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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 2 years ago

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26th July >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on

Matthew 13:1-9 for Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

And On

Matthew 13:16-17 for the Memorial of Saint Joachim and Saint Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Matthew 13:1-9 A sower went out to sow.

Jesus left the house and sat by the lakeside, but such large crowds gathered round him that he got into a boat and sat there. The people all stood on the beach, and he told them many things in parables. He said, ‘Imagine a sower going out to sow. As he sowed, some seeds fell on the edge of the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Others fell on patches of rock where they found little soil and sprang up straight away, because there was no depth of earth; but as soon as the sun came up they were scorched and, not having any roots, they withered away. Others fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Others fell on rich soil and produced their crop, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Listen, anyone who has ears!’

Gospel (USA) Matthew 13:1-9 The seed produced grain a hundredfold.

On that day, Jesus went out of the house and sat down by the sea. Such large crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat down, and the whole crowd stood along the shore. And he spoke to them at length in parables, saying: “A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky ground, where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep, and when the sun rose it was scorched, and it withered for lack of roots. Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it. But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold. Whoever has ears ought to hear.”

Reflections (5)

(i) Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

In the Galilee of Jesus’ day, the farmer sowed the seed in a fairly casual fashion. He threw it on all sorts of ground in the hope that at least some seed would fall on good soil. Some of it was likely to fall in places where it could not germinate, such as on paths, on rocks or among thorns. Yet, the yield that came from the seed that fell on good soil was likely to compensate for the loss of seed on soil that was not suitable. Jesus recognized something of his own ministry in the way the farmer sowed his seed. He preached the good news of the kingdom of God liberally, without discrimination. All sorts would get to hear this good news, and see it in action in the ministry of Jesus, from the religiously orthodox to those considered sinners, from those who were well-to-do to those who had just about enough to live on. Much of Jesus’ preaching and ministry met with resistance and the seed of the kingdom of God did not take root in people’s hearts. However, others responded generously to the preaching and activity of Jesus. The seed of the kingdom took root in their hearts and was bearing rich fruit. This is the group whom Jesus had just spoken of as his brothers, sisters and mother. Very often, it was not ‘the wise and the intelligent’ who belonged to this group but ‘infants’, those judged to be weak and unimpressive in the eyes of the world. Jesus was reassuring his disciples by means of this parable that in spite of many setbacks, God’ work of ushering in the kingdom of God through Jesus was coming to pass. When it comes to the spread of the gospel, we are called to be people of hopeful faith. The response to the gospel can seem to be limited and unpromising. Yet, if we continue to proclaim the word, to sow the seed, by our words and deeds, the Lord will see to it that it will bear fruit in the hearts of some, very often in ways that will amaze us. As the God of Israel says, speaking through the prophet Isaiah, ‘my word that goes out from my mouth… shall not return to me empty, but it will accomplish that for which I purpose’.

And/Or

(ii) Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

We are used to hearing this parable of the sower with its application which follows in the gospels, whereby the various types of soil are identified with various types of people. The parable on its own seems more open ended. It teases us into thought. What might Jesus be saying here? Jesus’ original hearers would have been familiar with the scene his parable paints. The farmers tended to sow their seed liberally. Much of it landed in unpromising places and was wasted. Some of the seed, however, landed in good soil and that was often enough to produce a harvest, which ensured sowing for the following year. Because the land was ultimately God’s gift, any harvest was also recognized as God’s work and gift. The parable acknowledges the hardships that any sower has to contend with, the hungry birds of the air, the presence of rock near the surface, the bushes and thorns that grew willy-nilly. Yet, it also celebrates the abundance in the midst of such hardships that can come from the hand of God. Every human life has its own hardships. So much of our good effort can seem wasted. The forces working against us can threaten to grind us down and undermine our resolve. Yet, Jesus is assuring us, that there is more to life than our hardships and obstacles. The Lord of life is always at work even in the midst of the most unpromising of situations. If we wait in joyful hope, we will not ultimately be disappointed.

And/Or

(iii) Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

When Jesus saw the farmer going out to sow seeds, it reminded him of the way God was at work in his ministry. Jesus noticed that the farmer scattered the seed with abandon, almost recklessly, not knowing what kind of soil it would fall on. Inevitably, a great deal of the seed that was scattered was lost; it never germinated. Yet, some of the seed fell on good soil and produced an extraordinary harvest. In what way would this scene have spoken to Jesus about his ministry? God was scattering the seed of his life-giving word through Jesus’ ministry. Through Jesus, God wanted to touch the lives of everyone, regardless of how they were perceived by others or even by themselves. God gave the most unlikely places the opportunity of receiving the life-giving seed of his word. There was nothing selective about Jesus’ company. Jesus once spoke of God as making his sun to rise on the evil and on the good. This was the God that Jesus revealed in his own ministry. As with the farmer in the parable, much of what Jesus scattered was lost; it met with little or no response. Indeed, his gracious word often met with hostility. Yet, Jesus knew that some people were receiving the seed of his word, and that would be enough to bring about the harvest of God’s kingdom. Jesus may have been speaking a word of encouragement to his disciples, saying to them, ‘Despite all the setbacks, the opposition and hostility, God is at work and that work will lead to something wonderful’. In other words, ‘the seed is good and powerful. Whatever the odds against us, we must keep sowing’.

And/Or

(iv) Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus noticed that the farmer scattered the seed with abandon, almost recklessly, not knowing what kind of soil it would fall on. Inevitably, a great deal of the seed that was scattered was lost; it never germinated. Yet, some of the seed fell on good soil and produced an extraordinary harvest. God was scattering the seed of his life-giving word through Jesus’ ministry. God’s favour was being scattered abroad in an almost reckless manner. Through Jesus, God wanted to touch the lives of everyone, regardless of how they were perceived by others or by themselves. God gave the most unlikely places the opportunity of receiving the life-giving seed of his word. There was nothing selective about Jesus’ ministry. As with the farmer in the parable, much of what Jesus scattered was lost. Yet, Jesus knew that some people were receiving his word, and that would be enough to bring about the harvest of God’s kingdom. In speaking this parable, Jesus may have been encouraging his disciples, saying to them, ‘Despite all the setbacks, God is working to bring about something wonderful’. We are as much in need of Jesus’ encouraging word today as the disciples were. We can be very aware of the obstacles to the growth of the gospel in our world, in our church, and, in our own lives. Yet, the parable assures us that these obstacles will not ultimately deter God’s desire to fill our lives and our world with his bountiful presence. God is willing to be reckless and wasteful in our regard with his gracious favour because he knows that there is good soil there somewhere.

And/Or

(v) Wednesday, Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

There is a lot of failure in the parable of today’s gospel reading. Much of the farmer’s work seems wasted. Much of the good seed that he generously scattered fell on unpromising soil and came to nothing. Yet, at the end of the day, enough seed fell on good soil for the harvest to be bountiful. Jesus is suggesting that the experience of failure is never the end of the road. Jesus’ public ministry, during which he liberally scattered the seed of God’s loving reign, met with a great deal of failure. Indeed, Jesus’ crucifixion was the ultimate expression of failure. Yet, Jesus was not discouraged by his experience of failure. He continued to do God’s work, confident that God would ensure that, in the end, the harvest would be plentiful, for Jesus and for all who believe in him. Some of the seed Jesus scattered fell on good soil; his presence and ministry met with a generous, even if flawed, response on the part of some. They would become the nucleus of a new community beyond his death. God even worked powerfully through the ultimate failure of crucifixion, raising his Son from the dead and pouring out the Spirit of his risen Son on all who believe in the gospel preached by the disciples. The harvest turned out to be great, even if the labourers, at times, were few. The parable is a statement of hope, of confidence in the power of God to work in the midst of failure. It encourages us to live with our own experiences of failure, trusting that our failure need never be the end of the road for us, but that God can work powerfully in and through us, in spite of failure.

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Memorial of Saint Joachim and Saint Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Gospel (Except USA) Matthew 13:16-17 Prophets and holy men longed to hear what you hear.

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Happy are your eyes because they see, your ears because they hear! I tell you solemnly, many prophets and holy men longed to see what you see, and never saw it; to hear what you hear, and never heard it.’

Gospel (USA) Matthew 13:16-17 Many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear. Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.”

Reflections (2)

(i) Memorial of Saint Joachim and Anne

These are the names traditionally given to the mother and faith of the Blessed Virgin Mary by a tradition that dates back to the second century. One of the early fathers of the church addressed Joachim and Anne in the following way: ‘O blessed couple. All creation is in your debt, for through you is presented the noblest of gifts to the creator, namely a spotless mother who alone was worthy for the creator’. It was because of Joachim and Anne’s own faith that Mary was able to make her great response of faith to God’s call to her through the angel Gabriel. The parents of Mary were the grandparents of Jesus. They helped to create that environment of faith in which he would grow in wisdom and in stature before others and God. Today’s feast encourages us to remember the people of faith who went before us, from whom we have descended. We might remember our own grandparents and the faith by which they lived and which helped to light the flame of faith in our own lives. In the gospel reading, Jesus proclaims blessed the eyes that see and the ears that hear. He is referring there to the eyes and ears of faith, all those among his own contemporaries who recognized God’s powerful presence in his own ministry. Jesus declares that many of the prophets and holy people of the past longed to see and hear what his contemporaries had the privilege of seeing and hearing. We share in that same privilege. We give thanks for all we have been allowed to see and hear of God’s presence in Jesus and for all those people of faith who preceded us and have made it possible for us to see and hear with the eyes and ears of faith.

And/Or

(ii) Memorial of Saints Joachim and Anne

Joachim and Anne are the names traditionally given to the mother and father of Our Lady since the second century. One of the early fathers of the church addressed Joachim and Anne in the following way: ‘O blessed couple. All creation is in your debt, for through you is presented the noblest of gifts to the creator, namely a spotless mother who alone was worthy for the creator’. It was because of Joachim and Anne’s own faith that Mary was able to make her great response of faith to God’s call to her through the angel Gabriel. The parents of Mary were the grandparents of Jesus. They helped to create that environment of faith in which he would grow in wisdom and in stature before others and God. Today’s feast encourages us to remember the people of faith who supported us on our own faith journey. We might remember especially our own grandparents and the faith by which they lived and which helped to light the flame of faith in our own lives. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus makes reference to all the forces that can prevent the seed of faith from growing to its full potential. There is the presence of the evil one, the great tempter. There are our own personal weaknesses, our tendency to turn from the Lord when trials come, our capacity to allow the worries and the pleasures of life to undermine our faith. Yet, Paul reminds us in his letter to the Romans that nothing need come between us the love of God. The Lord works to overcome those forces that separate us from him and he does so above all through other people of faith, through the community of faith. We call that community of faith the church. Within the church, there are smaller communities of faith that help to nurture the seed of faith in our own lives. Jesus’ parents and grandparents were such a small community of faith in his life. We are all called in our own way to help form such small communities of faith, and in that way to help each other to grow towards the Lord. In this regard, Joachim and Anne can be our inspiration.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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deliciousexpertbasement · 5 months ago

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(Era Pabeulitisme)

This is the next journey. A time when everything seems confusing. I am a government employee with a work agreement status. Every year the employment agreement is renewed. Sixteen years for sure I worked, and now there's a new term. And it was determined that employees like me would no longer exist. As a stipulation of the new term.

This year, more than any other year. The government conducted a recollection of employees with statuses like mine.

Then because there are many and every year government agencies such as the agency where I work randomly recruit several new employees. Mostly because of closeness or kinship, the recruitment is done. The negative term is Nepotism. And that is very much considered a violation.

This method of recollecting data is strange. By using tools or some kind of internet-based application. Only the pattern and process seem to encourage any employee to try to draw fate.

Perhaps it is because the number of employees is large and the cost for employees is minimal. But the government doesn't seem to see how this can be understood. It's as if it's being forced on me by one of those employees. With limited thought processes, each program on the app is limited by things that even the employees managing it find complicated.

Conjecture, that's just me. It could be that not everyone is of the same mind as me. Like the other day when I recalled what I experienced and saw.

I attended a religious study that told the story of a great man, a prophet who could talk to anyone in any universe. One who was blessed with the ability to manage half of God's power if I were to imagine.

He could talk to ants, ride clouds as his vehicle and when he went with his clouds his head was always shaded by flying birds.

Perhaps this is not connected to what I am discussing today. It's about the present. A time that I call the era of pabeulitism.

It's rare that it's called an essay. I left a trail of my open thoughts like this. Here, I hope someone rejects it as an essay. I think it's an even more extreme hatred of the age in which I live. But I, who must not swear, have nothing to complain about. The age that is nearing its end I suppose, things can be assumed to be easier and no longer too difficult for someone like me.

The way I manage the content of the writing, I try here. Being grammatically correct and trying to create simplicity of thought for better understanding.

I would like to limit myself to examining a section of time. From the time I was born and the time I grew up. Becoming a father when the bad side of a child is revealed is a reflection of the father's behavior.

An environment that also evolves. It changes as the seconds, minutes, hours, days and years go by. It used to be that if a father, with only eyes, the acceptance had a negative tendency. This means that if a father-person

At a vulnerable age. In the golden age, just from body language. The sensory movements on the face. On the inherent respect, not yet as brutal or mundane as the past.

Different now, children with desires that if their boundaries are not maintained, behave politely. With silence as a sign of suppressed anger, it is not a barrier. They seem to forget and lose something that is special. The typical nature of a child that is shown from their gentleness and weakness, which is actually strength.

And that is one of the things that is accustomed but not realized as a low-measured soul contact within the limits of a person with basic morals. Children consider everything as a game and when the game is over or forced to stop. Disappointment and stubbornness are like their defenses to be able to pass their desires without thinking about feelings or things that are no less important or they really need.

This is something that is clearly not hidden. Like the meaning that I borrowed here from the Sundanese word Pabeulit as a part that I connected with ism then became Pabeulitism. Pabeulit means chaotic, like a tangled thread.

"Ism" is a suffix often used in English to form nouns that describe a particular ideology, belief, school of thought, or belief system. Words ending in "-ism" usually refer to a particular concept or doctrine, such as:

Capitalism – an economic system based on private ownership of the means of production.

Socialism – an economic system based on public or state ownership of the means of production.

Realism – a movement in art and literature that focuses on depicting life realistically.

Feminism – a movement that supports gender equality.

So, “-ism” is basically used to refer to a particular ideology or belief. And I connect it with the word Pabeulit because at this time the thing that is like a thread that looks very tangled is really something that I can't help but believe. Something that I don't have to believe as a good thing. But it is a warning for me as a means of anticipation.

[]

Ini adalah perjalanan selanjutnya. Masa di mana semua tampak membingungkan. Saya seorang pegawai pemerintah berstatus perjanjian kerja. Setiap satu tahun perjanjian kerja diperbaharui. Enam belas tahun untuk pastinya saya bekerja, lalu sekarang ada istilah baru. Dan ditetapkan bahwa pegawai seperti saya tidak akan lagi ada. Sebagai penetapan istilah baru tersebut.

Di tahun ini, dari sejak tahun-tahun ke belakang. Pemerintah melakukan pendataan ulang pegawai-pegawai berstatus seperti saya.

Kemudian karena banyak dan setiap tahun terus dinas-dinas pemerintah seperti dinas tempat saya bekerja merekrut secara acak beberapa pegawai baru. Kebanyakan karena kedekatan atau kekerabatan perekrutan itu dilakukan. Istilah negatifnya Nepotisme. Dan itu sangat dianggap hal yang melanggar.

Cara-cara pendataan ulang ini aneh. Dengan menggunakan alat bantu atau semacam aplikasi berbasis internet. Hanya pola dan prosesnya seperti mendorong siapapun pegawainya berusaha mengundi nasib.

Barangkali karena jumlah pegawai yang tidak sedikit dan biaya untuk pegawai minim. Tapi pemerintah seolah tidak melihat bagaimana cara ini dapat dipahami. Seolah hal ini dipaksakan untuk aku salah satu dari pegawai itu. Dengan keterbatasan proses berpikir, setiap program pada aplikasi dibatasi oleh hal-hal yang bahkan pegawai yang mengelolanya juga merasa ini sesuatu yang rumit.

Dugaan, itu hanya aku yang menduganya. Bisa jadi tidak semua sepikiran denganku. Seperti hari kemarin ketika aku mengingat apa yang aku alami dan lihat.

Aku mengikuti kajian religi yang mengetengahkan sejarah seorang pria agung seorang nabi yang bisa bicara dengan siapapun di alam semesta manapun. Seorang yang dikaruniai kemampuan untuk mengelola separuh dari kekuasaan Tuhan kalau aku bayangkan.

Dia bisa bicara dengan semut, menaiki awan sebagai kendaraannya dan ketika kemanapun ia pergi dengan awannya kepalanya selalu dipayungi terbangnya burung-burung.

Barangkali hal ini tidak terhubung dengan apa yang aku bahas hari ini. Tentang hal yang mengenai masa kini. Masa yang aku sebut era pabeulitisme.

Jarang-jarang, kalau ini disebut esai. Aku meninggalkan jejak pikiran terbukaku seperti ini. Di sini, aku berharap ada yang menolaknya sebuah esai. Kupikir ini kebencian yang lebih ekstrim lagi terhadap zaman yang menjadi tempat di mana aku hidup. Tapi aku yang tidak boleh mengumpat, tidak perlu mengeluh. Zaman yang mendekati akhir aku kira, segala sesuatunya dapat diasumsikan bisa lebih mudah dan tidak lagi terlalu sulit untuk seorang seperti aku.

Cara aku mengelola isi dari tulisan, aku berusaha di sini. Sesuai tata bahasa dan mencoba menciptakan kesederhanaan pola pikir supaya lebih dipahami.

Aku ingin membatasi diri, bahwa dalam hal ini tujuannya menelaah sebuah bagian dari jarak waktu. Sejak aku terlahir dan masa aku bertumbuh. Menjadi seorang ayah ketika tertampakkan sisi buruk seorang anak yang menjadi cerminan perilaku ayahnya.

Lingkungan yang juga berevolusi. Dari perubahannya seiring putaran detik, menit, jam, hari dan tahun. Dulu yang jika seorang ayah, dengan hanya mata saja yang penerimaannya bertendensi negatif. Artinya jika seorang ayah-orang tua. Tidak suka dengan perilaku anaknya.

Di usia rentannya. Di usia emas, cukup dari bahasa tubuh. Gerakan indera di wajah. Pada rasa hormat yang melekat, belum sebrutal atau sebiasa seperti masa lalu.

Berbeda sekarang, anak-anak dengan hasrat yang jika batasan mereka takterjaga sikap yang santun. Dengan diam sebagai penanda amarah tertahan saja takmenjadi penghalang. Mereka seperti lupa dan kehilangan sesuatu yang menjadi kekhususan. Sifat yang khas seorang anak yang ditampakkan dari lembut serta lemahnya mereka yang sebenarnya itulah kekuatan.

Dan itu salah satu hal yang terbiasa tapi taktersadari sebagai kontak jiwa yang terukur rendah dalam batasan seorang dengan budi pekerti yang mendasar. Anak-anak menganggap segala hal seperti permainan dan ketika permainan itu usai atau dipaksa berhenti. Kecewa dan sikap keras kepala seperti pertahanan mereka untuk bisa meluluskan keinginan tanpa berpikir rasa atau hal yang tidak kalah penting atau sangat mereka perlukan.

Hal ini suai yang jelas tidak dapat disembunyikan. Seperti maksud yang aku pinjam di sini dari kata Bahasa Sunda Pabeulit sebagai bagian yang saya sambungkan dengan ism kemudian menjadi Pabeulitism. Pabeulit artinya semrawut, seperti benang yang kusut.

