now. Good. Martin idly wonders if he comforts Esmer in there too.

Scare

When he sees him standing over… something, covered in blood, face snarling and… fangy, Malcolm can't help the adrenaline that shoots through his veins.

Mask

"I'm Fine."

Martin knows what it really means.

Thrice

Three is the number of times he makes Astr come, minimum, before he'll let himself.

Adventure

"Don't drink the wine, or you'll be stuck forever."

"Promise?"

Risk

He knows Martin is dangerous. An apex predator, and he might as well be a fluffy little lamb.

Security

Malcolm's arms are the safest place he's ever known. Strong enough to help him lift the world from his shoulders, but soft enough to absorb his tears.

Hold

With the gentlest touch, Martin realizes, he's more powerful than anyone in Esmer's life.

Lie

"I'm fine."

Malcolm doesn't let the hurt show. He knows he has to let him grieve. At least for a while.

Chill

"It's so cold…"

The Romani boy is burning up, and Martin knows that this isn't just a cold.

Plant

"I think it'll help. Give you something to love while you recover."

Astr's never loved a succulent so much.

Door

When Esmer brings home the sonogram, they don't even make it all the way into the bedroom. Martin's so much stronger than he looks, and a doorway is sturdy.

Boat

Esmer talks in his sleep. When it isn't about a red room, he whimpers about the rocking.

Pet

"Hello my love, how are we today?"

Malcolm never says "Disney Princess" out loud, but he always thinks it when he sees him interact with Sunshine.

Embrace

To look at Malcolm, you wouldn't think he would give such incredible hugs. It's Astr's best kept secret.

Run

It's thrilling to play predator and prey, to see how fast his lover can go, and the sweet sensation of catching him, making love on the ground, knowing how fully he possesses him.

Rest

"Sleep. I'm here. I'll stay here. You can't hurt me."

Malcolm eventually learns to trust that promise. Sometimes he gets 5 hours a night.

Break

It hurts it hurts it hurts!!

Nothing has ever hurt more than his heart at this moment. To see his lover, the man he trusted his whole self to, whispering sweet nothings into some woman's ear. Taking her back to their home.

He knew he would never be enough. But he didn't realize how painful that could be.

Check

They argue over who pays for dinner more than most couples. But when you're both that rich, and that dependent on being a caregiver, that's only natural.

Song

He may not understand the words, but Martin knows the grief. He wonders what died, and has no idea it's Esmer's heart.

Night

It takes all night, but he has his Esmer back. His beautiful boy won't ever have to feel insecure again.

#Mine #my work #fan work #original characters #esmer #astr #ficlet #drabble #mine #rayne writes

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madewithonerib · 4 years ago

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Is ‘Faith’ the ‘Gift of GOD’?

Ephesians 2:8-10 | ⁸ For it is by grace you have been saved through faith, & this not from yourselves; it is the gift of GOD, ⁹ not by works, so that no one can boast. ¹⁰ For we are GOD’s workmanship, created in CHRIST JESUS to do good works, which GOD prepared in advance as our way of life.

Introduction

Ephesians 2:8-10 is well-known as Paul’s doctrine of salvation in miniature.

Reformed Evangelicals love this passage, using it to explain what sits at the heart of the GOSPEL —the relationship between grace, faith, & works in salvation.

J C Ryle was converted simply by hearing it read in Church.

It’s a key passage in the popular Just For Starters: Seven Basic BIBLE Studies.

Many of us have put together the puzzle of ‘grace’, ‘faith’ & ‘works’ from Ephesians 2:8-10.

The paradigm ‘Not Saved By Works But For Works’ is a vital component of the excellent ‘Christianity Explained’ course, & rests on this passage.

Indeed, the current de-emphasis on this in some circles blunts the cutting edge of the GOSPEL.

Background

I grew up Roman Catholic, wondering how I could be good enough for GOD.

Then at university an MTS worker did Just For Starters with me.

We opened the BIBLE, & in that hut at Kensington, I got GOD’s grace. I realized that my acceptance before GOD at the judgement is not based on my goodness or moral effort, but on GOD’s goodness & JESUS’ moral effort.

I discovered that I’m saved, not by good works, but for good works.

GOD even gave me the faith that joins me up to JESUS.

GOD predestined the good works that HE has now given me to do.

This little passage became the reason to find a Protestant Church, go to beach mission, & arrogantly share the GOSPEL of free grace.

Even now, I continually return to this beautiful simplicity, because I’ve never graduated beyond my debt to grace, no matter what I think I’ve achieved.

As Theodoret said, ‘I own myself wretched—aye, thrice wretched.

I am guilty of many errors.