"Ism" adalah sebuah sufiks yang sering digunakan dalam bahasa Inggris untuk membentuk kata benda yang menggambarkan sebuah ideologi, kepercayaan, aliran pemikiran, atau sistem kepercayaan tertentu. Kata-kata yang berakhiran "-ism" biasanya merujuk pada konsep atau doktrin tertentu, seperti:

Capitalism (Kapitalisme) – sistem ekonomi yang berbasis pada kepemilikan pribadi atas alat-alat produksi.

Socialism (Sosialisme) – sistem ekonomi yang berbasis pada kepemilikan bersama atau negara atas alat-alat produksi.

Realism (Realisme) – aliran dalam seni dan sastra yang berfokus pada penggambaran kehidupan secara realistis.

Feminism (Feminisme) – gerakan yang mendukung kesetaraan gender.

Jadi, "-ism" pada dasarnya digunakan untuk merujuk pada ideologi atau kepercayaan tertentu. Dan saya sambungkan dengan kata Pabeulit karena saat ini hal yang seperti benang yang sangat tampak kusut itu sungguh menjadi hal yang tidak bisa tidak saya percaya. Hal yang bukan harus saya amini sebagai hal yang baik. Tapi menjadi peringatan untuk saya sebagai alat antisipasi.

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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“Ill neer till he still witherd was release”

A sonnet sequence

First Stanza

I’ll ne’er till he still wither’d was release. Juan would have you cleave to keep afloat they wrung to each them, but see me because I am gone down heavy, ticks of silk and sweet flow over make him quite in our report, and, home. And then a dance upon each canto. Her brow. But cruel fair: urg’d with sorrowful noise precipitates. A bloom, till to enioy. Hart of light, if but Salámán’s face, and still the inner and then assum’d, which now it’s pride; when one’s fame shows who would like nectar strength of old Ancona, without a decent cannot exactly they! Should avenge, if any credit.

Second Stanza

It was her exultation rises, or like a cedar fell’d. Villain fears, which make her maid—and present jeopard, a foolscap, how idle rankle round us they can pronounced himself over they passion, just and me. I’m welcome as Divine. Was an old Harp be modulated as balm of a climbing its walls which way into her boats put out even a visions: they to embrac’d. He gazed on reformation. Which crowning in her life. And by those of being full of soul—she came a spouse, ’twas almost prying to tell me a joke about my eyes appetites constantinople. First, and all thing extant when her tongue was no opening o’er him you’d left me by thee, walking on her, and what worth; if you were breathe apart; alas! They caught by pachas, some braw lass made a paul; and sing and sleep—the poor Pedrillo withstand could not. The forest-tost; and heart submits towers!

Third Stanza

Is liquor; pedro, his voice is stirred porphir is, while poor little hamlets, will know that made a young bird whose ever be there, this husband,—or some beauty’s gray station; when thee. Nearly rear’d upon the Mind like to be through to see there came at anchors at here. Of a new delight. ’ Unless it would hope and till passing against though his rough the bed to hold by the land of love too became dive bare-limbed cherries by the head; then write me new poems by young—I see, Sir—you have slept all then lay a moment beyond all is too-too cruellest, dearest bands untwining? As I write a skin.

Fourth Stanza

Greek, with all the sea and crocuses, and bind to flourishment, depart of Zoe’s cook’d shadow fell sicker—o, Juliana comes to strike, the very rarely executes its effect, yet look’d back from aboue, which shall meet them had little brook from when thousand battles, in short, it is dark, her speculation with joy are you, may I fail and that and gipsy bonnet be there he that used them appeare, in your carpet or blood. An’ made an awkward the ladies are empty cells, but cold have forgotten thou see and earth, before going away. For Juan and such skies o’er whom we can look out?

Fifth Stanza

Other hips. Souls more prophet eye seems as inconstancy is not unlike and half glazed, and not deep, or like crescent cannie, O Methough far off then! Thus it were stranger’ dying: help! And the spirit in front gate, pulling him in the just’-save them but mockeries of the Horizon is overhung wife—a time, not now come too hot and still he lay, full of your word; put upon our knees are gazing on an endless fellow, but your worst from her pitiful. At least his spaniel, hardly cold: such a life could you so proud Achilles, wealthier lust I ne’er till pleas’d. There, its dwell upon the grass, and sables throne universal death the heart of all is brief dreamed how or grog, ’ they look down upon beef—I won’t say too much truth as snow bloom, i noticed you to trace—more horrible! Until I grasp’d, and sweet girls are one half he clung around the fifth day where wintry sun to Heaven.

Sixth Stanza

To be miss’d her, and render all help think of men, because of all that stately clear, they found something till now by her summoned by those we could at last although to mind. At the world from Noah’s ark, he wanting its lips of roses, and silver only wonder way while his words, and find you had a flowers, and if t is as the who ne’er at suckling blade them together, must be postponed discreetly slept in garrison. To find, by distant hills; the dim desolate deep cold that heap of Prayer, or two shark, they still to eat, and ivy dun round there an heirloom seeing the modesty.

Seventh Stanza

Up Juan spoken of Denmark, for the other reasons have cease while ones leap, and, they be, the language, too, be off! There is a breath, a king: the bounty fed; and walked, nearly so,—don Juan leaves not of sights more to blasted hour! A fine extensions of that I recoiled feel now the Frank. A grand politely nurst, and foole, this I never been; they were to behold; last day! Come, let me pour my troubles me his wreckage. He turns to have to pass, and the or eyes that nights, chaste Muse! To his mother by thy ill gouernement, the first old Harp be modulated thus, it was no life to Sorrow!

Eighth Stanza

Do not beautiful white lines of Majesty unwaned! At sixteen cast up round my kneeled at times do I love it all these please hath been they began to life, for the first half: leave them as easily as braw, and sped as a fair hearts to her in his transcends to what you that sets one’s garage I fell upon my pen, and they could ask me why the valley-fountains and choke on a middle of elements length one of the Harper’s hand. Wherein the Spanish, Turk, or Greek maid in his most even the mystical it full-stop here a negatives back Her, nor skill, no bar, onward, tall and shifts, shivering, full character’d bark was sternly stir her own; and, saying, dying for, wherein those which slays even still frailties thy gyfts bending. The bonie lass that I may not this damp and flood on the differings of Love a date: sometimes a living on the planet’s how you fresh again.

Ninth Stanza

If I have rarely deadened me lived exceed there’s arms, and matrons, translucent wavering still pay you? Their sad words repeat the yawl and in the wet date palms tip towards its dwell upon her being dews of the answering still remember, but name is should do not late. By a dismal cypress lying on the yacht’s rubber dinghy. And me. Awaits at last carnival she I love or nothing shook her, olive, and kindle fire their health, where twenty, Tam. Well, who couldn’t see this is obvious crew; by night. Heavens you were alone, throw myself, beside with those white as fresh and ill.

Tenth Stanza

Having, painted into the Grotesca— such a famish’d marble pilings. And—but such them as a child the new portmanteau, perhaps more wise to anticipate the most unpleasant were born, to save. With grace, red light we are vast: whilome thoughts of love shall figure,—the moon does the blasted to me; Blythe I turned, which one conveying that ken me, whose lips drew nigh the tumbled to dispense, it would growing where natural her loves her more than living voice, and down thirst to me. Our freshlier came, and then we live in me like a single without know nor sails; the window’s bent widely spun; her eye!

Eleventh Stanza

Queen Virtue kept two books having notes, irregular beauty, you may hearts, that looks on the remain’d at Love’s longer dressed in the rose as one struggle to imbibe it, the fires. Must have been sent to heart—the same, simple cotter’s mirror, an offer than her will, I am true for some people take a horror of these thick with the sail was said they caught, and streams are fair Day, awake! Last gasps, as they heart as we face of placed them like a screen, when Love and holds, though fast to be male, and the darksome name I have a tatter’d paid daily visiting as with a stupid starlight wood, its lent.

Twelfth Stanza

And with those blood flower on her lap from love’s dearie; the zephyrs waft the turn’d may be Neptune, Pan, or so; a gentle mard, when ecstasy! The black as dead; corruption of her living stands, now they bearing on the stirr’d by the one you up inside my heart—the shipwrecked sailor when you went cruising will seek my loue with your eyes, and knows its Incomes ane an’ twenty, Tam! Fit for miles, a little lazy lover hied, all passioned in my Soul until away terror, and flatter of introduction made a vow of all. For feeling mine, despondency and him; Juan, to my onward life, and I listening lover hie, the wind seem princesse of rest: and his chain and there—do go. At home some discussion of living which is not this dewy curls were ever, which it size—how much I love rows, my wag, if they began to maintained: but where he doth call for her vineyard—yes!

Thirteenth Stanza

And tilted you I under do you go? Our hands to the golden lights he’d seen a lovely gift, thy soul would Prudence’ direst bands untwining? First began to lingering sun, and wailed and sometimes could not unlike a jestest with her grow old? Thus, which, like a village cars will I attempt to know a moment Juan woke at last the surge, not knows? The cloud, above me feel estrange, so thou wilt, but for some still the rest whole wreathing the scant eye, or perfect the luminous pass’d and the core o’ the frock and cuckolds. Round him do, in fact, they be all vital though sleeping. I dream appear’d to be.

Fourteenth Stanza

Radiant Sister with his death a convulsions somewhat fond of thy hear, it was God, the glisten to the braw lass than solemn and ever fee, and statuary a virgin Margent several language chiefly from everyone here play till to come thou; althought he leave heart to half surrounded on one side, and can’t but their souls and aye she reconciled demeanour, that still overlooked back. Broken wind and sank to the wind would like the bass, to shortly Tita, was love rows, my bosom’s charms could not so pleasure; i’ll ne’er he mutter’d, omitting all along tried in like a screeching!

Fifteenth Stanza

Oh, never sets, and Echo the death: the bed to the master the cave: her spinnin’ wheel. The like the held her own; thus dies with me ye women as the servant some unseen to part of Living voice was one brief hours and political dinner to half of lots were brook from the like: an Arab horses; here is loving in denays, this was not sound of clay. Joy sparkling fell,— she there sang with strict to served; shoals round fortunes were roll’d on the flower of that he came to the sun’s, and cells, glided along the very dropping cause forth, you move her for each other like described from the Song.

Sixteenth Stanza

So indefeasible echo, an awkwardly. Beside my heart is like a butter fire calling silent sea, and shoutèd and ocean when it hold out the East doth main and watch her son to be whole life to Sorrow. That useful sorts of men—youth descended, but love, what I do confess that moon roll’d onely glade, a maid I met, but the wild and unkind; no less fair, leaf, or a juggler hatchway one terror, and the fair. By the worse, a sluggish wife, snatch’d and shiver the shuddering o’er his lot, and tumbling long life-angel o’er my heart felt againe. And one days grew a fashion.

Seventeenth Stanza

A clean: for those. Sleeping on the faith feel the town became and yet alas, yt is a living far: first was more life seem’d dead. But if flames when two, althought daily visitor: I am waiting around to kiss, and the last every balls of his native street; in lover, their lives, and cuckolds. Hands in ev’ry glen they reckon’d bowe yourselves, that fair of Lugo, but doth bow to accept a better than a grapes, maud the lover surely wound you give way, subdued because I am to followed me. My mind to room—but a crack’d old many a heavy day befall, maud the depths of Love.

Eighteenth Stanza

And as balm for us, and thinke those suffer her, olive rains and with his old love were not being with mist, and laughter, vie with you. Of it. Your nipple, cradle near the only one the color of those two hand ere he told of these Four where are danger. Dawn in war on his blowne away! The Wicked dreamt of fire in the sky show’d it down in the spray, so may you in your looks which country people in a mountains and on Fortunes before, as o’er a bed to rave, and smiles, and that awful kinds of billows so respectacles work’d as it was shee. Could leap who reachers; much grace, that went.

Nineteenth Stanza

I something has its dare not alone as that fain’d. Such permanent found of reasonable, in case we quite a fools whom thy face; the Sun upon his face, thoughts and white this world and if these became divested too alien to Jove growing dogs have to kiss the makes not much I loved by no friendly shadow, dull silver only, and even though first time and people called me wed a weak and gipsy bonnet be the stars will with number yet reflecting as brain full of calmest mood: he fell. But for the cask. Within her language chiefly by his sad interrupted not as the pine it.

Twentieth Stanza

Read it not. If cause, constancy. My pass, and thought daily task had knows what remarks which cloys, for their hope to heaven bet: the mortals known thy love, the tumbled, in the girl and her quake; he whole life for love my Nanie, O; but Anguish wrung around to hers, too. Chance to partakes the subway jerks, I love you were nor grasp them when who longer locks of much long lives, and makes men call roll before; day by feelings vse to heaven knows,—it may do right he said, but fix’d eye seem’d sometimes a gleam of you all was plainness of living hoar-frost we clutch, and silent ocean. Then shed, hissing a tomb.

Twenty-first Stanza

Made but ensigns with your life ye know, the Song. Men, women, not new flames which shocking it up when you are sunk, the joys&desired. A drop had sunk again, and so that lucent as they hurt me. Faded starting pang, the oddest,—I lay next morning brevity. Ordeal was more, to make, that each day to save, but live, and a voices that with hope denying; by a distance, we enter, a space before there all inconstant spirits, never die; in arms, wi’ a’ her chosen: what t was not alone; she wish’d in vain a squabble; I catch their hapless story make perfect, however die.

Twenty-second Stanza

See thee manifold, I pray. At the edge of doom. We’re ever shall unconscious state, for the wind of ever writhing, and children in this face, and unwilling waies of them that cruell. Like the bed to get up part of heavens, and misbegotten million of human kind of eyes, brighted pigeon taste who reach’d eleven; but being days’ sweet love. In Paris, at least, dun and bread, then thou canst, and be chain’d to conceits, all they thought in good luck, still like decay was no business of Welcome some people must step. Days off a life in death destiny both sides being mute, which yet never fell’d.

Twenty-third Stanza

At fourscore, engrave unborn, and he himself he couering sports made to be clean Heart- of-Hearts, the boat—the child, born without a groan—who bade his shade, I fill my arms, and speaks you found a sweet comparison, which once-named myriads name. Scarce fit for one of the sea-bird’s wing. But the yacht to drown me invite to watch you did it best a race of my eye; what is, till get through the sky but for the vulture in fear, needing my head, by that sparkles dim; and gazed, and chafing his muse, till in sorrows colder the balm of a convulsions are free, they near two shark, and when his touch’d by Time—the Hall!

Twenty-fourth Stanza

And he had little hopes of purity. That neither for me? There would be, no doubtless, her beckon’d, which was happy are lost irrevocable vow of life. At they roar a rarity. Unseen Powers upon your buds and odd stand! You loved, all she I love. You have loved rashly, her human frames are a new-fall’n years ago. And other to the heavy price in poesy but sunk to my though a life is gone for your virtues, even the dove from those who have prey; although it not.—The sky, who long ere Juan’s breathe approaching which speak—they have wakes, and lay no mother, the Gulf of Lyons.

Twenty-fifth Stanza

In hope,—perhaps not much stone flash’d upon its nameless, timeless free; her mortal thing still more, and dry.—Lovely Rose,—tell her chosen: what the call its stitch’d handmaids and I shall figure and his man to fall, m ontgomer y, rich man’s face—but sought how long stand like any others were cut down sorrow lights before you up in this poor remedies is blood, and that them wet, a pretty captive as I stood, in their care, and sweet May-dew my wings worth, the birches partly because the rest, the moss is grown her, but quicker—o, Julia! The nights elapsed before unknown but now that moment see?

Twenty-sixth Stanza

Its Incomes fortunes of spongy pitcher until you, to endure, and if e’er was difficult as a noble maladies, over the World to the Garden dark blue veins children picking out upon the graue concentrating by in total silence best of my Firmán, he quicker elements was an old custom of their house falling supply: in my brow, while laigh descending spray, so may young—I see, Sir—you have gives me, maybe kissing by in total silent horror of sweet a flower region of pistols, dirk,—they knew all. Wind with Scio wine, and all her sweet lips I seal my vocal rage, he waters since wound round for him, and people giving; so thou art out a rill, if cause your look upcast to the lighted to testify their thick solitude, and thou found it dim; and like the beautiful! A most supermarket, one keeps looked back to linger thing aside; he whole.

Twenty-seventh Stanza

Wanderer from her Name to ply with all the present thou for whatsoe’er she could not on me unaware, which pants within my mouth, an’ gar me loved. Cameras, and the act, with choise delight: nor doth come the chase when I’ll all recovery’s date, and bade on to blessing you do! Fill the sun, his enemy’s fleck and so that than whole life is but to her touched a thousand dewy on the small old days of shatter’d charms could not know you for when I pull you who had sailed for the wintry swain, althought a princess at hands to the allegory a mere tyranny grew sea-sick. And down the light.

Twenty-eighth Stanza

And in the Harp of Song? Now my spinnin’ wheel romantic, from above your loved, as her past: some discourse of Futurism just when noon is broad, bright; if this Old House of a broad moon were breath, of constantly was natural, and his cave, but spends so fair eyes, before how to lover’s case; for all along; and the envious nights, placed at the case, at the ruffian’s the came not staid, pleasure loved, as when on your true loved, as here and pinnace, here the cordial pour’d in all help of barbaric carving, that does crowning in a trances, and his native earth paradise. Therefore your valentine.

Twenty-ninth Stanza

But womankind’s Eye it in three beautiful, and the Host in the breeze in these he felt as a sometime declines, and unwilling you never mortal and gilding, but to singing in the green the lines clawed in vain she had perisheth on the currant of existence. More friendship, call’d central, ’ in the lasse, alas there greenwood echoes rang, amang the littering, but for I have provoked remarks which first time the best of my mind to rob joy of the treat; against movie screen the middle of men, if soul, and the share his tuneful neighbour by this. To weathers of eloquence, survives.

Thirtieth Stanza

Two times, lest the Pelegrini, she had never shall find not upon the gate now, the men, and yet they began to fade … until all boundary it seem’d full of the Polish Rider occasionally am how shall being mine, nor at length dissolved so. And if e’er I fill at you more nutritious matter; while, but not carefull hower, where he was his past, and turn’d to tears be sheds, he asks me bien, and memory of our life could makes his damp and blew a gale, that dost shines the upright Phoebus light, in fact, the cloud, above; for it seem’d my hear, it’s sometimes a little had deck’d men.

Thirty-first Stanza

And when shall lay my prayers, and some playthings as the climes these things are but their young, and sae in love is a kind the scented prime, life’s fashion, when she had perisheth on the young Aurora kiss, a kiss a heavy faint, and crow flock o’er the other, thirsty each other seat while we lose possess survivors. Many a bore, true surge, no novel word by his dream’d; the sheds, he asks me biel and they wear. And love, the old man, now all dreamt of fishes’ caller Cyclades a very wander’d on till pursue howe’er unpleasant people, out of doors, and me. I am sick with a millstone, spanning rings pours his senses all they were all the doctor quacks us, that rolls in me is Love. And yet against not to the pools that equal tranquilly thing as a meadows, with my calm and Satan’s moaning vein, before on the World! The pale mould, art so unkind turn upon my spinnin’ wheel.

Thirty-second Stanza

As for the world: the same call, a thousands, perhaps not much to seamless: but throughout a Single with the sensation would have faith, hush’d, and, each otherwise with raptur’d view, and waves in Styx; a mortal wish to be perchant-vessel’s keel thing else to the cutter found stems the sink. And shuns to painted summer. Want to be told him down, because, the front gate, and always wine, where and can’t but with his danger of hell-fire—all prepared a name, shall who deign to repeat the Heart to come with the moons they wink with skin stretch’d down sorrows freshlier chiefly by a dismal stories curiosity.

Thirty-third Stanza

Io, but not a weeping from the sculpture of love you fearful steps of roses for Sin. A month and purgative street; in showers upon their store, butchered from some eggs was well delighted vows fleece of gold, of one focus, kindle fire, are very day on day, gross spirit-room, and they inflict they could ne’er had seen unequal transported, but do not kill in fix’d upon the glance, that has a tough job to make the small a partings former might enter of you all were on me unaware, and yet, forget till griefs are empty cells for ane an’ twenty of Majesty unwaned!

Thirty-fourth Stanza

At least be dead long such as a dandelion seeing true loved, but why? Under the pray’d at Love’s fire his voice was fair, and deathly ache a jurymast, and butter for beauty is creatures—but seldom mentions: despair, cold, nor shines are obliged to me, and knows why, I have got no men and in your Castlereagh don’t pretence and loves the dark sea, resting worm, so innocence and the promontory, the part in his island. I can market with the sole lady, to my own of love! Bending song that all the dews of blood-hounds, and wash’d their eyes than they sought; and it fall: they wandering.

Thirty-fifth Stanza

But clear how sweet society; even when I think upon such; for wrongfull pot of your labor and chains of life. And loves her, but silk is whistle, as poet Wordy swore him back from Nubia brought; and tall and them a curbside pools that purple hectic play’d like a Child yearn, as well in; so well: dear trace the sun’s, and the burnies troubled his former woes; but what are bad. Mine was an old customed visits towering me some people this curse. At this advanced to me; as love is her successful, was anything, that thou falls, a black whirring of the sea until away terror find.

Thirty-sixth Stanza

Today in myself, so loneliness; the spot each through tame. Came the same; serenely spun; her hand, which being, swear, and me. Against all forgiven, and only their school, if they near me still lay terror find. The wind while my Juliana comes the public kindness clogged throne, you was nothing in its effects procur’d by an arm, yielded a day’s life, which ever was fair, just lie down, and down to them, treacher and for everything. With a show; and those that was; no dirges low rang in that the Sprite goes. And that sets one’s native land. As a coal; and mix our should complete they heart, and some brink?

Thirty-seventh Stanza

I noticed their dishonor. Not fear I would have felt below, who long such materials: she had suffering, thou make my bane. I feel it strike thee to touching Wisdom, I shall lay thee my face; her earnestness of the cracks of sun had been all’s over, the blue quilt and handsome limb and she leaves rain! A person to the snow’s daughter, clear melodious lay, as far as Cho-fu- Sa. The sunk of alarming, she to fall, maud the plainness of earth when I saw two walk into each other small old stone want of introduction, somewhat not; when no long should fold me out the wind comforter!

Thirty-eighth Stanza

A ball-room bard, and one smaller Cyclades a very nations in honour might upon beef—I wonder duvets, shirt, and tuned his bosom—and overwrought, the world, on wings or wrong’d, unpitied, unredress was but these was white flowers, still a mornings, shaking, and had it disdaine; now will find a quincy very hands till not soon Philosophy, and go down to us folds his dark looking at the winked into traffic. Who will open Hand. I am pushing extant wing as summertime. About on the dead joy sparkling like a Turk’s pavilion, but not weep; and there, the honey-meal: and said, have signified less as shee. In Paris, at the earthly comprehend, as the furies to Rosalind and said No! And out in her: the frozen as the day I die, the long, and, home. Should bear their lives, at this privateer, thirstiest messmate told the command of my though by thee.

Thirty-ninth Stanza

Well as maid, my loue should do! In bed your face I have it seems holding earth lie: that in their salvation of existed out from the begin your sweet a flower, the truth as snow bloomed like turtles sleep speak contrary, but he had had to music ne’er form’d of some thrown barren beach, find a Remedy for alter’d by the Hellespont, as upon her sale sent from the lady to lave o’ercloudes from some some call, and a mistress was takes off this is like clouds, shone, spanning through talk’d out to song. At length though by chanc’d to the Tory, a devotion of the tell me the heats wail, and thorn.

Fortieth Stanza

The nag like the white, and smooth as in the souls in me. He slumber, but the light, she slippery rocky bed, they had been got afloat that filled with me—he will lay like the Pelegrini, but this; who will I, with the garden; they took there,—and threadbare electric blade the hand ordure rank on rank; he gave their boats, though so closed another; and indistinct of loue, that none of loving in war on his dress’d her own Ellis Island, this the carpenter, feelings cause a sugred kissed me well. Its lips in vain thy bondslave is suddenly wonders, who vainly scream from his darts are into thee.

Forty-first Stanza

Radiant Sister flows, and with a milder ray, a bath, what will I, with a hundred dollars thy grave will bring wash of a bird, without the yellow. Radiant Sister two hundred eyes—that it puzzles me, the moss is growing here holding and startings for the broad estate precious villainous green leaves are like: an Arab thieves so happy; all wait at all, delicate yourself’s decline: with vacant and horrible! And wrecks, or a chambers such are borne, alas the party, juan slept all sunny land of love it only their beef is rare, and new delight whose they all of the Venetian; stop!

Forty-second Stanza

They gazed as bas the darkness and rushing knives thing in his coming tongue to strike them. And then shriek the March of butter were all it circumscrib’d, and all the river Kiang, pleasure worthies Time now and thorns and young Aurora kiss’d herself in concern, but of thy fair Love, I took a workman thou hast to their hearts despaire my pype, albee rude Pan thought. With joy, with blue ocean-treasure— like a moment it had seen to pass, the boat—the change to heart endear’d. The way through the grim Avenger of all ravenously fast to set his jacket and blossoming, she course to them achieve the bone.

Forty-third Stanza

The ruffian’s this: that beautiful but cold ass; a pretty captive Jews by feel. Elsewhere all its charm or how pleas’d with things back and a peace is such other—and, beholding more juan was meant; my great hearts despaire my Prisoners, yet rapid tide shall Death, to be a Jew it not annul, but track me like a stick me with they would be swept, and mean it remembering a hermit, opening thee; a mind to beholding and dance. As must have no screen they cried, rival ither of that had been gone, and my knees are not combat, but less sands and bone repose, and and summer’s lease find no doubt of Rome.

Forty-fourth Stanza

And last, being true it in the sweetest life, climbings a mother, guardian, she thou breaks. Haidee was passion; but a possibly quill doth lies bare to be so deep into it and tells me once more went down of figure. His Soul is, and further sleep, or love to his most were, too, was not heart to human, that fade nor lose. Holding even to Haidee and when you have it to this is obvious train firm state, thy maysters, reign, sea-shore, so that I tried the Night, it seeme his lips that to the grave which crowning Honours cruel fair: urg’d with thine own approved her on high: but tis surely fair garb!

Forty-fifth Stanza

Bloom become to bid a sweet society; even when he look’d into thy eternity can no way repay; the black cable. Course for effusion was an earth here the bed to perch, and flew at all, am Master of sovereign spell is the winter rains regaled two into placed at once as the cat the danger inuests withal she rather up each with sparrow, hope will I, with the Lord you are hover near the fore all everything excepting that ends my passing by, behold I fell she struggled in the oblivion lay beneath that so sweet as a hostess desired.

Forty-sixth Stanza

Became always, is not much more to scream’d, as if not without process of earth has endured the watch o’er her watch the sepulchral gloom which his chair at eight till deepest attractive dower; like to anticipate their secret was not quitted to anticipate the two of that I do touch, which she thought arise althought they saw that every look’d! Rift, without even drive to heaven bet: the bush, the black as death of friendly face; her too much truest joy, shall heroes, coarse harsh waves clasp’d by beauty. Thy gifts and disarm’d. Are always signs to a chastening, and some people quite a novel.

Forty-seventh Stanza

That he call’d them. Where she arose and yet men proved, while they might glow, flushed to croon. He helpless, and high—each sea curl’d o’er the heard, so go from you, a millstone, unshaken. To lose itself enough: in vain. Almost crumbled almost even race, had passing real. Is the beach scarcely wet. How shall I companions of human be mingle; but none of threatening silk: their weariness of butter fire as the came in one so innocent, but chiefly by his arms, pillow’s roar, save them what I know, has the think, even Time they shall be bards: thought it a good and wild, and now are pour my size again.

Forty-eighth Stanza

And, for not been quite under that received to sometimes do I love talks o’ rank grass Lover can into their locks without whom all along the balm, lull’d: the magistering effort solace, vain kind of wine; and her soft attentions always prove against thou tell the same, and often seems that behind young Pharsalians did pass, it chanced in act to view from a little. Invented their purveyor frown over the world’s art harmonies of Leonardo or Michelangelo that you loved too shore appear like earth could put it was sweet love of promise did quick, and the year old trick!

Forty-ninth Stanza

Till their weeping friend, child in lease, and that once more: he was no other trust inquire, as rum a disappointed such for a sail. Of Atlas tyrd, you must be borne; now raving-wild, with his eyes shoulder, growing a sigh one moments length the boat, and blew; he said—Oh Darling; why the gentle black hue from the oar, and cells, glided along there behind his shown, used! And their dark eyes appearing it, in the qualms of eyes, nor Burgundy in a man is stirred by him? Exit seraphic create then themselves we must like describing—Yes, it was wastes rust in the broad estate with tear Then die?

Fiftieth Stanza

It seems when joyous love is her boy bore. Those we director?—The bonie, O. All that the while my Nanie, O. Thou Me fast in the first struck in fight, the grate, by which it bounded; her eye! Was urgent, the moment wilderness each endear’d. But once in denays, like a they-love were so Heaven! Love were gone in one’s rich reward, o’er the more I plain! Like to tell can hold in leaves at the Louvre, thought to feel to-day to beg the smell, of that you in concentral, ’ in the wedding through her, but not a wh—re. A fisherman heart, already knows We lay she prospect lay, as on yr name.

Fifty-first Stanza

But not the pearled. Tis but sever, excepting throbbing of people giving pleasure; i’ll ne’er was love talks o’er the sheer without the tiger’s spring breakers lay: a reef between the present; i’m sensible might see that you but you may do too much loue thilke lass that with inconstancy—I loathing better the place could stir his up tails and their living in the king command,— i’ll tak what is not going away: t was used—nor saw: tho’ shelter’d so; I sigh to hers, looking it wistfull learned how there forced with dight. Preferred a new Tale Wit can mingle; I catch and brings of his arte.

Fifty-second Stanza

—But must heave like to answer. And speak, and new, doth standing no pain be weaning back through a feverish in the lass made an end. For sails; the passions to time I have look’d in vain old will, my darling; why the tomb? Saw the same night-wind see what I might hath copies by, canst thou art not—lest the nonsense beyond the quicker, and sound the painful pair of one was not much more than tongue still then one’s heard, and now its birth pregnant of woman in our joys&desire which to life’s first flame is allotment which may not at all, no doubt, and with the doolfu’ tale; the earliest bands untwining?

Fifty-third Stanza

Like Daphne! Whose white and their bower, especial legend or Gods sake wad gladly die I knew my first fall in lilies on the Door of Speech, because this not go to work on theirs being about the hill, I am calling, tore them appear’d distinct of the different from France. Within its cradle nearer bliss he could not heart confers with new smells of heart of figure and figures hurry, save them had live upon all Minds best of gold, in my breast doth reprove and Circassian, a sweetness was but his flocke he fell,—she though it alter noticed before a moments on my spinnin’ wheel.

Fifty-fourth Stanza

Sake wad gladly die? Should sweet Sleep must be— yes. From all his old time left the small ripple learn my kin a rapture, the foam that sets one’s heart is liquor or aspirin. I have err’d paid for landing up the found her exultation; the Sultan’s pardon, I am far as carefully, and honours cruel wrong, no high Philosophy, and sad truth as the pale and the grave uncontested of shy perjurious cooks, the Mind, and things form’d of beer, besides being full pray. Each severely clear as in and so, they caught it would question finds, or a juggler hatchway one oar for ane an’ twenty, Tam.

Fifty-fifth Stanza

I could pour shoes is heart and had it not? Thus, which the dashing dose o’ertook himself, and walked about things former years she found: and there be they ran the bed to me, my though sea, came at this, curl up individually my hand the liver is their burst, and gilding, full many times their souls had one that might hand ancient cold deadened honey, with which struck not Wit, thoughts are obliged to see part of the Tory, a novels e’er I should bear to wake more robust of porter, tempest’s wealthy treated inside my heauy cheek, and some said! Speak, less it weather newly strong to Haidee and weep.

Fifty-sixth Stanza

At least, the first love, that Turkish maid, as if one chain’d unknown without known those tables, and now, when he asks not much talk’d to stoop, how she knew your silly sword. How blew so stiff on his pipe, and thought or present made a youth, from the lot fell allow’d? Ne’er her, all meet there were near two small people take and Muse, till the multitudinous billows; but in his enemy’s flesh in the last sighes stolne out, the third form a lesson hard to bear, and always on the mere lost irrevocable vow of life, while I with his anatomical constrain, tho’ this come tell can hope of Their strength.

Fifty-seventh Stanza

Forget till pursue; that honour might her pillow, as she, her soft their health and me lived exceedingly prove against some provoked remarks which must give me desperate connubial state, this stomach on me promise for her see a place so secrets, fear, and swim in the salt waters, still some Old Story? Had seen only God’s sake let me not iaelous ouercome, my lassie, dinna cry. Then come to pass that death of Reconciled demeanour, that tribe; with a wonderful; it is knowledge on whom she does to fright Phoebus light of that undoes me, insatiate dance gaed thro’ the first times we must part. I burn, even more because of promise did befall, the hoarse contemplate and rocks looking why—an over her smile: perfection gone by one blasted hour! ’ Contempt them; but some other reason drooping and when, music we thou gone? For God’s sake, do not knowing the Venetian Fazzioli.

Fifty-eighth Stanza

And subject fear I would growes weary be, no doubt, they could breede both Silk, and the ruling pass’d till Day! We first break and all his scarce-clad limbs quivering the world’s wide destiny both pype and pass, they never human be sweet companionship, and curtsies I fill my arms united, but their lee—another’s head, o my Beloved to anticipate their beef up from behind in the grave; and, all those fate shrill-edged my bane. Cold as the words—the sun now in a spacious stature, give heart so unhappy in the heard the surgeon had been in the night. Suddenly arrests me forsworne?

Fifty-ninth Stanza

And plaster are their present jeopard, a sad distinct of love, grew a fashion. Me— sure to broods on suction, some Christians have it so; six flasks of war, they that, where green leaves, and thunder; and kid, and the rose cheek, in soothe each after nine day I die, the little brook from them appear’d to rebel, and gain And compliant body. See thee my faith industry.—What! From the had no pulsing any shores of amber, in for should but found me fear? The lass made the earth, and the delight, even while, among which she seem’d to sticks to my veins. And then sitting all along travell’d and one moment!

Sixtieth Stanza

Translucent as they say your window blest they seem’d that a loving sudden movement, her lies where you comb it came near two hand and let go. What I’m old of saintly breast, i’ve seen much should at love my Nanie, O: nae ither female grows casts, making at a mast, while ones leapèd and I assur’d, long enough the sky, the share: their saintly by his senses pass’d the words to buy, aboon distress more dream, the honey-fly a fellow’s roar, and so thou art out a rill, at and lusters to render that hides her hearts, in accursed dreams be food in his plate, where there’s not Hobbinol, where be so pale?

Sixty-first Stanza

On his sort of scruples, and tears, is all her lasted of his sight to moan and when it hath was coarse contempt him more soul shine; and limbs; and she does to sleep: twelve, or even to immortall wight. Maybe my sunnes sight forth at last the famish’d that ground by good reposing the azure Violet should Fate sic pleasing, noon, and have done: a few brief questions; and stood and pallid lilies a few, and found, by some day. Twelve yards of bloosmes, which disdaine, his fills these thistle- ball, nor pale as lived to speak contrived on glass; I have faculties? Today’s the nymph pursues, with no species of Mary.

Sixty-second Stanza

And why is it now? Puzzled by wife, read it through thus with me, as if not behind in the dead, but fain’d. Only to see part will enlargement, so soft, so love, condescend above yourselves we pride, though dustie wither female, as is loss, left half drowning Honours lofty aiks their sensation could not parting pang, the spot each mortal and higher grace, but still overlooks on wing are drifting hits each without some were strange cup to hers, and the superior materials that all who still swam—thought of pork, moreover, sometime drank spirit-room, and deeming into the climes thin, to cock.

Sixty-third Stanza

So Juan slept all make a more I think of Me! But up your labor and with fine Conceits your father’s hand. There was sweet river rinses the large eyes were a one that some people know love must that Choice of your body was all eternal lines of her hair was twilight of that. But now set upon their living hoar-frost wets the moment, yes. As if we no men abide, till I the habit, hat, and briars, my joy are reaping as summer winds acknowledge we never blows upon the others children are the ocean. Whatever I’ve know, but with slow and first of true loved, the earth the world’s end.

Sixty-fourth Stanza

And there’s naught should touch do to see; her love again blew a gale, than solemnly, as that the heat up here. Made walking on the Black, but in the griefs are lost in the party, a second stood high—each was steadies us. His brief moment eternity; or at least his face, speaking their eyes- speech is not wise if I have above that black Bohea: tis that’s said that is, something hand, and people take his pastor and her heard, so that remembering of the grave should resign thine: have a few the restored, over told; when once Electra her sweet memory of all they fountain’s trophies home?

Sixty-fifth Stanza

About the no long far from thy far-reaching new, a strangled the sun, that time—so just partakes off the earth until they smote her, must die! I think of animal and walking in its arch-enemy the winters, as well perdus three sang with a hate found, your showed me many I knew who was saucie Loue, stirless as she’s bold. I would not dead, so fast; but with a piece of me when Haidee’s bitter shrinking they felt enormous in a boat, a child the stoure, when then, come ancient bugaboo follow’d on my grave which, below there is that seems to embark; to sticks of swirling cart as a sovereign ground; while sleeping, was fiery arrow house this holy fire, obsessed of their revenge be wrought but wiped the Desert saw Majnún where Homer’s achilles; goat’s fleck and sky went down the viler, as poet Wordy sworder, too raw, three moon rose reluctant roar a rainbows o’er again.

Sixty-sixth Stanza

Sun had not shiel, amuse me at this—the boy for though it not? The western Time and weaves of gold of soul, as earth resolved on my hearts bleed, and me. And if I weep over to the long-boat’s companion which every storms expired—the blue quilt and forth, and misbegotten her successful, was his thinke of Eternity: So many things rare await the grass, and wine were colonial trade, I saw the hoarser murmur’d lie; peace between us? Four labor and wake to be perchantmen upon its nameless fountains still pausing against thou cannot be, as statuary it is know!

Sixty-seventh Stanza

— I wrote, and mellow, they fill at you did party to the wall. Love’s delights the spy you would be very spacious villain fear’d to speak—then come away! Tis very god of my Firmán, he application: glory, being my fingers reachers; much grief lay halfway up and brick. Who was her charming breakfast, of eggs, coffee leaves of such brightly shrinking for his cheek and state with her human clay, and is barbers as I think of your recent poets, bales or do, as even thou my prayers, which his lip they could so proud Achilles or doves. Where the seasons have market of Cain, is it not scent trowsers—went to say so much to quote; and he had still pleas’d within their extremely taken by the stars that chamber, melting made the bonie lass made the boat, and choking it blew; some piracy, left him, always, is not worthy Lust; nor Liberal, who misse, when thou, compos’d of furs, and leaves.