Through faith alone I look for finding some mercy in the day of the LORD's appearing.’[1]

A Disconcerting Surprise

However, I came to discover with surprise & disappointment that many didn’t understand these verses ‘my’ way. Reading commentaries & learning Greek revealed that—in technical language—the demonstrative translated ‘this’ [v8] is neuter, but the noun for ‘faith’ is ‘feminine’.

For my naive view to stand, they should agree—but they don’t. My Greek textbook declared, ‘On a grammatical level, then, it is doubtful that either “faith” or “grace” is the antecedent of [touto].’[2] Was this the death knell to my beloved understanding of Ephesians 2:8-10?

Other Questions

Further reflection yielded other questions. For example, v.9 doesn’t say ‘good works’ but ‘works’—the adjective ‘good’ is only found in v.10. So are ‘works’ [v9] the same as ‘good works’ [v10]? Are the works we are saved for different from those we are not saved by? Many say ‘yes’. Some limit the non-saving ‘works’ to ‘pre-baptismal’ ones, but then say that ‘post-baptismal’ works actually do save us. Or does v.9 merely exclude from saving efficacy ‘ceremonial works’ or ‘Jewish boundary markers’? So are we saved by ‘good works’ after all?

Furthermore, in Ephesians, Paul doesn’t use the ‘justify’ words at all—although Protestants often assume it does. Is it a sound assumption? And what about the relationship between ‘not from yourselves’ [v8] & ‘not from works’ [v9]? What could it mean to say that ‘faith’ is ‘not from works’? And is it true to say that GOD has predestined our specific & individual ‘good works’? After all, the divine pre-preparation may simply have been GOD commanding them.

I don’t want to imply that I experienced some terrible existential crisis. I knew that other passages taught that our believing response to GOD is enabled by GOD if this one didn’t [see e.g. Acts 5:31, 11:18, 13:48, 16:14]. But that didn’t mean I was eager to surrender a reading that had been so important to my early faith. And now I believe that there are good reasons to think that my naive understanding was right after all.

First, Classical Greek literature, the Septuagint, & the NT, provide evidence that ‘this’ can indeed refer to ‘faith’. There are 15[3] certain or highly probable examples of this rule—ten in the classical literaturę[4], four in the Septuagint[5], & one in the Greek NT[6].

Second, many ancient exegetes take it that way. As Abraham Kuyper observes:

I can confirm Kuyper’s assertion. Only a minority of ancient commentators associate ‘this’ exclusively with salvation[8], eight ancient exegetes specifically assert that ‘this’ refers back to a feminine noun in Ephesians 2:8-9, seven taking touto to refer to ‘faith’ [Chrysostom[9], Jerome[10], Augustine[11], Theodoret[12], Fulgentius[13], Œcumenius[14], Theophylact[1][15]], & one taking it to refer to ‘grace’ [John of Damascus[16]]. These interpreters were either native Greek speakers or, in the case of Jerome & Fulgentius, Latin speakers of undoubted Greek ability, or, in the case of Augustine, the greatest extant theologian of the first Millennium.This is doubly important because the ancient Greek-speaking exegetes themselves were inclined to see faith as a human work. They thought human free-will had a controlling place in salvation, & that predestination was simply GOD foreseeing human virtue. Their exegetical decisions thus were generally in spite of, rather than because of, their theological commitments.In contrast with the ancients, most modern interpreters believe the ‘gift of GOD’ is the concept ‘salvation by grace through faith’. This is quite acceptable in terms of grammar. Calvin[17] adopted it, & is followed by ‘the great majority of modern commentators’[18]. Only three ‘modern’ commentators agree with the incumbent ancient understanding, & they all died last century![19] However, 19th century Greek grammars, steeped in the Classical literature from which Koinē Greek developed, articulate the rule that a neuter demonstrative can refer back to a masculine or feminine word[20]. Modern commentators sometimes acknowledge this.

Expository Considerations [Ephesians 2:1-10] The trajectory of verses 1-7 is not that humans under sin are sick & impaired but dead & enslaved. We were ‘dead’ in our ‘transgressions & sins’ [v1], & Paul includes himself with us in that plight [v5]. Every human at one time has walked according to the world, the flesh, & the devil [vv2-3], & this requires that GOD must make us alive in CHRIST [v5] if we are to exercise faith [v8]. The clause ‘by grace you are saved’ explains ‘he made us alive with CHRIST JESUS’ [v5]. So ‘making alive’ is part of GOD’s salvation by grace. ‘By grace you are saved’ appears again [v8], but a new, human element is introduced—‘through faith.’ This makes it more likely that the new element, ‘faith’, is the subject of v.9. That is, Paul has already explained that clause [vv5-7]. But the new element, ‘through faith’ [v8] most needed the explanation of verses 8-9. Lest his readers think faith is some independent action on the part of the subject, the Apostle puts it more starkly—‘faith’ is in one sense ‘not from ourselves’, though from another perspective, ‘faith’ is obviously from ourselves. And if ‘faith’ is the gift of GOD, so too is ‘grace’ & ‘salvation’. It cannot be otherwise. As Œcumenius said, ‘for us to believe [is the] gift of GOD, & to be saved through faith [is the] gift of GOD’.[21] It is not ‘either/or’ but ‘both/and’.