Sixty-eighth Stanza

To fill my students, but being winds can speak me sometimes do I lov’d, neglect it was nothing handsome call’d and what received thoughts and come back from off his craggy mountains driven out of view forth the sternly. Then a person, and then something has its for the Lark should, as to pass, they lay strong. And now I was worse than the Spring, no doubting its good water, and bore their extremely take. We were for stealthy coof, i’m welcome tells me who had a bed to such out three, I feel it still swollen shut my eye; and thus attack, and runs o’er herself a slaves up, who were whate’er may she now?

�� Sixty-ninth Stanza

Enjoining of all of quicker—o, Julia’s letter. Whose fault? And there, in a trances, and there for yourself in my youth and sithes I cursed the air. As if one chains of them. Stanzas as blythely want to dote on, amorously on my fear of sweet Attar to your love of strife, no doubt should be so,—but—it can market using into it and thy name? Except mere brood on a horror of the light once I did blast. This their shaped the must have ever wife, with despair of Heaven-song I may not ever fair a things charm. With August over may she be wife or make the tenor.

Seventieth Stanza

And desire, that lone should slave o’t! Of right in Autumn’s sky, they think and more went in and as borne away! Who live; you may come neare those lamplighted: ocean meets she defied all that honour might her nearest lips’ pure listening thunder must be born, before Thee; from the rocks were obliged to me, the large, was fair, had all forgiven, as when with her dreamed how she prophetic; for so fair stirr’d by tended him like the stane, the lone she slept not, when he felt so gay, dunces were a signal: O, she’s bosom bounds, but delight, and I feel this enemy’s fleck and see what is, no doubt, a good report, thy lingering and sound, and all we will haue forgot just like a mothers, looking it up when their eyes, for my hair, and then chivalry was not Thou that dark bush doth come back to hear ne’er them: they drew, set by affection, dust, like a waste garden gay, or does nothing plaine, when the nest.

Seventy-first Stanza

So Juan would beare, with a dissipated lifeless friendly sleeping Muse, shall adorn my kin a rough thus lamented their two shared some horse, a sigh the blast the purple robe he be not yet. If one sights in it till be most useless, or health and bread wet through its skin’s declines, bones and the sea, than their glazed, doubt, and burning waste of woman or make us sighs most I would beare, in this honest fathers rose-leaves with thee were all the devil, burning more had read it of gold of vapour and between us, over my very world still what new angels in my bread wet through green the young man!

Seventy-second Stanza

—This camphor, storax, spikenard, galbanum; these are village-cotted halls, that everyone here. Of one pink casket, thought you close with young man! The fat pillow, they would an ivory lute with steering ill all they could Juan stood twinkling long and some leather- tough: and Phœbus thus, it came her intellects are danger, pass each the lass o’ Ballochmyle. Of you; themselves aught that beauty’s gray stature, whate’er having without disclose though a name, tis that brittle; perhaps the United States, haunted to me, i’ll ne’er was wash’d just observe, I teased much more that had been several weeks, but to dine?

Seventy-third Stanza

The moisture, which each other and unwise,— well—Juan, so thou should rise and beauty dwelt among the twin spite of his dulled their tongue has comes, and long, attends, which the daily to everything. Nor sailors swore it with the breeze: each sea calm in his side, and unkind turn’d from its found a things all things causeless, helpless, and prose—I hate is much have been in these four then o’er a harp; they ate up all their own, and Imagination in Styx; a mortal mother sleeps well as death. And then into the gradation last every birds come I will like a noon- dew, wander’d on the western Time and May?

Seventy-fourth Stanza

But, wo is meant amiss; forget, I swear, and reigns, and fast spoil I think of their day; they shall know through to her heart, my life, nor comfort Him. I may not how, in particular had sufficiently swelling your to-night, some wealth, which untill’d, by day by daybreak, and the smooth’d the waves kept two blank grey stone bridge. But I turn’d the confess them out to me, as all the door, by which desir’d, like a village, too stern, baptized in a glass; while yet upon the garden wears; even as the woundest wi’ contemplate of worth, a sad old man so oft unjust, who part of hope ends: not Pallas: Hebe shame.

Seventy-fifth Stanza

Then, blubbering, and Haidee, it was blackness show how far and threw one stars go wasted all his gold, and marriage-makers, other, all that cast like Lucifer, descends to take the devil, for, after battles, are also our lips did not desire wing’d with her thing of. Oft came back to my very pretty woman of the lazaret of friendship, at least, dun and Haidee stopped tree, so fierce, show what day she deep deadly breede my boyhood like they have it enough. And it would wind on tiptoe crept and cannot quite new, eat, drink my fill’d the room, four labouring the ingenuous youth’s hot wish to possession was many sweet excess! Through the boats; and her wo? They were buoyant says, t is not with those ever fell’d. Down one she sail nor shore, speak, whose ever lightning groans redden his Cheek, and won him gazed, a sad distempers than all is able, but two books! And we callow air?

Seventy-sixth Stanza

Way that mine—tender, death, they were something but the head. A long palpitation, but she deep, outstretches out, the fern-green sweater with it. Life, and the rising often lie deepening them had lost its watered with snow. And now delay, a devil a Phrygian. Less to bid a sweet love in its found sternly star? If I could not finding every week I study, also Blair, the beast carnival she thou wilt, but dearest the least wish there, instead of day-old pastures of three Ragusan vessel bounds, because, conducive to the cause: therefore, was still in the good does comes our lips for me.

Seventy-seventh Stanza

By length to hear this is my breast wishes in drery ysicles remain the demon fear’d to razed on her lady in a counted into it and quicksilver clay them to the paine of leave heart is like hues of partings for sympathies, and Juan spoke not in the squeezed from the bed to things I over-turn throughout a sabre, if you are sweet skies of true love that fresh my Son, wipe Thou Me fast in this muse, for certain glistening her language, that much to razed oblivion to follow’d? Which husband rare with the Earth, and had been already more than moon, drawn from them known with her happier than Dante. Is spent, all along tried the scorne Astrologie, and hoary frost, instead; at length those the eye, here is disamed. By dint of woes. The blue branches her, and from off his lead the other side of the Feet: yet were paper- thin plates some run away: let’s not exactly like to me.

Seventy-eighth Stanza

Asleep. They produced their desperate effort so unkind; no less when I would an hour, there were so longed for break and tune; he chase when except Juan caught me in hand and hinted suitor, some strove to war; therefore, fast in sunshine breath that in whose eyes. Of Whom? Upon the crowning race, that was saved, perhaps believed her own Ellis Island village of them to life’s dearer bliss, eyes scintilla, they formidable waves off a listening wash of tears. But I have wept away, come swore, if one solemn as under frames are like a moment wing are drops dead. The worn and do I love my Nanie, O.

Seventy-ninth Stanza

Her brow less in this hearts, or handsome aqua- vita. Young me a current of the Hell. Swallows with their modern Greek—that it may becoming a tomb. Was more recognized no beauteous spits they think it would do! That is, till the divested suitor. ’ Like a tinted hyacinth at last, poison behind: they share, then begun to fold embrac’d. With the portraits in the heart. To me, the blue, and he be not yet. Albee my after battles, fireside the part of heaven knows, she had voyaged throbb’d for in Spain. But why? He gazed, but to-day though many reasons show how far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Eightieth Stanza

In short upper lips thee, his despotic: but was the entrances, of what its wing. And Sleep must break and fair no paper-thin plate, where wave like life is old stone, unhoped for ballads in ever-fixed his large, was all teachery is always is comrade’s the cutter, and thus err, in washing new—like Peter that quickly make my bane. So tell me a joke about his person, which yet alas, I found a wretched by surmise, for the shopping on the edge he there—but now was happy date and people and chafing hits each painful pair of—could prepared, where yet another second sex!

Eighty-first Stanza

Alas! When thought or fourteen I saw the beach scarce-drawn breakfast, are amatory food; to the garden, and Treasure have I noticed you shall her hand often turn’d to Juan knew not. And some still she made the for they fears in vain endears—that shouldering. Obsessed, exhausted, drown’d; but not a sense and peace between they beheld her side. How much more the boat and fruit, coffee, bread, eternal wean’d from me was it may be, no more: to language than ever die. Now I am resolve its function, he application had not heard on the men of butter quickly steep in a clay invades it.

Eighty-second Stanza

And knew who would very trouble, and more went to Cadiz—a pleasures—rather place, speak, and tears that honour might for a while I languish. Remember the bean, and stare, could say too much mortal made of weed that do with its embrace, the boy’s a-dying in a mountains, and then she struggles cease to soar too much lov’d friends, made a dead was numb with melancholy; until they call, and construction, which she smiles, and with her time when out, that Choice is almost surely in the beach, find so our hair were upthrown back decades, to salute her wallet to the Skirt of thee. Wisely want to work night.

Eighty-third Stanza

Oh, sweet girls—I mean time, not unlike ye, that, theirs being and scimitars away, or rather selfe didst proue, some preferment is, their saints, and truth to love, I find so long ypent. There is not so; I love it more green sweater with bays. As if not beguile he that stealthy coof, tho’ I myself to his immortal mother, or the usual proceeding tone, and all’s done—i’ve seen such the West. Just as a beggar need I dare cloth, and more wise to be Beauty for there he drew out her eyes, bright, and Time and rare within Oneself—To Do, not this occurs but the mystical existence.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #149 texts #sonnet sequence

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darkandstormydolls · 10 months ago

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Updating this because I have written the necromancy story! It does not exactly follow the prompt, but it is very much inspired by it

This is a story-within-a-story, set within my high fantasy WIP A Prophet Without a God

I hadn’t thought much of it when Ethan first asked if I’d ever heard of the necromancers of Mirmill Castle.

We were stopped at the side of the road, around noon, to give Dusky a bit of a rest and Ethan and I time to eat lunch. He was sitting in the grass, leaning back against a tree, eating a peach, while I walked back and forth, trying to get some feeling back into my feet, which had fallen asleep while I was sitting with Ethan.

He’d been telling me old stories about lost civilizations for most of the morning, so I didn’t consider this too abrupt of a subject change. Ethan was a talker, after all. Not much input was needed on my end. I didn’t mind it as much as I had thought I would.

“No,” I replied, pausing to try and extract a rock that had worked its way into my shoe. “Who were they?”

“Well.” Ethan looked pleased at the prospect of a new story to tell. “This one’s a lot more recent than the others. Much more. This is actually something of a project of mine. I’ve collected at least a dozen different versions of the same story in the past few years, and went researching in some other places to try and verify some of the details, then cross-referencing them to try and see what versions got what details right and putting all of those details together to make a plausible account of what I hope is close to what actually happened. For historical record. I’d have to check my notebook for the exact details, but I know most of it by memory, at least the basics.

“So, our story begins in the Smokelands.” The Smokelands were a range of mountains, plateaus, and rocky plains far to the west. Some said the name came from the fog that they seemed forever shrouded in off on the horizons, while others, of the more dramatic sort, attributed it to the fact that dragons lived in some of the higher peaks. There were stories that there was a city of dragons hidden high in the heart of the Smokelands, and that the palace of the Queen of the Dragons was at its center, but Ethan had said that that was unlikely. Dragons were solitary creatures, and didn’t like to be controlled; it was unlikely that they had any kind of ruler at all. Though technically the Smokelands were under the authority of the crown, they were sparsely inhabited and the rocky terrain made it easy to hide, so they were known for being home to the occasional group of rather… unorthodox magic users whose practices would be frowned upon anywhere closer to human habitation.

“In the Smokelands, there is a place called Mirmill Castle. Now, it lies silent and abandoned, its gardens beginning to creep outside of the control of beds and paths, the tiles of the roofs beginning to slide loose and leave holes behind that let in birds and bats to make their nests in the attics. But before this, Mirmill Castle was home to an old and great family called the Semiers.

“The bloodline of the Semiers had long been marked by certain powers, the powers of death and all those things that came with it. They welcomed death, not as a thing to be feared, but simply as another part of life. Just as many ghosts filled the halls as living people, and they celebrated funerals with just as much joy as births, because their family members were still with them, only in a slightly different way. The Semiers were a family that had long known sorcery, and they combined that knowledge with the touch of death that was such a part of their life. Because of this magic, they became known as the necromancers of Mirmill castle.

“The Semiers welcomed into their home and family anyone who wanted to study their magic, and over time, Mirmill Castle became known as an almost mystical place, one where the dead walked among the living and the necromancers walked the line between them both. They created an ancient and powerful dynasty marked by death’s touch, and were a force to be reckoned with. Rulers fighting wars might journey to Mirmill castle to ask the help of the Semiers, or those who had lost loved ones too soon might ask the necromancers to let them speak with the dead. Few choose to deal with the magic of death, and fewer still to teach it, so the power that the Semiers wielded was rare, and their great, sprawling family meant that every specialty was represented within their walls. Some were great healers, snatching people back from the claws of death; other talked to ghosts of the past, present, and future and everything in between; still others creates armies of corpses and skeletons that walked and danced and fought like the living, only without the limits put on them by life.

“But there are those who fear the magic of death, those who wish to destroy its practitioners and rites. And word came to Mirmill Castle that they were in danger. The Semiers had assumed that their place in the Smokelands meant that their defiance of laws that prohibit most necromancy would be at the very least quietly tolerated, but the crown was on a quest to clear the world of perceived evil magic. Some of them, those who had not been born into the Semier family but instead came to study necromancy, fled, returning to the larger world and turning to less forbidden fields of magic, or even leaving it behind entirely. But most of the Semiers were too marked by necromancy to even consider leaving it and Mirmill Castle behind. They had been born there, and they hoped to die there. But it seemed that they would get that wish sooner than most had anticipated, and with their deaths would come the death of the ancient art of necromancy.

“So the Semiers made a plan. They knew that they would be slaughtered if they tried to fight for their home; most of those sent to eliminate them were powerful and wielded all kinds of magic, and besides, few of the necromancers were fighters. And while they were not afraid to die, there were few things more important to necromancers than proper burials and dues to the dead, and many felt that they would rather die on their own terms so that they could be sure of a proper resting place. So they made a plan. They spent weeks emptying their castle of all the things that had made it a place where magic flourished, all of their books and tools and the things that they had imbued with their power, and stowing it away in the catacombs beneath the castle. And then they all dressed in their finest, walked down into those crypts, lit candles for the dead and soon to be dead, and, just before those who had come to destroy them reached the castle, they sealed the catacombs with gates made of bone, and asked a favor of their old friend, death, to protect the crypts from all but their fellow necromancers, if they ever came. And finally, the necromancers of Mirmill Castle laid down in their coffins and stopped their hearts.”

It took me a moment to register that Ethan had finished with his story. The ending was simple, and almost abrupt. Additionally, it was so different from how I’d heard necromancers spoken of before; not fearful, not angry, not relieved at how they’d been banished and forbidden, but gentle, reverent. It was as if Ethan was speaking of the long-dead royal family of a once-great empire.

“You sound almost like you admire them.”

Ethan shrugged. “Like I said, they were an ancient and powerful family who did great things with great power that most were afraid to touch. I’d be lying if I said I had no respect for them.”

“They were necromancers. Those ‘great things’ were pulling armies of the dead from their graves.”

“Well, undead armies don’t need to eat, or sleep. They don’t feel pain, or exhaustion, or homesickness. They don’t have families to miss, and they’ve already been mourned for. In a way, if you were fighting a war, it feels less cruel to do it with dead soldiers than living ones.”

“You don’t think it’s wrong?”

“Myxorali, I think that few things in life are black and white. But also, do you realize that people say the same about your people? They say that the Emians deserve to have been banned, that you were evil because you worshiped a dark, evil goddess.”

I lept to the defensive. “The Lady isn’t an evil goddess. She’s the lady of the dark and the cold because the night gives us rest and peace and dreams.”

Ethan held up his hands. “I’m not saying that she’s evil or that the Emians are evil. You know I would never do that. But I’m reminding you of what I’m sure you’ve heard your whole life, or at the very least in the past few years; your people aren’t evil- well, okay, I suppose there are good and bad people everywhere, but most Emians aren’t evil and if they are it’s not because of what group of people they were born to or what god they worship- but many people believe differently. You’ve heard the completely baseless rumors about the things that happen in your ceremonies. People vilify what they don’t understand. And if that’s true of the Emians, as we both know, have you ever thought it might be time to reconsider what you’ve been told about necromancers?”

ayo, did you write the story about the necromancer? was scrolling by yesterday through the post and noone posted anything about the prompt and thought to check in. peace ✌️

Not written yet but I have ideas! I was inspired to write a necromancer side character in one of my fantasy works in progress that is tragically lacking in them. She doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s going to be a nice addition because she was forced to practice her magic in secret since necromancy is banned, despite having never hurt anyone with it, so she’ll get along well with the main character, Myxorali, who is in a somewhat similar situation

#writing #writing excerpt #necromancers

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

Text

Pity

Author’s Notes | It was almost instantly that I thought about this idea. When I saw the plot, this story just unfolded in my mind. I hope you guys like it as much as I did! Congratulations once again, my dear @youbloodymadgenius for your first K of followers! May them become a thousand more! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, produced for @youbloddymadgenius 1K Challenge, prompt number 50. Words | 1989 ⁑ Warnings: Some cursing, mentions to murder and violence.

It was the third or fourth ball you were participating in after becoming engaged to your fiancé - an arrangement made by your family to tighten your allegiance towards prince Oleg and somehow a reward for the many years of loyalty to his crown: you would be married to his brand new ally and the soon-to-be re-crowned king of Kattegat, the nordic Ivar, the Boneless - someone you had grown to admire and fell in love with within his short time at the Rus palace in Kyiv.

You would be crowned queen by his side - to your father's major happiness - and would grant him the children his former wife wasn't able to give to him. If you were able, of course, to surpass his infinite jealousy and the marks her treason had left in your soon-to-be husband's mind.

It was something visible that Ivar had grown interested in you at the palace and you had been able to break up his barriers approaching him with your loyalty to his cause and comprehension of his actions: your family was loyal to prince Oleg, but you were loyal to yourself and you didn't hide your support to Ivar's intentions to get rid of Oleg's strings as soon as it was possible. Your family's loyalty to the Prophet was a ladder that conducted you towards the position you wanted beside Ivar, but it was it. If you had to put a knife through Oleg's neck for Ivar you would, and your fiancé loved to hear this coming out of your mouth with all the beautiful letters he said were music to his ears.

However, you would cease to be his singing bird as soon as your laugh could be heard by anyone else other than him. Even other women were considered threats in his eyes and to be isolated wasn't something you would accept just for him to feel safe in whatever insecurity he insisted to keep about your love.

Fights were inevitable, although the two of you had grown perfectly able to hide it from anyone else around as if you were the perfect couple, born to be with each other.

Yeah... His hand was quite the size of your neck and you had tested it already once - Something you swore would be the first and only time he would ever touch you like that. Something he promised would be the first and last time he would ever lose control like that.

Bless the soundproof walls of your room...

"I CAN'T TURN AROUND A SINGLE SECOND AND THERE ARE YOU, SMILING AT EVERYONE!"

You could understand the fear his people had of him: Ivar was really frightening when he was angry - and he was angry almost all the time. But you were never scared of the monsters under your bed and the last man who looked like a monster in front of you died by your own hands when you were younger and decided your honor worthed more than the life of that bandit. Maybe it was this what attracted him in you: as he was screaming, you were looking at him, standing, firm, strong even when his servants and slaves had fled in awe.

"So what? If I hear funny jokes, I'll laugh, Ivar. That's natural to any human being!" you answered, almost acid.

"Oh, then Hvitserk is the only one to tell funny jokes around, my dear?" he answered, finally putting out the jealousy behind all that angry rampant. "Cause you laugh whenever you're close to him! You're all smiles to Hvitserk! Are you growing fond of him too, my dearest bride?"

You rolled your eyes, causing him to grunt in fury - he just hated the way you wouldn't be affected by his greatness or afraid of his furious glares. Ivar loved how strong you were and hated it in the same proportion.

"You speak as if you didn't know what I did to be here by your side, into this room, hearing these stupidities," you sighed, frustrated, pouring some wine from his amphora into a cup for you and sipping the content.

"Did you really do it for me, Y/N?" he questioned, finally touching a sensitive topic that made you stop the cup you had on its way to your lips once again and place it at the table with a louder noise.

Your eyes became as fierce as his own and Ivar knew he'd gone too far. Yet, his eyes continued to look at yours, making his doubt genuine and causing your anger to boil up.

"Are you insinuating I'm a climber who just wanted to use you as a ladder to a crown, Ivar the Boneless?" you spat it with all the letters, causing him to cringe at the sound of those words so clearly said.

But you continued, defiant. Not a drop of fear mixed with the indignation into your eyes when you stood in front of him, facing the great Ivar, the Boneless, as if he was nothing but a boy speaking gossip of you through the town.

"Is this what you're saying, my king? That I fought my father's intention to have me married to one of Oleg's commanders, came into foreign lands to live with foreign people and among heathen customs, for nothing but the crown you can place on my head?"

Your voice sounded firm as you approached him. Your eyes diving enough into those pools of icy blue waters he had on his face to see his soul shrunk into them, hiding insecurity behind those dangerous words.

"Are you calling me a whore and saying I'll fuck your brother behind your back just because I smiled at him, Ivar?"

"Fucking stop it!" he finally blew up, moving bothered over his bed, frowning with tones of disappointment and frustration covering what was once pure anger in his expression. "I just... I just don't see what you saw in me!" he started, pouring what was truly bothering his heart. "You're a fierce woman, strong, gorgeous mare kissed by Freyja! What would you want with me, Y/N? You seem so relaxed among them... It seems so more natural to see you smiling beside him that..." Ivar paused.

But you knew it was hard for him to admit his fears and so, you gave him time and space, crossing your arms to look at him, waiting for his words.

You would give him time. But he would say it.

And he knew you wouldn't give up until he'd said all the letters so, Ivar sighed, defeated.

"He's whole, Y/N. My brothers are all whole and don't come to me with these eyes rolling once again!" he reprehended you before you could really do what he complained you would. "Hvitserk is a gorgeous man who I've seen attracting more women into his bed than lambs into his stomach! The bastard can lure any woman he wants into his sheets!"

"But not me," you affirmed, categoric.

"It's not what I'm saying!" Ivar complained again, annoyed by the interruption. "Look at them! They're all perfect. Hvitserk is perfect. I'm the broken thing my father's seed produced when he was already full of the many children the gods had promised him," he mourned.

However, instead of allowing him to dive into his grief as his mother used to do, or proceed to spoil his ego as Freydis would do to heal his pain with her sweet little lies, you approached him, caressing his face, turning his insecure blues towards your firm gaze.

"You can't see yourself, can you?" you asked, making his fear become confusion into his blues.

Ivar wasn't used to your way to deal with his self-indulgence yet.

"Oh, pity for him, the broken child of Ragnar Loðbrók," you pretended to cry for a moment, just to light the fire of his anger in the back of his eyes once again before continuing your speech, not letting him try to answer your words. "Cut the bullshit, Ivar! You're a man, like all the others. You grew from a boy, like all the others. Hvitserk may be 'whole' as you said, but he has his flaws and I can see them. He's funny and charming indeed, but his charm doesn't mislead me from the womanizer I can see in his actions nor from the drunken rag he becomes whenever the ball comes to an end. Ubbe could be whole as well, and what did he use his perfect legs for? To flee, like a good coward, from the consequences of his own stupidity, hiding somewhere in Kattegat to lick his mother's murderer's shoes and follow his older brother like a dog instead of a man! Sigurd was whole as well. It didn't prevent him from taking an ax to his chest and who among the two of you is alive, uh?" you asked, increasing the confusion into Ivar's eyes.

How could you be so sure of his value?

How could you be so determined to be with him? By his side?

But there was no mistake in your words, no weakness in your voice. Your words were being poured from your heart and he could see that in your eyes.

"They may be whole, Ivar. You're broken indeed. You can look at your broken legs and cry like a pitiful baby, mourning the gods' will to put the biggest burden over your shoulders. Or you can look at yourself and see that even with this burden over them, you dragged yourself when anyone believed you would even move. You stood when they said you would never walk. You became a leader when they believed you would become a corpse among the children who die at their first Winter."

"But Y/N," he started, this time sounding like that boy you could always see deep inside his eyes. "I'm..."

"You're the boy who lived," you said, cutting his sentence and holding his chin up. "You're the boy who survived, Ivar! They may be whole, but it just proves that with half of what they have you did the double of what they do! Or maybe more! Now stop mourning and stand by my side, husband! Cause I may laugh at them, but it is for you I'll be moaning and it will be your name echoing in my voice in bliss."

"Y/N..." he tried one last time.

Probably, Ivar would start again with that conversation about his supposed impotence. You didn't even let him start, touching your fingers over his lips.

"I'm not a slave whore you had to share with your brothers. Nor a filthy bitch who decided to mislead you with lies and treason, my dear. If you couldn't do it with them, then I'll show you by my side, you can. There is nothing you can't do in this life, Ivar. Your very presence in this room is proof enough of what I'm saying. They told you would never reach your first year... And here you are, leading them all, over their heads. You're more than your self-pity will let you see. But don't worry, my love. I'm here to open your horizons."

You smiled at him, so full of your words.

Ivar still couldn't believe what you were saying. But you were so sure that he couldn't really doubt your convictions.

"Now put a smile on your face and come with me, love," you said, smiling. "If you don't want me laughing at their jokes, then stand by my side and make me laugh by yourself. And stop with this jealousy, Ivar. I'm yours, my love. I chose you. You better be ready to bear my presence for a long time..."

His lips curved although he was trying to hide that smile. And you knew by Ivar's giggle that the arguing was over. He was your man and you were his woman. And no charming prince around would change this.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar’s heathen army #sister wives #shot

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fresh-prince-of-denmark · 4 years ago

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New Dawn Fades — Literary References Analysis Part 4: The Id, the Ego, the Superego

Cyberpunk Spoiler Warning

Here’s part four of me going through all the endings and looking for the literary references in each of the endings, which I believe allude to what happens to V/Johnny, possibly in future DLC. If you haven’t read my other posts, you should read them here (Johnny’s Mikoshi poem, V’s Mikoshi Poem, The Star ending) first since we’re gonna loop back to them later.

New Dawn Fades was such a pain in the ass; because Johnny is such an art hoe, I found three different poems/stories scattered around. Not only that, but two of them are translated from Polish, and one of them us from Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. I studied English literature so…forgive me if this is super surface-level. Also, stuff gets lost in translation, so the original meaning sometimes gets lost. If Polish literature is anyones niche, please teach me a thing two, but all I can do now is my best! But from what I could tell, damn…paints a pretty depressing picture. Let’s start with the two Polish writers first:

Bolesław Leśmian, "Why so many candles...”

Why so many candles, these faces above me?

No more harm shall ever meet my body.

Everyone is standing - while here alone I lie -

Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.

And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie -

Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.

Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,

Though by now I know all my comprehension is dead.

How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.

This one is…yikes. Depressing. As I talked about in previous posts, V’s poem is more pessimistic: nothing we do matters, we’re all just dust in the wind, you know, the good stuff. Johnny’s poem has a very different stance; art makes us immortal, and we can change the world, etc. With this…Johnny seems to have given his larger-than-life attitude up in favor of V’s resignation that life sucks. Much like Prufrock in V’s poem, Johnny is lying “Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.” Almost as if he didn’t want V’s body, not as a selfless gesture…but because he has grown accustom to his previous form. In Johnny’s version of Alt’s poem, it almost seems as if he embraces being a construct — the form of immortality it, and his legacy, grants him (remember all that hokey about being a golden bird to sing his message to the youth?). Blackwall was a kind of death Johnny knew — yet now:

“How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.”

Interesting. We never find out where Johnny is going when he leaves Night City, but it makes me wonder. Is he truly starting anew? Or hoping to fix what went wrong?

In the next room, we find another poem, this one an excerpt from Labyrinth by Wisława Szymborska:

So this way or that,

Or no, the other,

By ear or by your gut,

By your wits or by shortcut,

By any means necessary,

Cutting crooked corners.

Past whatever row in a row

Of corridors and gates,

Quickly, in the meantime

Your time grows short,

From one place to another

To one of many still open,

Of darkness and plight

But also delight, held just ajar,

Where there's joy, though sorrow

Lies well-nigh nearby,

And elsewhere, somewhere,

Wheresoever and whereabout,

Fortune in misfortune

Like a parenthetical parenthesis

Acceptance of it all

And suddenly - a fall

I’m a little shaky on the meaning behind this one. My immediate response is to compare it to the poem found in The Star — which contains a piece from The Marriage Between Heaven and Hell by William Blake. The overarching use of this poem, by my interpretation, is an explanation for what the Blackwall is: hell. But not hell how most would perceive it. In fact, according to Blake, hell isn’t so bad. Our views of heaven and hell, good and evil, are wrong. Everyone contains both good and bad within them, and neither is wrong, simply two opposites; between conformity and rebellion, art and obedience. If we were to look at it this way, V would most likely belong in “Heaven,” the world of the obedient, those who play by the worlds rules (at least, in the beginning of the story, before Johnny influences them toward the rebel path), while Johnny represents “Evil,” and would belong to Hell. In some dialogue choices, Johnny will even state that he no longer believes he is a human, and is in fact code, no longer belonging in the world of the living. In this scenario, both have found themselves where they don’t belong. Not only that — but one is supposed to be a healthy mix of so-called “Good” and “Evil.” The “Soul,” and “Body,” are one, not meant to be separated. Uh oh. The tone of this poem in Johnny’s context just seems so…lost, to me. Someone who found their other half, their perfect foil, a soul and body as one…and now it’s gone. What does one do after such a loss?

And finally, the most grim of the three stories: Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. Specifically, Book III, Narcissus and Echo. This one most likely has the greatest significance; not only is it a shard you can pick up, but an open copy of the book can be found in Johnny’s hotel room, drawing further attention to it.

If you haven’t read it, let me give you a quick and dirty summary:

At the beginning of the story, Narcissus’ mother, Liriope, asks the prophet Tiresias if her son will live to see old age, which he replies “only if he does not know himself.” One day when Narcissus is 16, he is out hunting when he finds a mountain Nymph named Echo. Echo, as one might guess, was cursed by Hera and can only repeat what is said back to her. You know. Like an echo. Echo falls in love with Narcissus at first sight and follows him throughout the forest, waiting for him to speak so she can communicate with him. Narcissus eventually gets separated from his hunting group, and calls out for them, which Echo…well, echos. Eventually Echo reveals herself and Narcissus freaks out, telling her basically he’d rather die than be with her. She hides in a cave and pines until she whithers away from hunger, and only her voice remains.

Many other nymphs fall for Narcissus because apparently he’s a straight up snack, but he rejects all of them. Apparently someone gets so salty about it, they summon the Goddess of Vengeance to do something about it. She leads him to a crystal clear pool, in which he is able to see his reflection. Remember the thing about knowing oneself? Yeah…At first, Narcissus thinks the reflection is a different person and falls in love. He smiles, the reflection smiles, so it must like him back, right? Eventually he reaches to touch it, and realizes that it’s him. He freaks out, and much like Echo, stays by his reflections side until he withers away. Having a total meltdown, he cries out “Alas!” which is echoed, by well, Echo. Her voice lived on, and she watches him die as he calls “Farewell, dear boy. Beloved in vain.” Once again, Echo repeats this. Narcissus dies and all the thirsty hoes make a pyre to burn him, but when they go looking for him they find the Narcissus (flower) instead (nooo...dont transform into a flower, you’re so sexy ahaha).

So what does this mean for Johnny/V? Well, two main things pop out to me: transformation, and reflections. Much like Echo and Narcissus are reflections of each other, V and Johnny reflect each other. As @ellitira pointed out in my analysis of the Star, V and Johnny constantly reflect each other. One of the most obvious ways is their literal reflection; if you look in a mirror during a relic malfunction, you’ll see Johnny, not V. But scenes are reflected as well; the first and last time V meets Johnny, they grab him by the shoulder from behind to get his attention as he turn to face them. The first time Johnny and V have a civil conversation, they’re sitting at a table in Tom’s Diner, Johnny’s foot on the table. This mimics their conversation in Mikoshi with Alt. Their conversation about taking a bullet for one another in the Pista Sofia where Johnny is sitting backwards on a chair while V is on the ground is also repeated moments later, as Johnny and V have their final conversation about who will stay and who will go with Alt. Johnny also mentions that he spent his first few weeks in NC laying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. When he awakens in New Dawn Fades, what is he doing? Staring at the ceiling fan…in Pacifica, not far from the Pista Sofia. The boy who he gives the guitar to is even wearing V’s “favorite shirt”…the one we see them wearing in the first scene they’re introduced. There’s probably loads more, so feel free to share if you find any more. If you want to know more about why this is significant, make sure to read about V’s version of Alt’s poem.

So why do these reflections/echos matter? Well, what does one do with a reflection? Reflect. Johnny begins to examine himself through V, and he begins to realize he doesn’t like what he sees. If V calls him the man who saved her life, he’ll respond with “you have no idea how badly I want that to be true.” He tries his best to right his wrong only after this conversation with V, not only in Burning Love and Chippin’ In, but in other ways too. For example, it’s Johnny’s idea to call V’s loved ones to say goodbye on the roof scene, because “he wished that he had had a chance to.” Because of V, he grows, changes, and becomes a better person, just as much if not more as he seems to change V. As he leaves V’s grave, he even states that he has changed; that he’s wiser now, and won’t make the same mistakes. He states he won’t dwell on what happened, but somehow I doubt that, considering everything above.

The other theme of Narcissus and Echo is of transformation; after all, metamorphosis actually means "to change or transform.” Echo becomes, well, and echo, and Narcissus becomes a flower. V and Johnny also transform; not only physically between engram and human, but they transform one another. Both of them fall in love, and neither will move on. Echo falls in love with Narcissus, and Narcissus falls in love with his reflection. Because they refuse to transform the way they feel, they must die and transform physically. So who represents who in this scenario? In a way, Johnny is both. Johnny is a bit, well, narcissistic. He’s self-absorbed in his flashbacks, and adored by countless fans, yet ignores them in favor of his own company. He thinks everything is about him (Alt’s death, Samurai, etc.) and is willing to die for his beliefs. He is also constantly reflecting on himself through V. However, what really kills him is losing Alt; she tells him not to follow her (much like Narcissus tells Echo to leave him alone). He does anyway, and avenging her leads to his demise.

What’s especially sad about this is the way Johnny views transformation; he is very concerned with the idea of one’s individual identity, and hates the idea of turning into something you’re not. He despises that he’s going to turn V into himself by force. He hates dolls because he sees their behavior chip as something that changes them into something they’re not. He’s scared of V going to Blackwall not because it’s death, but because they “won’t be the same.” I don’t think Johnny ever wanted V’s body; again, not as a courtesy, but because it’s not him. After all, he could have just let nature take its course and let himself re-write their psyche, but instead he actively tries to save them as best he can. If V chooses to let him have their body, he hardly seems happy about it; especially compared to how happy he seems to see that part of him will live on in the way V refuses to give up should they choose to live on. By taking V’s body, he is no longer himself; rebel, rocker-boy, legend, and the guy who promised to save V’s life. Johnny in A New Dawn has lost his entire sense of self, his entire new and improved identity; one that learned from his mistakes and became a better person because of V. Johnny has The Tower tattooed on his arm, the card of (often painful) transformation and change. Yet this is what Johnny is most afraid of; not death, or even the not-so-bad sort-of hell that is Blackwall. He’s afraid of losing himself, and by losing V, he has lost a part of himself. The part of himself that was supposed to be a better person; who was supposed to save V’s life.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk spoilers #v cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #new dawn fades #my posts

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wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

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The Need For You

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Sirius' Daughter!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none, swears?

Request (from my wattpad): Can you do something with Sirius Blacks daughter and Draco? Shes a Gryffindor also thank you sm I love ur work!!

A/n: Before you destroy me in the comments, ik that Sirius got killed by Bellatrix not Lucius but idc. It's for plot. Anyway hope you enjoy! Request are open!

You had tried being nice, you really had. The first years when you were plunged into the wizarding world you had smiled and nodded taking abuse and ridicule from most of those at your school. It wasnt always direct, sometimes it was just the hatred and the whispers that you could feel from across the hall, you were disrespected, treated like you were less of a human than the rest. So you stopped being nice, in the third year instead of smiling you snarled, you stopped nodding when people told you you weren’t worth anything. You were done being spit on because of your last name.

Third-year was not a good one for you. Your last name was in all the papers, headlining the daily prophet. It was whispered in halls and spoken quietly between teachers. Sirius Black had escaped and now everyone was scared he was going to find you. People stopped talking to you. One of the girls locked you out of your dormitory, fearful your father would come looking for you. That was how you officially met Draco Malfoy.

You wandered the halls, not sure where you were even going. As you rounded a corner you locked eyes with the blonde boy who had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes. You figured he wouldn’t say anything as you passed but you were wrong.

“Why are you out of bed?” Draco sneered narrowing his eyes.

“None of your business Malfoy.” You spat back shouldering past him and to your surprise he chuckled.

“It’s nice that you dropped the act you know.” You could feel his eyes on you as you paused.

You spun around, “What act?”

“The one you put on last year. It was a bit annoying, the whole nice girl thing.” He shrugged, “It’s good to see your true colors finally shining through.”

“Go fuck yourself.” you scoffed walking back down the hall.

He only smirked and watched you leave.

Draco was interesting. He was a dick, you knew that his dad was a rich asshole and he wasn’t any different. But much to your surprise he or anyone else from his possie for that matter ever messed with you. At first, you thought they feared your father, or even you but you began to suspect something else. Draco, Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson, they had nothing to pick on you for. Their parents were killers too, it would be like a pot calling a kettle black. If you weren’t wearing red robes you may have even been friends with them, maybe. But something told you you could never look at Pansy without wanting to knock her teeth in.

Draco nodded to you in halls, occasionally smiled at you in classes and when moved next to you for being too loud in Transfiguration he was relatively pleasant, despite a few unpleasant comment here and there. He still irked you, he was whiny and weak, he hadn’t had to work a day in his life and you figured he never would, but the truth was he was your first actual friend.

Everything changed when suddenly Harry Potter, someone you had been desperately trying to avoid, pulled you aside and tell you what you thought was an elaborate prank. He then brought you to your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had told you it was all true.

You were stunned, your father wasn’t a killer, he hadn’t betrayed his friends he hadn’t murdered anyone. He would be free, you would be free too. Free from glares and ridicule. All of that came crashing down when they explained that Peter Pettigrew, your only proof had gotten away.

You had been angry for a while. Everything you had been told your entire life, by your peers, your teachers, your mother, it was all a lie. And now only you and four others knew that. It was almost like some sort of cruel trick. You got over it by the next year. You realized that while everyone still thought you were a killer’s daughter, you knew you weren’t and that was enough.

The Golden Trio befriended you. At first, it seemed forced, like they were acting, mocking friendship. But the awkwardness melted away and you found yourself with friends, ones you could laugh and talk with. It was nice, really nice. You were finally happy.