The Eastern theological tradition considers that the divine cause of faith is adequately explained by GOD’s initiative-taking in the incarnation & GOSPEL-preaching [Romans 10:14; Chrysostom; Œcumenius]. This leaves room for free-will in the scheme of salvation, where grace is ‘fellow-worker’ [synergos] with free-will. It is synergistic.

By contrast, mature Augustinianism holds that the impulse by which we seek GOD is itself given to us by GOD.[22] ‘[W]e receive, without any merit of our own, that from which everything … has its beginning— that is, faith itself.’[23] Likewise, Fulgentiussays ‘and, since this faith is divinely enabled, it is without doubt bestowed by his free generosity’.[24] It is not only the divine invitation to, but the divine enablement of, faith, that more accurately accords with faith being ‘the gift of GOD’.

Meanwhile, the Eastern tradition tends to take ‘not from works’ to refer to salvation—even though it takes ‘the gift of GOD’ to be ‘faith’.[25] However, we might consider that ‘faith’ is ‘not from works’ in that no works merit the divine granting of faith. Works are not a condition of the gift of faith. This is how Augustine reads it: ‘And again, lest they should say they deserved so great a gift by their works, he immediately added, “Not of works, lest any man should boast”.’[26]

What Works? What ‘works’ is Paul talking about? Barclay rightly says that the ‘works’ of v.9 are ‘moral achievements’, & should not be limited to Jewish practices & cultural markers. [27] Even if we did see ‘works’ [v9] as essentially equivalent to the expression ‘works of the law’ in Romans & Galatians, the ‘works of the law’ would still be ‘good works’, as the stipulations of the law of Moses are ‘holy, righteous, & good’ [Romans 7:12]. And what the law brings is not a ‘knowledge of Jewishness’ but a ‘knowledge of sin’ [Romans 3:20]. ‘Works of the law’ requires human achievement, because ‘doing’ is the basis of justification by law [Romans 2:12-13, 7:10, 10:5; Leviticus 18:5]. The ‘works’ promised to be rewarded at the judgement with eternal life for those who have not sinned but have done the law are ‘good works’ [Romans 2:6-7, 12-13]. So ‘works’ [v9] should not be distinguished from ‘good works’ [v10], or limited to pre-conversion works, ethnic boundary markers, or ceremonial Jewish works. ‘Works’ are ‘human achievements’, ‘human effort’, ‘good works’, plain & simple. These ‘good works’ are the purpose of our creation in CHRIST JESUS—not its basis. Photius of Constantinople, taking ‘works’ [v9] & ‘good works’ [v10] as effectively the same, observes:

‘Standing us apart from good deeds’ can only be a reference to ‘not from works’ [v9]. Photius thus equates ‘good deeds’ with ‘works’. Though we have been created for good works, we have done nothing good.[29] Thus, Ephesians 2:8-10 teaches that we are not given saving faith by good works, but with the purpose that we do good works. The works that we are not saved by, these very same works we are saved for. ‘Good works are never the cause of salvation but ought to be its fruit’.[30]

v. 10 also teaches that GOD has prepared beforehand these ‘good works’. The prefix pro— is used in Ephesians 1:4, 5, 9, 11 to connote a divine decree before the foundation of the world. Giving pro— the same meaning in Ephesians 2:10, means that GOD predestined & prepared the specific good works to those to whom he gives faith. The good works do not derive from the believer as they are planned & purposed by GOD, & therefore they cannot be said to merit salvation or faith. Unsurprisingly, the word translated ‘prepared beforehand’ also appears in Romans 9:23, in a context which suggests divine predestination.

Interestingly, Paul doesn’t use ‘justification’ terminology at all in these verses. The closest we get to it is ‘seated with CHRIST’ in the heavenlies—clearly a positional category [v6]. This is important, reminding us that ‘salvation’ is a broader idea that can encompass other teachings such as predestination, regeneration, sanctification, & rescue from punishment, whereas ‘to justify’ is a more limited forensic category meaning ‘to declare righteous’.

Conclusion The elderly Bishop Augustine effectively united the majority Eastern exegesis of Ephesians 2:8-10 with a theological underpinning that gave this exegesis its natural home. Augustine’s rejection of the near universal view of predestination according to foreseen virtue & embracing of absolute predestination made him the first thorough-going monergist. His soteriology was more consonant with the interpretation of Ephesians 2:8-9 found in the East.