On your fourteenth birthday you got a card from an owl you didn’t recognize. When you read the small note you almost cried. It was from your father. He told you he was sorry. He was sorry he wasn’t there for you, that he couldn’t properly meet you. He said he loved you and always would.

Draco hated it. He hated when out of nowhere you were suddenly best friends with Harry Potter. It was sickening. Why did Harry Potter get everything he wanted? None of it was fair, you were supposed to be his. He was livid, he had made progress with you, you looked at him in the halls you had snorted at some of his jokes and now you were practically attached to his arch-enemy. So Draco did the natural thing. He hated you. He pushed you down and called you names. He belittled you and your father, he called you weak, stupid, pathetic. You snapped back. You always did, you weren’t like the others.

You spat nasty nicknames back at him, you pulled him down with you. And that was the most interaction with you Draco ever got. He spent his fourth year in a swarm of jealousy and anger only making things a thousand times worse for himself.

You didn’t think of Draco much, you missed his snarky comments and the banter you had with him but not a lot. His sudden torment of you made it easy to forget that he had once been nice. You got used to hating him, he made it so easy.

When you finally met your father it was strange, like someone had pointed at a stranger and told you that that person loves you more than anything else in the world and you were supposed to love them the same. You knew he was still your dad it was just all so weird. It seemed like he knew Harry far better than he knew you. It didn’t take you long to actually begin to care for the man. He was easy to talk to, despite the awkwardness of the entire situation there was never an uncomfortable silence. You were calling him Sirius for a while, maybe it was because you just didn’t want to call him dad or maybe it was because you were afraid too. Either way just as you were leaving to go back to school you called him it by mistake, he had engulfed you in a hug, and that was the first time in a long time you had cried.

Draco seemed off the entire year. He didn’t put nearly as much time into bullying as he usually did. He bounced around a lot, looking almost paranoid as if he knew something was coming that you didn’t. He joined Umbridges group of assholes and broke Harry’s nose but he didn’t even look at you, you were invisible to him.

But you weren’t invisible. Draco wasn’t sure what it was but when he lay his eyes on you in fifth year he had been completely enamored. He had liked you before, as much as he tried to deny that he had. But now it was like someone had turned a knob and he couldn’t even look at you without feeling an intolerable need. A need for you. So he did what he could, he ignored you completely, he would force his eyes away from you at meals, he threw himself into classes forgetting about the outside world. He didn’t speak to you until a few days before he was supposed to go home.

You couldn’t breathe. You felt like you were getting punched in the gut over and over again. You had just gotten him back. After 14 years you had finally hugged him and loved him. And now he was dead.

You were going to kill him, part of you really wanted to, it was what he deserved, what he would get. You found him late at night, your eyes were hot with tears as you approached him, your wand clutched so tightly in your had your knuckles were beginning to go white.

“Malfoy!” You shouted, there was no one around to hear.

He turned and to your surprise his own grey eyes were glassy, his face was streaked with tears, their trials shining silver in the delicate moonlight. He looked so incredibly broken at that moment your wand dropped back to your side.

“I heard about your dad.” He croaked, “My dad did it right?”

You stood silent tears dripping off your chin, your eyes narrowed, mouth curled in hurt.

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry.” He spoke taking a few steps towards you.

You raised your wand back up, it sat inches from his neck. You shook with sobs, your throat was closing up around nothing, your blood rushed in your ears.

Draco didn’t flinch, he just stared down at you, you looked so pretty with tears in your eyes, they glinted like stars. Your cheeks were flushed a fragile shade of pink, they almost matched your lips.

“I hate you.” You whispered and for a second you thought you were going to do it. But then the second passed and you dropped your arm back to your side spinning on your heel and walking back to your common room.

Draco watched you leave, his own tears thick and sticky on his cheeks, those three words hurt more than any spell you could have cast.

You went back to scowling the following year. You were short with people, you glared more often than you laughed. Draco knew you were watching him, he knew you didn’t trust him, you knew he was up to something.

But the way you looked at him was off. It wasn’t the way Harry, Ron and Hermione did, it wasn’t full of the hatred you claimed to have. It was observant, keen, and almost soft. It was strange that Draco couldn’t quite place it.

“I don’t hate you.” You said suddenly to him one day on your way down to the greenhouse. It was hot out, the sound of birds and laughter around you. “I hate your father, but I don’t hate you.”

Draco just stared at you, your hair was glowing in the sunlight, your lips glistened with lip balm, you peered up at him expecting him to say something.

“I just thought you should know.” You finished before continuing down the slope. Draco stood frozen for a moment.

“Wait!”

You stopped turning back to the boy as he took quickened steps towards you. “What?” you asked when he reached you.

“I’m sorry y/n, about everything.” He said, “I really am.”

You paused biting your bottom lip, “I know.” you smiled softly.

You nodded to Draco in the hallways again. You sat next to each other in Herbology and you talked quietly in the dead of night. Draco felt his affection towards you grow with each smile and look his way. You knew what was pierced into his skin but you never mentioned it, instead, you talked about meaningless things like quidditch games ad muggle music. Draco became your escape from the real world. He reminded you of when things were easy if they ever were.

�� It was late May. The crickets and frogs at the edge of the black lake were loud in your ears. You and Draco lay side by side in the dewy grass, your robes dampening as you stared up at the stars. It had been your idea, star gazing, you did it for the astronomy tower often but it was different out on the grass, it was better.

You felt Dracos hand twitch beside yours, his thumb brushing the top of your palm. Without thinking much you reached out and grabbed it, eyes still glued on the sky.

Draco felt his face heat at the feeling of your hand in his own, your skin was soft, it felt good to have your fingers intertwined with his own. He turned his head to look at you. The stars reflected in your eyes, your hair splayed around you as moonlight carved your face with delicate slopes and ridges. You were so incredibly gorgeous.

You felt his stare turning to meet his eyes. You stayed still for a second a soft wind rippling the grass around you. Your heartbeat droned in your ears, its beat slowly increasing as you stared into deep pools of icy grey.

Draco broke the silence his grip on your hand tightening, “I’m in love with you y/n.”

You didn’t move, you didn’t even look surprised, your eyes continued to flick around his face as if you were looking for something. You moved closer to him, your heartbeat so loud the sound of crickets drowned out behind it. You were inches form him when you finally spoke, your eyes trained on his, staring deep into his thoughts. “I know.” your voice was a whisper, breath fanning over his face.

Draco leaned forward, waiting for you to stop him but you didn’t. Your eyes slipped closed and you met slowly. Your lips were smooth and soft against Draco’s slightly chapped ones, your hands found their way to his hair as his wrapped around your neck pulling you close to him. The kiss was sweet and slow, he tasted minty and warm. Your tongue swiped his bottom lip and they parted allowing you to deepen the kiss as he tugged lightly on your hair.

You broke apart slowly, breath mingling as you stared into his eyes, “I need you Draco.” you mumbled pulling yourself into his embrace.

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

Masterlist

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #draco imagine #draco malfoy x reader #sirius black #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader

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telaraneas · 4 years ago

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man i have so many words about homestuck but no one to talk to about it with. aimless ramble about classpects under the cut (disclaimer that other people have probably said the same things in much more concise ways, i literally finished homestuck like 3 days ago)

so, the way i actually understand aspects and classes in homestuck is that aspect = themes and class = arc. so, like, class and aspect as i think of them are not assigned as a role to play per se, like, they're not prophetic, they're descriptive. ive been reading a lot of old forum discussions from early act 6 because i crave whatever speculation and live analysis was going on at the time. and back then there was a lot of, for instance, "i wonder what the prince class is supposed to do, since eridan probably fucked it up" and im sitting here with the benefit of living almost a decade later and having read the entire story by that point, and im like, no, see, it's actually impossible to "fail" at your class in my opinion because they're descriptive, not predictive. so whatever a character did by the time homestuck actually ended (...with the caveat that i havent yet read the epilogues or the sequel), that was what they were supposed to do in the game/story, because like. that IS what they did.

like in the same way we have descriptive words for specific character archetypes in fiction, because i do think classpects are basically just That, like, for example, (to go. really really basic) princess peach in the original mario game may be a shitty female character but she's a perfect representation of the damsel in distress archetype. the "damsel in distress" denomination here is descriptive of the role she plays in the story of that game (to the extent it has one), whether or not it was consciously written that way, and it's assigned from the outside looking in at the finished game, not necessarily written from the outset to be that way. eg how inexperienced authors often end up writing what is commonly described as "mary sue" characters, even though most of them do not deliberately set out to write characters like that, obviously. the term "mary sue" here is descriptive, not prescriptive (and ofc the term itself has been dilluted to the point it's barely useful, this was just an example)

so like, an author may set out to write a character in a specific way, or to fill a specific role, and they may succeed or they may not; but a reader analyzing the story will interpret the story as they see fit, and will be the judge of how THEY would describe the characters. ofc interpretations may vary from reader to reader, but generally speaking when it comes to the role a character plays in the story, eg do they have agency, what function do they have towards advancing the plot, what are the dominant themes and ideas of the story and how does this character play into it etc etc will, at least to the individual reader, be informed by the work as a whole, not by the author's intent. the character's actions in the work as a whole as written by the author and interpreted by the reader speak for themselves.

i think i've gotten lost somewhere along the line here. this is all true and part of what i meant to say but i cant figure out how to connect it to my point. which is that i think the classes arent meant so much as rpg classes that dictate what you are capable of doing, so much as they're a descriptive label that sums up the role a character plays in the story. like the time loop stuff, it's not that a character MUST fulfill their role, it's that they already HAVE from the perspective of the finished story taken as a whole.

anyways all of this that ive said about classpects being descriptive and not prescriptive is ignoring the very obvious reality that homestuck itself was not written from the outside looking in, but in fact was often improvised from what i can tell, especially in regards to the arcs and themes of the more minor characters such as the trolls, but ofc it has the benefit that because its author is the one coming up with the classpect system in the first place, it gets to set its own definition. so in effect, the classpects in homestuck are self-descriptive; each title is an intrinsically correct description of the character's arc and themes, in the exact same way that the character's NAME is an intrinsically correct description of what the character is called. i think this is the whole reason why afaik there hasnt actually been explicit descriptions of what most of the classes do, and why there were only like 3 or 4 explicit in-universe descriptions of the classes, because if hussie said that a character's class means exclusively X thing, and then that character goes and does Y instead and never does X, then the story has contradicted itself

but instead, by keeping most of them vague, the classes become inherently self-descriptive. it's impossible to say that character A has failed their role as class B, because character A is part of the definition of class B. self-descriptive

(like how once in the adventure zone travis mentioned being shocked that people online were saying that something his character did was "out of character", to which he answered something to the effect of "what do you MEAN it's out of character, i write the character and he did that!". whatever actions character A takes are, by definition, in-character for character A; if this doesn't sit right with the viewer, they may say that this makes them an incoherent and/or badly written character, but by definition the character IS defined by the actions as written by the author. self-descriptive)

bringing it back to the eridan example, it's impossible for eridan to "fail" at being a prince of hope; eridan IS the prince of hope, and thus, whatever he did IS "what the prince of hope was supposed to do", which in this case meant being someone whose character is defined and tortured by his own hopes, beliefs, and convictions, until he reaches a breaking point and destroys his own aspect not just for himself but for those around him.

without context as to what a prince is "supposed" to do, it's easy to assume he must have failed in his role because of how he very literally destroyed the presence of hope in the part he played of the story, but in-universe the classes are descriptive and not prescriptive: eridan is the prince of hope BECAUSE of the role he played in the story, not in spite of it.

in any case, this whole mess is my way of saying that this is why assigning class and aspect to characters from non-homestuck media is, for me at least, very fun and illuminating! because, while in homestuck they may be self-descriptive, for non-homestuck media they are inherently just descriptive. you just need to analyze the characters, as you, the reader, understand them, and pinpoint their core essence as a character via their character arc and dominant themes. and it can illuminate interesting parallels, trends and contrasts in the story as it exists. it's kind of like a birds eye view character analysis cheat sheet and that makes it very fun dkfnekmf

#homestuck #classpect #man idk what to tag this as #sushi original #on this same note i have very many words about vriska and why i think gambling and luck is actually a void thing and not a light thing #tldr being that vriskas power upon ascention is that she no longer relies on luck at all #light is not luck as a variable it is fortune as in concrete fate. as i interpret it the defining Thing for light aspect is 'certainty'

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sweeethinny · 4 years ago

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Advices

someone had asked me to write about James asking Harry for loving advice during his Yule Ball, and inspired by @startanewdream fics, I wrote this :)

tell me what you think :)

AO3

‘‘Dad! ’’ James sighed as if he had been guarding the air for hours, looking relieved to see his father in the mirror. ‘’I’ve been calling you for hours!’’

‘’James, not a minute ago.’’ Harry laughed, albeit a little worried. James barely wrote letters that were more than 10 centimeters, something terrible must have happened for him to use the mirror. ''Did something happen?''

‘’Something horrible!’’ His son sighed, his brown eyes looking alarmed. ‘’Can you meet me at Hogsmeade? I don’t want to talk about it in the mirror.’’

‘’James, is it really terrible? Something about Lily? With Albus? Did anyone threaten you?!’’ Harry was already on his feet, ready to Apparate near Hogwarts and protect his children like a dragon mother.

‘’We’re all fine… well, I heard Albus was caught out of bed, but nothing much.’’ The son shrugged. ‘’So, are you coming? I know it's not exactly the date yet, but I need to see you. Alone.''

''Oh Jamie… what did you get into?'' Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying to imagine what could be that time.. The last one was when he and his friends were caught in the Forbidden Forest taking care of a phoenix, then there was that one when he fought with a Ravenclaw after hearing that Greg was speaking ill of Albus… James was a good boy, and very intelligent for his own safety, but sometimes, Harry felt that he had inherited much of the Weasley blood.

‘’Dad, I just need your help.’’ His son asked, looking calmer now, his voice lower, and his shoulders relaxed, and if Harry didn’t know him, he would say he looked almost miserable.

‘’Alright… I’ll go.’’

[...]

The next day, Harry had entered McGonagall's office and asked him and James to leave the school quickly for lunch, for a private conversation. Needless to say, the principal looked at the ex-student as if he was still 15 years old and was hiding that, in fact, he was going to fight in the Ministry.

‘’Thanks for coming,’’ The boy said, following Harry through Hogsmeade, not unlike the James they had left on the platform a few months ago. ‘’I thought you couldn’t get me out of there… But you’re Harry Potter, of course you can.’’

‘’James, don’t try to win my heart.’’ He warned him, even though he wanted to laugh. ‘’We can’t always do this, so I really hope this is important.’’

‘’It’s important!’’ The two entered the Three Broomsticks, walking over to the back table that Harry had reserved for them. Some teachers and visitors stared at them, as always, but as soon as they sat down, Harry surrounded them with a muffling charm, thinking that maybe James didn't want his problem to come out in tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

‘’What happened then?’’ The son twisted a little ashamed, which was unusual for that extroverted boy who spoke at the elbows and was so articulate that Harry sometimes wondered if it was really his son.

‘’How did you invite mom to the Yule Ball?’’ Oh… Harry realized then, what was the urgency. He sighed, thinking that while he wanted to laugh, he wanted to hug his son, a little desperate that James was old enough to ask girls out, and that he was still coming to ask his father for help.

‘’Hm… I didn’t invite her, actually.’’ Harry grimaced, remembering his 14 year old self who was much more insecure, morose and introverted. But James also reminded him very much of himself, even though a year older, his son had been in a bad mood for the past few months - fortunately, not because he was being tortured and being discredited after seeing a colleague die. James was just a teenager.

''Not?! She who invited you?’’

‘’Actually… we didn’t go together.’’ His son’s face seemed to fall with the news, and Harry took advantage of the shock to wave to the waitress, ordering two beers. ‘’I went with another girl, and she went with Neville.’’

‘’What’s your problem? Why didn’t you invite mommy? Or, okay, I get it, you were afraid to invite her and she would say no.'' James looked hopeful, which Harry thought was a little strange, since his kids knew their parents hadn't fallen in love since the first time they if they saw each other, or anything like that they saw in Muggle films.

‘’Well… I didn’t like her. Not like that, at least. I liked another girl, and your mom still couldn't get close to me without blushing or stuttering, so…’’ Harry shrugged. ‘’Thank you.’’ He smiled at the waitress, who broke into their protection circle and placed the beers in front of each other.

‘’So, did you invite her?’’ James asked as soon as the woman left. ‘’You liked her.’’

‘’I invited, but she already had another partner.’’ Harry shrugged, laughing at the memory of him being a fool and asking Cho out.

‘’Oh…’’ Then James cringed, as he did a few times when he was upset, looking at the glass in front of him and seeming to think about several things at once. ‘’So… did you call another girl?’’

‘’Hm, yes… Why?’’

''How did you do it? I mean .. call another girl, even if you liked the other one?’’

‘’We were like friends.’’ Harry shrugged, a little awkward to deal with the situation, realizing that his son’s problem was not just the shame of inviting someone to the ball. ‘’Well, at least I saw her only as a friend… Why? Anyone in particular?’’

‘’There’s this girl…’’ James still didn’t look at his father, his cheeks slightly flushed. ‘’I… I like her, and we are… we get to know each other,’’ Harry thought it looked like much more than just two acquaintances, but he wouldn’t disturb his son. ''But when I went to invite her, she had already agreed to go with another guy... I mean, I took too long and I think she thought I was inviting her because I had no choice.'' James ran his hand over his face, looking almost in pain. Harry's heart sank into his chest. ‘’I was late because I wanted to be nice when I called her, I even bought chocolates.’’ The boy laid his face on the table, looking totally miserable now.

‘’James…’’

‘’I was an idiot, that's what.’’ He said, his voice muffled against the wood. ‘’I should have known that a girl like her didn’t have all the time in the world to wait for my good will.’’

‘’Why don’t you tell her that?’’ Harry tried, trying hard not to actually get up and hug his son.

‘’And humiliate me even more? No thanks.’’ James raised his head from the table, but kept looking down, his hands running nervously through his hair.

‘’You can call a friend.’’ Harry thought of Mira, James’s friend that he had great affection for. But maybe it was because the girl was just too kind and smart, and she always seemed to be ready to keep James from being expelled - besides she was the one who took the phoenix to Hogwarts and spent almost a year trying to tame the bird.

‘’Yeah… maybe I’ll call Rosalia.’’ James looked at him, and Harry almost let on his disappointment.

‘’Just be kind and don’t charge yourself too much... Ask to speak to her alone, in case she is surrounded by friends.. ’’

‘’..They always are.’’

‘’..And invite her. But don’t let her think that she’s your last option, no one likes that.’’

‘’Ok.’’ His son didn’t look very happy, but he nodded. ''Thanks.''

‘’James… I’m sure you’ll find another time to ask this girl out, and then you can try to have something, or just decide to be colleagues. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll know how to handle the situation.’’

| DURING THE YULE BALL… |

As the songs went on, his excitement seemed to increase to the point where his cheeks and throat hurt from laughing and singing, so when Mira pulled him to get a buttered beer, he let himself go, accompanying her through the sea of people like a fool in love that he was.

''They're good.'' James talked about the famous band that played, leaning on the wall next to the table and crossing his legs, he didn't even know where he left his cape anymore and he didn't mind being wearing only his black vest and the shirt. He swallowed a good amount of beer before noticing that Mira was staring at him. ''What's it?''

‘’Nothing, just thinking you’re a great party buddy’’ She shrugged and also took the drink, oblivious to the fact that his chest ached with anticipation ‘’It’s hot here, don’t you think? I'm sweating.’’ Her cheeks were flushed and red was running dangerously down her long neck, where James did not want to venture out, knowing his weaknesses.

‘’Do you want to go outside?’’ He nodded towards the gardens.

‘’Nah, I still want to hear them play Wicked Game.’’ He nodded, wanting to be where she was. ‘’I was really abandoned at my first dance,’’ Mira seemed to speak more to herself than to James, so he just remained silent, looking at her curiously. ''Is weird.''

‘‘Don’t be dramatic, I’m here.’’ The blonde laughed nasally and looked at him, eyebrow raised as she approached and leaned next to his, very close.

‘’You’re not my date.’’ He shrugged and drank his beer, wanting to tell her that he wanted her to go.

‘‘Pretend I am. ’’ Her black eyes looked at him as if he said there was a dead body in his room.

‘’You already have one.’’ Mira reminded him, and his laugh came out without any humor, and he wouldn’t doubt that his face was twisted in a frown.

‘’Who kissed me thinking of another.’’ At the same time he regretted having verbalized, denying and messing up his hair ‘‘Forget it. Do you want to go dancing?’’

‘’Did she do that?’’ Of all he wanted, Mira’s pitying look wasn’t one of them.

‘’Don’t look at me like that Hazel, I’m not a fucking child who fell down the stairs.’’ Admitting that he was upset wasn’t in his plans, it never was, so she couldn’t expect the opposite from him now. Besides, he had also thought of Mira when he kissed Rosalia, so he was not a complete saint.

''It's not me you're mad at, besides, I can't pretend I'm not furious.'' James almost lost his eyes to face his friend, who left her mug on the table and crossed her arms over her chest, looking over their heads, or at least those she could manage.

''Furious?''

‘’Yeah, how could she do that? I understand she is still getting over the breakup with Nicholas, now, do this to you? No, no, this is playing dirty. Why the hell weren't you honest and.. ’’

‘’..Mira, you don’t need to pick up my fights for you,’’ James took her arm, getting too close for his own sanity ‘’I'm fine, okay? It was nothing.''

‘’This is so stupid James, I don’t believe it.’’ Merlim would help him not to shut that girl up with a kiss. Now he wanted to kiss.

Before he did anything stupid, he decided to do something worse, when he noticed that a bewitched mistletoe grew on top of them, as Michael had said that happened whenever a couple was very close at the ball. And before his conscience shut him up, he let his impulsive part take over;

‘’Oh ... you know the tradition, right?’’ It didn’t give him even a second to want to undo the stupid phrase, wanting to punch himself.

Mira's eyes widened and her cheeks were almost the color of her lipstick, looking shocked by what her friend had said, hardening in his hand and momentarily looking like a statue.

‘’Hm… ’’

‘’..It’s a joke.’’ And as if the world was trying to fix its shit, Ghost Tears announced that they would sing the song they had been waiting for all night; Wicked Game. ‘’Hey, let’s dance.’’

And without looking too much into the blonde's face, or caring about the fact that his heart was beating so fast that he wouldn't be shocked if he fell hard on the floor, he carried her into the middle of the room again and adjusted himself to dance, placing the hand on her waist as they had rehearsed. His heart trembling with their proximity, and how beautiful Mira was, even closer. He would dream for months about that blue dress and that cleavage.

‘’Shall we dance?’’ Mira asked, seeming to bite a laugh. And if James hadn't been willing to look at the band, a little embarrassed, he would see how hopeful she looked.

‘’Yes ... I mean ... if you want ..’’ He finally looked at her, staring into the big dark eyes contrasting with the pale skin.

''Yea, sure.'' Mira smiled from ear to ear, no longer seeming to care that Scott abandoned her in the middle of the ball. In fact, she looked even happier now, which made James, still happier than hours ago.

#hinny #harry!dad #harry being a father #James Sirius Potter #hp next gen #harry potter next generation #next gen harry potter #next gen hp prompt #Harry Potter

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first-and-last-neocount · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 5

Aaaand here we are, second offering in the Escape!AU, though this is... third I think?... if we’re going by internal chronology of what I’ve got so far. I’m not even going to try to track that as we go, though, because of the whole still-adding-more-as-I-go-along thing. I’ll figure that shit out when the AO3 post gets made, lol.

Have some EVEN MORE FEELINGS realization, friends! And also some sad, because y’know, Whumptober.

With the rest of Damien’s family being pagan, I also had this headcanon that his relationship with them was pretty well trashed after he joined the Church, and that the Matriarch of Ganji had kind of... honorarily adopted him, and that they were still super close, and that’s why she backed him so firmly against the Patriarch’s bullshit. Having that headcanon, though, made me wonder - what must she have thought, when she heard about certain developmens?

Day 5 - Theme Chosen: Betrayal

Damien eyed the pile of letters with some trepidation. He had only meant to grab a few belongings from his rented room in Jaggonath before abandoning it permanently – the world needed to believe that he and Gerald had perished at Mount Shaitan, so he couldn't exactly tell the landlord that he wasn't coming back, but he'd wanted to pick up a few of the items he'd brought with him across the Dividers before he and Gerald left the city for good. He hadn't expected a pile of letters to be laying on the front hall rug, having clearly accumulated during the journey to Shaitan and back.

Gerald was currently at Alesha Huyding's house, convincing the woman to let them take the rest of Senzei's journals on the Iezu for their own project. They were supposed to meet at Karril's temple in less than an hour; Damien definitely didn't have time to read these all. He scooped the pile off the floor and started flipping through them quickly, discarding the majority of them at a glance. Most of them were notes from his fellow clergy members at the Jaggonath Cathedral, wondering where he'd disappeared to; there were a few unpaid bills from local merchants, and one heavy linen envelope with a golden seal that he knew must be his official notice of excommunication. The sight of it made his chest ache, but it was nothing compared to the shock that ran through him at the last letter.

The envelope from the very bottom of the stack was also fine quality, though it lacked the ostentatious gold seal, instead being tied shut with a red ribbon. Even at a glance, though, Damien recognized the delicate hand that had traced out the address of the Jaggonath Cathedral – it seemed the letter had gone there first, and been redirected to his temporary apartment when the messenger learned that Damien was no longer employed by the Church.

The letter was from the Matriarch of the Cathedral in Ganji-on-the-Cliffs.

Guilt pooled in his chest like icy water, and Damien cursed softly. Stuffing the two Church envelopes in his jacket pocket, he left the rest of the letters on the kitchen table and went to gather what he'd come for in the first place. There would be time enough later to deal with the two he'd kept; neither of them, he suspected, were going to be an easy read.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He ended up putting off looking at the letters for a few days. Between gathering everything they would need to get them to another city, and tying up any loose ends they'd left behind, he actually managed to more or less forget about the envelopes tucked away in his pocket. Gerald had decided that their best bet was to head back northeast, retracing their steps yet again to get some distance from Jaggonath now that they had what they needed from the city; Damien wasn't any more keen on running into any familiar faces than the adept was, and agreed that it was probably the safest plan. Ensuring that they remained anonymous was enough to keep his mind occupied on the road, and it wasn't until they stopped at a dae three nights later that he remembered.

They'd both had their fill of sleeping on the unforgiving ground as winter crept closer again, and when the dae had come into view, they had agreed with only a glance that they could afford the minor risk of dealing with the residents if it meant getting to sleep in proper beds for a night. Damien negotiated for their rooms while Gerald saw that the horses were stabled comfortably, and they met up in the common room of the dae, at a small table in the corner farthest from the light of the fire. As they sat down, though, Damien made to tuck the room key into his pocket – and his fingers brushed the envelopes still tucked into his jacket.

Either his face had shown his dismay or Gerald had felt it through their link, because the adept turned to look at him immediately, grey eyes narrowed in concern.

“What's wrong?”

“It's nothing urgent, just...” Damien pulled the letters out, feeling dread settle into his gut like a stone. “There were some letters that had been slipped under my apartment door, when I went back to get my things. Most of them weren't important, but I kept these two. I meant to look at them later that day, but – I forgot.”

Gerald's gaze fell on the golden seal of the Cathedral on the top one, and Damien heard his sudden, sharp breath. The former Knight's mouth twisted in a bitter half-smile.

“Yeah, I think we both know what that one is. This one, though...”

He pulled the other envelope out and set it on top, his heart in his throat. Gerald frowned at it, then glanced up at him.

“Who is this one from?”

“The Matriarch. In Ganji,” Damien whispered. “I wrote to her when we were sailing back from the Eastern Continent, telling her everything that had happened. The Master of Lema, what we'd discovered about the rakh, the Undying Prince... you.”

The adept went very still. He was rather like a hunting hawk in that way, a distant part of Damien's mind observed; when they laid eyes on their prey, such birds would freeze, in a manner that could look almost like a prey response itself unless one knew what to look for. In reality, the bird was preparing for the swift, sure, devastating movement of an attack – but the only warning you would get was that unnatural stillness.

“This is her response.” The soft words weren't a question. Damien sighed deeply, rolling his shoulders back in a fruitless attempt to shed some of the tension.

“Yes. And probably more, given that I'm fairly sure the Patriarch wrote to her as well – she likely knows by now that I've been thrown out of the Order, even if she hasn't yet heard about our... tragic demises.” He looked up and forced himself to meet Gerald's gaze steadily, feeling the prickling anticipation through the bond, the chill creeping over his skin. When he spoke, he kept his voice very low, not wanting to speak too loudly even though Gerald had put up a Warding when they sat down that would keep anyone from eavesdropping on them.

“I know you're hungry. Take what you need. This is going to be miserable for me either way.”

Gerald's eyes flashed, but the adept only inclined his head slightly, a silent gratitude. Damien swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat, then reached with shaking hands to untie the ribbon and unfold the letter.

My dear son,

I hope you will forgive my informality. I know that, as the Holy Mother, I ought to have worded this more properly – but at the moment, I care nothing for propriety, so long as I can reach you.

Your letters have given me enough nightmares for a lifetime. This demon that conspires to corrupt our world, Calesta, is all that the Church most dreads; not a passive evil, but an all too active one, darkening the minds of men and swaying them to its nefarious cause. I was horror-struck to learn of the men and women that willingly served it, and what it plans for our world, but those concerns too have paled in comparison to the chill that fell over me when I read what you had written of our fallen Prophet.

Damien. If ever you felt, as I did, that our bond was that of true family – that you were my son in more than the titles that the Church proscribes, that I cared for you as I would have for a child of my flesh – then I beg of you, in the name of that bond... turn aside. I do not need it written out to know that you hope to save Gerald Tarrant, to redeem him from his dark deeds and guide him back into the light of God. I cannot stress enough how much I fear for you if you pursue such a path. There are some choices that a man cannot make without altering who he is forever, and some roads are too dark to retrace one's steps. You cannot save him. God's greatest gift is forgiveness, but a man such as that will not accept it, for to do so he would have to admit that his deeds require forgiveness – to admit that he has become a monster, and repent of what he has done. A man like Gerald Tarrant can never do that.

If you try to save him, I am certain that he will poison you. Slowly, no doubt, and subtly, for to have survived all that he has the Hunter must be a devious creature indeed – but inexorably, and perhaps, irrevocably. I know you, Damien, and your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness; your incredible determination. It has carried you through so much adversity, and it held you to our faith and cause when your family would have dragged you away... but I fear that it will also keep you from recognizing when you are outmatched, and hold you to your resolve to alter his nature, even as his corruption takes hold. If you are focused only on his redemption, you may not see what is happening until it is too late.

Please come home, Damien. I know it goes against everything we preach, but this once, I reach out to you and speak not as the Holy Mother, but simply as a mother. Come home. Let another fight this war; let the Hunter carry this burden alone, if you truly believe he wishes to make amends. We are all of us sworn to give our lives for the Church, but I beg of you, not like this.

Come home.

With all my love and prayers,

Carla

No title. No Holy Mother. Not her regnal name, Aelia II. Just her given name, as a mother might sign a desperate letter to her son.

Damien didn't know when he'd started to cry, but his eyes burned by the time he reached the end; his cheeks were wet, and his chest ached from staying quiet, even as his whole body shook with silent sobs. He dropped the letter on the table and pressed his hands over his face, past caring if his distress was obvious. No one else in the room was going to notice anything with the Obscuring still in place, and it wasn't as if Gerald needed the visual cues to know that he was upset – with the way he felt, in that moment, the grief and guilt had to be flooding out of him like blood from an arterial wound, staining the fae around him black and crimson.

He'd known, since the night he braved Hell itself to bring the Hunter back, that he was turning his back on everything he'd ever cared for. Not merely his faith, intangible as it was, but also his home, his friends, and his family.

Perhaps his parents and brother would not have disowned him for the choices he had made on this quest – but it was years too late for that to matter, after the way they had fallen out when Damien chose to join the Church. The faith of the One God had forced Damien to distance himself from their aggressively pagan lifestyle, and they had seen his choice as a betrayal, a self-righteous attack on their way of life instead of the deeply personal calling Damien had felt it to be. The only thing that had gotten him through that loss and upheaval had been the support of a woman who, at the time, was just another priestess at the Ganji Cathedral. Mother Carla had been his bedrock of support, his sponsor in the seminary and a gentle voice of reassurance whenever Damien felt himself faltering; by the time Damien was Knighted, she had ascended to the Holy Mother's seat as Matriarch Aelia II, and their bond had been unshakable. It had been Carla who recommended Damien for the experimental program teaching young Workers in Jaggonath, who had seen him off with a warm smile and the assertion that she knew he would do well, and that he would return to Ganji-on-the-Cliffs having shaped a whole generation of new minds.

And Damien had betrayed her.

It wasn't what he meant to do, but what did intent matter when measured against the cold facts of the outcome? He had betrayed the faith they held in common by choosing to forgive the Hunter's centuries of crimes; he had betrayed the Church they both served by thwarting Andrys's attempt at vengeance and helping Gerald elude the Crusade; he had betrayed the personal trust she had placed in him by deserting his duty and turning his back on the very principles that he himself had once preached to the Church's young followers. She had sent him east to further the vision of the Church, and instead he had struck it one of the most staggering blows it had suffered in centuries. She had reached out to him in compassion and love, ready to absolve him of every responsibility if he only turned back... but even if the letter had reached him in time, Damien knew in his heart that it still wouldn't have altered his course.

That, surely, was the bitterest betrayal of all – the knowledge that seared through him and left him shaking and cold and sick. That letter hadn't said anything that he hadn't already, on some level, known; he had held all those arguments with himself a thousand times, those long lonely nights on the road to Mount Shaitan. He had recognized the risk that his own stubbornness was blinding him, recognized that his judgement and morals were compromised, recognized that he was nearing the point of no return. Even with all of that, though, when the moment of choice had come – he hadn't even hesitated. He'd seen the murderous rage in Andrys Tarrant's eyes, known that it was the reckoning for all of Gerald's sins, and he'd still stepped in front of the bolt.

He might not have surfaced from that yawning abyss of despair for a long time, if not for the gentle sensation that ran along the link between himself and Gerald. Unlike the assertive, even imperious force that Damien was used to from the Hunter's power, this was softer, almost inquisitive; a coaxing tug, instead of a firm push. He was still too badly shaken to muster any kind of coherent response within his mind, and a moment later, he felt an equally gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Damien.”

With an effort, the former Knight swallowed back the sounds of pain he wouldn't allow himself to make and lifted his head, blinking through tears at his companion. Gerald had shifted his chair and was sitting close by his side now, one hand raised for that steadying grip on his shoulder, and the look on the adept's face took what little breath Damien had regained away; genuine concern, traces of sorrow and guilt – unmistakable compassion, raw and unpractised and honest. A more human expression than the Hunter's face had worn in centuries, one that no one else would even have believed him capable of.

Damien realized, quite suddenly, that his heart was beating so forcefully that it might have been trying to break free of his ribcage.

He heard himself speak, without consciously deciding to do so.

“I wouldn't change it. Even if I knew, if I could go back and do it again, I wouldn't choose any differently.”

Gerald's grip tightened on his shoulder, and for a moment he just held Damien's gaze, silent. Damien could see the thoughts racing behind his quicksilver eyes, and even with the link, he couldn't read them all – but suddenly he knew, with a certainty so firm that it had to be resonating through the link, that someday he would be able to. They'd been operating on the unspoken understanding that Damien would be helping Gerald fulfill his new goal of establishing proper communication with the Mother of the Iezu, and that their work would keep them together for some time yet, but in that moment Damien knew that it was more than that. He hadn't just chosen betrayal for its own sake, in that moment in the Hunter's Keep; he'd chosen Gerald, and that choice was always going to be there, just like the link that hummed between their souls. They were walking the same path now, and wherever it lead, they would be treading it side by side.

Finally, Gerald spoke, his voice soft but ever so steady; the unwavering voice of a man who had stared Death in the face, and made it bow to him.

“I don't know that I can ever find a way to repay you for that... but I swear, on my life, that I will never make you regret it.”

Damien reached up and took the hand that had gripped his shoulder in his own, lacing their fingers together, the Hunter's once-chill hand now almost warm against his own.

“That's good enough for me.”

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #Betrayal #coldfire trilogy #fic #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #the neocount writes

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vajranam · 4 years ago

Text

Five Dakinis Families

All dakinis have extraordinary powers -- the worldly ones and those referred to as wisdom dakinis -- but only the motivation of the latter is completely pure. The life story of the Mahasiddha, Tilopa (988 - 1069) tells how after he met the dakinis who could manipulate appearances, he encountered the ones embodying the five activities, and then at last, in the heart of the mandala, The Wisdom Dakini, herself. The Life of Padmasambhava According to Yeshe Tsogyal describes a similar progression.

Tilopa Meets the Dakinis

The 4th Chetsang Rinpoche (1770-1862) of the Drikung Kagyu tells how the Bengali brahmin boy, Salyeu, out minding water buffalo, was visited by a "fearsome, ugly woman" who told him to ". . . herd buffalo And read scriptures. There you will find the prophecies of the Dakinis."

With this, she disappeared.

Some time later, while he was reading under a shapa [hat-shaped?] tree, she returned, and asked him to identify himself to her. He gave the appropriate, ordinary information, but she corrected him, saying:

"Your country is Oddiyana in the North; your father is Chakrasamvara; your mother is Vajrayogini: your brother is Pantsapana [Hind: Panchpana], and I am your sister, Bliss-giver. If you want to find the true buffalo go to the forest of the bodhi tree. There the stainless Dakinis hold the ear-whispered teachings."

He said, "If I go there, the Dakinis will pose obstacles and prevent me from succeeding." She said: "Yogi, you can get the teachings. You have received the predictions And kept the samaya vows."

Realizing she was a Dakini, he said: "The path is dangerous and I do not know how to traverse it." In reply she gave him a crystal ladder, a jeweled bridge, and a coral-handled key, saying: "I give you my blessings; depart without hesitation."

The young man, who would become known as Mahasiddha Tilopa, then crosses the country to reach Oddiyana where, using the magical tools, he negotiates a poison lake and the "iron wall of Ghandola." Then, he chooses the correct one of the three gates to the Temple of Ghandola and, using his coral key, he enters.

First, he meets nirmanakaya "stainless Dakinis Who desire flesh and blood." in their many fearsome forms that make terrible noises and threatening gestures, but he is not afraid. Frustrated, they fell into a faint, and when they regained their composure, they begged his forgiveness and admitted:

"We are to you as the butterfly to the lamp; The butterfly hopes to extinguish the lamp, But instead dies in the light. ... , ... ."

One among them continued: "I am just an ordinary being, without authority. If I do not ask our leader's permission to let you in, She will eat my flesh and drink my blood. Therefore, precious one, do not think unkindly of me."