Regarding ‘faith’ as the ‘gift of GOD’ in Ephesians 2:8-9 has ample support to merit the label ‘catholic’, even if the mature Augustinian doctrine of predestination does not.[31]

Learning these things from both the Eastern & Western exegetical traditions concerning Ephesians 2:8-10 enables us to be ‘more Calvinistic than Calvin’, who thought it an error to say that ‘faith’ was the gift here. But it is quite acceptable according to the rules of Greek syntax. Our modern grammars & commentaries should be revised to reflect that reality.

au.thegospelcoalition.org/article/is-faith-the-gift-of-god-reading-ephesians-28-10-with-the-ancients/

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barefoppy · 7 years ago

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The Cat Who Was Buried Thrice

I've been absent again. If you have never heard this saying about the funeral business, I will enlighten you to it now: this profession is "feast or famine". We have gone 3 weeks without one single call. Sometimes it is a nice break from a busy spell. Sometimes it is enough to drive you mad. It seems, however, that every time, it is a calm before a storm. And this time is no different.

I have been working in this business for nine years, licensed for 3. I have seen all kinds of cases from peaceful, elderly expiration, to young, violent, unexpected ones, and the tragic deaths of children in between. I have never been so affected by a family situation as I was today. Because it is so fresh, and out of respect to the family, I dare not delve deeper into their personal lives. I was shocked to learn while studying for my state examinations, that the number of funeral directors with substance abuse problems is alarming due to the stress of the job. I could not believe it at the time; now I am sitting here drinking whiskey, trying to numb the day away. Instead of rehashing tragedy, I wanted to try to get these emotions down as a coping mechanism. This blog post isn't for you so much as it is for me this time.

I know many of you have jobs that do not stay at the office, and a lot of you probably need a night cap every now and then to relax from daily stressors. I was very much looking forward to a nice, autumn evening with the dogs and my husband, a good dinner, a peaceful night after such a horrible shake-up at work.

Meanwhile, my husband was working on our yard- big renovations- including digging out a fire pit. This backyard is riddled with our dearly departed pets growing up, and I know where all of them are. My own little cemetery, complete with markers in some cases. I had the most loving tortie cat growing up who was very special to me. Her name was Meap, because when we rescued her from a busy street in Baltimore, she was so young that was the only sound she could make. The two of us were thick as thieves from the time I was 8 until the time she died when I was living on my own at 27. But I am skipping ahead...

Meap had THE softest fur I had ever felt and ever will. It was actually one of her trademarks. Along with her "half moon eyes", she was unlike every other cat in the neighborhood. One day, sitting in my bedroom reading, my mom came upstairs with red eyes and reluctantly told me that Meap had been hit on the highway. She had the cat wrapped in my baby blanket and would only let me feel the fur, the sight was too awful for a 15 year old. It was her. Oh my heart, it was definitely her. I mourned all day after we buried her in a primo spot in the backyard, in my baby blanket.

The remainder of that day we buried Meap was difficult and I tried to strike a balance between occupying myself and grieving. I finally decided that I believed things happened for a reason before she died, and I would not let this sway that belief. So, surprisingly, just like that, I made peace with the loss. No sooner had I made up my mind, than I saw Meap strolling up the driveway and into the gate! The way I rushed and squeezed that girl, I am surprised I did not kill her all over again. I screamed for my mom, my brother, anyone to confirm the sighting. Sure enough, it was Meap in the flesh and soft, soft fur. So...WHO did we bury in her place? There is still no telling.

As previously stated, when the Real Meap died, I was living on my own. My mom and dad buried her before informing me. They knew it would be hard and didn't want me to make a special trip. It was hard, but easier the second time around. The next time I was home, they showed me the spot, marked with a rock, and it was suitable. This time, Meap was buried in a blanket that my grandmother knitted for me, that I used as a hammock for her cat cave. It had even more special significance than my baby blanket Meap Doe was buried in.

When I got home tonight in desperate need of alcohol and yums, I found out that my husband ran into Meap while digging out the fire pit with the roto-tiller. She was not where I remembered her, and the rock I thought was her all these years (as the landscape grows and changes) was several yards away. My knitted blanket was all tangled in the tines, and I needed to dislodge it. Still wrapped inside were her delicate bones. I cried so hard I could not breathe. For Meap, for the family I served today; I just could not contain the heartbreak.

As the sun went down, I picked through the dirt, finding all of the tiniest bones to wrap back into her blanket. I hugged the bundle to my chest and laid in the hole until the sobbing stopped. Then I got up and reburied her. All cats have nine lives, but only the best ones have three funerals.

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