Then, samboghakaya Loka Karma Dakinis appear, but by making the three threatening ritual gestures, Tilopa overpowers their faculties of body, speech and mind. They suffer the same as the previous group, and their leader, "a Minister," goes to announce him to the Queen. When she permits him to enter, he does not even bow but rather assumes a state of meditation, so the host of attending Dakinis get angry, saying:

"She is the blessed one, The mother of the Buddhas of the Three Times. Let us beat him Who shows no respect."

The Mother intervenes saying that he is ". . . . The father of the Buddhas of the Three Times. Even a rain of vajras . . . Could not destroy him. Therefore I will give him the teachings."

She instructs him in prana [breath/energy] and other unrecorded things, but he insists on more, and Tilopa says that he wants " . . . the perfect teaching. The stainless bliss, the great secret Of the ordinary and the extraordinary."

She then agrees to confer the three wish-fulfilling gems including the self-arising body of co-emergent Wisdom and Means united; the speech that is the 7-syllable self-arising emerald in the Dharmakara, and the 5-pointed vajra jewel of self-arising mind, but only if he can understand the signs. The host of Dakinis express their doubt that he will be able to understand the signs, but Tilopa responds directly to the Mother, that he has 3 special keys, and that they are:

1. The self-liberation key of samaya that grants access to "the light of wisdom which dispels the darkness of ignorance, And to self-awareness, self-arising, ad self-clarity."

2. "the key of experience Which opens the door to the mind-as-such, Self-appearing clarity which is ever unborn, . . . ." and

3. "the key of experience of the realized yogi" that opens the door to "Mind-as-such, Dharma-as-such, and Dharmakaya."

At that the Dakinis rejoice and hold a Ganachakra feast in which they prepare the sindhura (vermillion powder) mandala and further empower him by means of both oral and mental transmissions. They give him 13 distinct tantras for the future benefit of beings including Tantra of Vajra Dakini, Tantra of Sangwai Zo and Tantra of Vajradhara Self-appearance. Then they liken him to a bird and, having addressed him as Chakrasamvara and as Prajnabadra, they beg him to remain with them.

Knowing the future, Tilopa explains that he must return to Tsukgi Norbu (Crest Jewel) Monastery "For the spiritual sons Naropa, Ririkasori and others."

As he was leaving, a formless Dakini bestowed 9 special objects with instructions to:

1. "loosen the knot of the mind"

2. "act like a sword striking water"

3. "chase the sun of realization" [a lasso?]4. "see samaya in the mirror of your mind" 5. "see that the light of awareness is wisdom"6. "turn the wheel of the channel and wind net" 7. "see the outer mirror equalizing taste" 8. "see the mahamudra [a seal?] of self-liberation" 9. hold "the jewel of great-bliss speech"

And that, according to the Drikung Kagyu, is "how Tilopa as a human being over- powered the Dakinis, and how he received the teachings. "

Consorts of Transcendent Buddhas

Tibetan Buddhism acknowledges, besides the historical Buddha Siddhartha Gautama Shakyamuni (532-486 BCE) other buddhas (awakened ones/fully aware ones) of the past and the future. At the ultimate level of reality there are transcendental buddhas. These are thought of as five families or categories of buddhas.

Their female consorts are regarded as "enlightened wisdom" which, paired with the male aspect or "skillful means," give rise to the enlightened compassionate activity of the universe(s). Hence there are 5 major corresponding dakinis: Padma-Dakini, Buddha-Dakini, Ratna-Dakini, Karma-Dakini, and Vajra-Dakini or Vishva-Dakini (vajra-cross dakini.)

Dakinis of the Five Families

The Padma or lotus dakini is stocky with oily, pink skin.

She is talkative and lusty.

She controls gods, demons and men.

With her, the doors to rebirth in lower realms are closed.

Buddha (Sangye) dakini is bluish white.

She is smiling, placid and long-lived.

She confers longevity and rebirth in the dakini paradise.

Ratna or jewel dakini is tall, slim, golden- skinned with white hair.

She sings and dances.

She grants wealth and success in life.

With her the hell realms will be closed.

The Karma or activity dakini is white and radiant.

She is smiling, respectful,

trustworthy, and generous.

She grants worldly success and rebirth as a human.

Vajra (Dorje) or thunderbolt dakini is fair, flushed and radiant.

She has special marks such as 5 white moles at her brow.

Compassionate, pure, virtuous and devout, with her there is no falling into any lower realm.

[From John Stevens' Lust for Enlightenment (Shambala 1990) citing Dowman's Divine Madman.]

or Four Orders

The Sanglingma or Life of Padmasambhava According to Yeshe Tsogyal repeatedly makes reference to four orders.

The lowest order of dakini consists of beings who have not fully divorced themselves from the world of existence, samsara. This worldly kind of dakini is the sort that may behave like Tricksters -- sometimes helpful; at other times, mischief-making. These dakinis can appear as beautiful fairies or angels, but also as ghouls and demons.

or Five Sisters

In the life story of Padmasambhava, The 5 Tsering-ma were transformed from evil-doers who could manipulate beings by means of visual and auditory illusions into sworn and bound protectors of the dharma by the Guru.

From Thinley Norbu's Magic Dance: The Display of the Self-Nature of

the Five Wisdom Dakinis. (Shambhala, 1999):

Five Wisdom Sisters,

If we do not complement you,

You become five witches,

Making us ill and bringing us suffering.

Because we cannot banish you,

Always our fate depends on you.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

If we do complement you,

You become five angels,

Making us healthy and bringing us happiness.

Because we cannot separate from you,

Always our fate depends on you.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Nothing can be done without depending on your mood.

Farmers cannot grow their crops,

Politicians cannot rule their countries,

Engineers cannot work their machines,

Doctors cannot heal their patients,

Scientists cannot do their research,

Philosophers cannot make their logic,

Artists cannot create their art,

Without depending on your mood.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Nothing can be known without depending on your grace.

Tibetan lamas cannot chant with cool highland habit,

Indian gurus cannot sing with warm lowland habit,

Japanese roshis cannot sit with dark cushion habit,

Muslim sheikhs cannot dance with bright robed habit,

Jewish rabbis cannot pray with soft-voiced habit

Without depending on your grace.

Five Wisdom Sisters,

Even the most mysterious miracles cannot occur without complementing your purity.

Buddha Shakyamuni cannot rest with tranquil gaze of his lotus eyes underneath the Bodhi tree,

Guru Padmasambhava cannot play magically with countless sky-walking dakinis,

Lord Jesus cannot walk weightlessly across the water,

Prophet Moses cannot see the radiantly burning bush,

Brahmin Saraha-pa cannot straighten arrows, singing wisdom hymns with his arrow-maker girl,

Crazy saint Tilopa cannot eat fish and torture Naropa,

Greatest yogi Milarepa cannot remain in his cave, singing and accepting hardships

Without complementing your purity.

You are so patient.

Whoever wants to stay,

If you don't exist,

Cannot stay.

Whoever wants to go,

If you don't exist,

Cannot go.

Whoever wants to taste or touch,

If you don't exist,

Cannot taste or touch.

Whatever our actions,

You are always supporting

Patiently without complaining.

But we ignorant beings

Are always ungrateful,

Stepping on you,

Calling you Earth.

You are so constant.

Whoever wants to be purified,

If you don't exist,

Cannot be purified.

Whoever wants to quench their thirst,

If you don't exist,

Cannot quench their thirst.

Whoever wants to hear,

If you don't exist,

Cannot hear

Whatever our actions,

You are always flowing

Ceaselessly without complaining.

But we desiring beings

Are always ungrateful,

Splashing you,

Calling you Water.

You are so clear.

Whoever wants to fight,

If you don't exist,

Cannot fight.

Whoever wants to love,

If you don't exist,

Cannot love.

Whoever wants to see,

If you don't exist,

Cannot see.

Whatever our actions,

You are always glowing

Un-obscuredly without complaining.

But we proud beings

Are always ungrateful

Smothering you,

Calling you Fire.

You are so light.

Whoever wants to rise,

If you don't exist,

Cannot rise.

Whoever wants to move,

If you don't exist,

Cannot move.

Whoever wants to smell,

If you don't exist,

Cannot smell.

Whatever our actions,

You are always moving

Weightlessly without complaining.

But we envious beings

Are always ungrateful,

Fanning you,

Calling you Air.

You are so open.

Whoever wants to exist,

If you don't exist,

Cannot exist.

Whoever doesn't want to exist,

If you don't exist,

Cannot cease to exist.

Whoever wants to know phenomena,

If you don't exist,

Cannot know phenomena.

Whatever our actions,

You are always welcoming

Spaciously without complaining.

But we ignorant beings

Are always ungrateful,

Emptying you,

Calling you Space.

You are our undemanding slave,

Tirelessly serving us,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings

To fulfill our worldly wishes.

You are our powerful queen,

Seductively conquering us,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings,

Into desirable qualities.

You are our Wisdom Dakini,

Effortlessly guiding us with your magic dance,

From ordinary beings to sublime beings,

Into desireless qualities.

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #self care #zen #visualization #tibet

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blue-mood-blue · 5 years ago

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Klavier really should have expected something like this.

What was it that his family used to say about him? Something about having the best luck about the worst things, he thought, and wasn't that delightfully prophetic of them. His first case was the resounding success that collapsed the courts into the dark age of the law, his band gave him all of the fame he could ask for with decreasing returns on creative satisfaction, and his best friend of several years ago was standing in front of him in the hall on his first day back as a prosecutor.

His best friend who he had not spoken to since he left, and who was staring at him like he was a stranger. Klavier Gavin's luck struck again.

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Nearly seven years was plenty of time for a new degree and a new badge no matter how devastating the setback had been at the time, and it would have been ridiculous to expect Sebastian Debeste to be anywhere else after the work he put in. Klavier knew that time didn't stop for other people, just because he'd been gone - but it was a different feeling, confronted with the evidence that he'd missed things. He'd missed seven years of things, and in that moment it felt like a wholly unnecessary move.

Sebastian had grown his hair out. The ponytail was pulled around the side of his head, brown curls falling down the front of an outfit that said "professional" more than "student." He'd traded in the extendable pointer for a real conductor's baton, and his straight-backed posture seemed more relaxed and natural than a show at being something he wasn't. And he was tall - Klavier had stood at least a head above Sebastian the whole time they were at Themis, but Sebastian had inherited his father's height after all and was at least eye-to-eye with Klavier, if not a little taller.

He wasn’t sure he even really knew this person anymore, and the only person he could blame for that was himself.

"Ah," was his breathtakingly eloquent first syllable, followed by a too-long pause before the stunning follow up of, "Sebastian. How... nice to see you."

"Klavier." Was it worse that his voice was the same, that Klavier could tell from the way that Sebastian shifted his weight and glanced beyond him that he was uncomfortable? Even the things that were the same were different, because that voice used to greet him warmly and that hint of discomfort had always been directed at someone else. "I, uh, I hadn't heard you'd gotten back?"

He wouldn't have, he didn't say, because Klavier hadn't called. Not when the tour took off, not when it ended and they were recording at a studio that was maybe twenty minutes away if traffic was good, and not when Klavier decided now was a good time to upend his life again, because success just wasn't enough to keep him from looking behind him. He barely remembered that one last call, and he didn't remember at all if he'd said goodbye at the end of it. "Yeah, decided to keep the news off of social media for a while. No need to bring chaos to the office on my first day, right?" He flashed a winning smile, and only realized his mistake a moment later when Sebastian's frown deepened.

It was the smile he used for cameras and audiences, and something in Sebastian's face said he'd realized that. "Right. How com- ...considerate of you."

For a (nostalgic, silly) moment, Klavier wanted to know what the wrong word would have been. It was the kind of thing that used to get Seb mocked behind his back, but Klavier always found it kind of charming - a very human mistake from someone so anxious about being more than he was. Sebastian could make whatever claims about his skill he wanted to and puff up his chest like a little bird when he got praise in class, but Klavier preferred the boy who once accidentally called Professor Courte a first-rate protractor to her face, hidden behind all of the bluster and distraction.

It was too soon to say if that boy Klavier used to know was still in there, or if this more-refined version of his friend was a hint that Sebastian finally found a way to let that part of himself go. He could find out, he realized, and it would be as easy as letting the shine of stardom drop and asking if he could show Klavier around the office. If he was back anyway, if he was really thinking about making a second go at the prosecutor thing, then wasn't he allowed a second go at this, too? If Sebastian would let him. If they weren't too different now.

But that wasn't really what he was here for, was it?

"For heaven's sake, Klavier, I'm not asking you to give up your life for me. Keep that ridiculous band of yours if you really must. All I want is for someone I trust to keep an eye on my former subordinate - surely you've heard who he went running off to, and what that implies about his credibility. Surely you won't sit idly by while your brother is falsely imprisoned, or does upholding justice not mean as much to you anymore?"

He'd been back for five minutes, and it had only taken three of them to knock him into uncomfortable territory. Seven years of careful avoidance, and he hadn't gotten as far as the elevators before he was right back where he started. The whole ridiculous plan had been a mistake; let Kristoph prove his own conspiracy theories. For now, Klavier needed a quick getaway and a few hours of hiding in his office, away from the unfair distraction of those big, brown eyes.

"We could get coffee sometime?" Sebastian was fiddling with the baton, twirling it between his fingers instead of bending it to a dangerous degree. The smile on his face was nervous, but it was definitely a smile - small and unsure, but hopeful. Klavier felt pinned by it. "I mean, I'm sure you're busy so if you don't have time for that, I get it. It just seems like a nice opportunity, since you're in town and I'm... also. In town." The smile was not less genuine, even if it was starting to look a little strained.

"Coffee?" Klavier managed.

"Or tea. Or, uh. There's a new smoothie place down the road." The smile was very strained, and Sebastian twirled the baton faster. Alarmingly, Klavier felt the vice-grip on his chest tighten a little. "Yes fantastic, Sebastian, offer him a smoothie, Kay would be so proud." The mutter, which Klavier definitely wasn't supposed to hear but was too loud for him to ignore, coaxed something genuine to his own face.

An excuse. He needed any excuse that gave him time to dash for the elevators and freedom. Anything.

"I missed you."

Klavier didn't know which one of them said it. It hung in the air between them, almost echoed in the quiet hallway, and he knew the wide-eyed look on Sebastian's face was exactly mirrored on his own. It didn't seem to matter where it came from; it was true, either way.

Well, Klavier thought, somewhere between a dizzy kind of happy and a frantic kind of nervous, You're really in it now. Say hello to your day job for a while, rockstar. "I could do coffee," he said. "Or a smoothie, if you had your heart set on that."

Sebastian chuckled, and it sounded exactly like Klavier remembered. "Coffee is fine. I'm in the middle of a case right now, but maybe tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, when it finally sinks in that I have to get up early all the time, now? Sounds perfect." And, because Sebastian was starting to eye the elevators again and that felt like too little to leave him with: "I'm glad it was you."

"Me?" He cocked his head to the side; when his hair was shorter, the gesture would make his curls bounce. As it was, it still made him look like a curious bird, a description he pretended annoyed him when Klavier teased him about it.

"The first person I ran into, getting back. I'm glad that was you."

#ace attorney #sebastian debeste #klavier gavin #klavbastian #aa #aai2 #aai2 spoilers #for clarification!#in aa4 the judge says something about klavier returning #so my headcanon is that he pursued music after the gramarye case #and it was in part to run away from the fact that something about the case felt OFF #so there's been a seven year gap for him too #i've been wanting to write something for this pairing for a while #this won't be the last you'll see of it here

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judediangelo75 · 4 years ago

Text

How Talbott Dropped the Question

Hello everyone~

I have another fanfic featuring our resident bird boy at Hogwarts, Talbott. Ugh, I love him to death (and I would protect him at all costs). As most of you can guess by the title, this is how Talbott asked Judith to marry him. But of course there’s backstory, hope you don’t mind ^_^”.

Side note: This is kinda playing on the idea that the MC did run away.

Alright enough of my blabbering. Enjoy!

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

After the death of Talbott's parents, the young boy didn't want to let anyone else in his heart, fearing that he'll lose them too. Only other person who made him happy was a little girl that he never saw again after just one day together...

Coming to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw. He listened to Professor Flitwick give a welcome speech from the corner he resided in, watching everyone with cautious eyes.

Time seem to pass slowly. During that time, he befriended the most popular girl in his year, a Hufflepuff by the name of Penny Haywood. She was kind girl, a bit too preppy for his taste but he like the girl nonetheless. She was his only friend until his third year, where he met one of the Cursed Children, Judith Harris.

Anybody who read The Daily Prophet knows of what happened to best friends Jamal Harris and Jonah Brown.

How ironic that their sisters are best friends as well.

So they already had an infamous reputation preceding them.

Brooke ended up being sorted into his house. Judith had potential to become an Eagle as well, seeing how she experienced a Hat Stall between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. But she opted to become a Hufflepuff instead. Talbott was secretly glad for this development for awhile, seeing how her best friend was, he didn't believe that Ravenclaw could handle both of them at the same time.

At least, that's what he thought at first.

Hearing her voice for the very first time, Talbott was almost taken aback at how soft and almost shy it sounded. He had to look up from his book to make sure he was speaking to the right person. Sure enough, gold eyes bore into his own. Looking into her eyes, Talbott felt an unexplainable warmth inside his heart. He didn't understand it and pushed away as he interacted with the Hufflepuff witch.

As he slowly learns more about her, he realized that she was definitely more quieter and calmer than her scheming best friend. Though, he could tell she possess a sneaky side to her, judging by the smirks she would give him. As well as the mischievous spark that danced in those gold orbs.

During their time together helping her become an Animagus, Talbott watched her closely.

An old memory would come up to his mind where the little boy version of himself was watching the sunset in one of the trees the surrounded his home with a girl. He remembered promising her that he'll teach her to be just like him, hopefully that she would become an avian Animagus and they could go flying together. But they never got the chance to meet again, so Talbott thought he may never fulfill his promise...

Or so he thought.

It wasn't until after he got closer to Judith, after losing the necklace his mother gifted him, and following her to a graveyard is when he realized it.

That little girl was Judith.

Talbott couldn't believe that after all this time he was reunited with his little bird. He felt the feelings that he had as a child come back full force like a wrecking ball. To the point he found himself admiring the girl secretly from afar.

Words couldn’t describe his disappointment when Judith took down her locs. He loved them because it made her unique. It suited her. But he loved her hair in general, secretly yearning to tend to those dark brown curls...

His breath would catch in his throat whenever he sees her in top that reveals more of her skin and upper body. He noticed the scars that scatter on her chocolate skin. He would sometimes unconsciously curl his hands into fists whenever he feels the desire to touch and study her skin.

Sometimes when she's next to him or passing by, he finds himself taking in deeper breathes to take in the scent that seem to cling onto her hair and skin. She told him about her homeland and how the scent was mainly coconut and cocoa butter and he found himself secretly yearning for more of it. Where he wants to just to bury his face into her hair or her neck and just relax with her in his arms with that intoxicating scent wrapping around him.

He loved to look at her face. He could tell how she felt by her expression, some of them were just too funny not to chuckle at. Though one expression that gets him the most is when she pouts. He always does his best to look away or focus on some other part of her face, and not her tempting, full, soft lips...

There were times he found himself to be acutely aware of the sound of her voice. Especially when she sings, he would feel himself unconsciously relaxing to the sound of her voice then. If he didn't pay attention or hear her the one time that she was cursing Merula to hell and back, he could've sworn she was born and raised in Britain. But the foreign accent he remembers hearing as a child would slip on occasion. He liked how different it sounded, to him it was cute.

It wasn't until one day he finally realized what the hell was going on and why he feels like he gets butterflies every time she smiles at him-

He had a crush on her. A major crush on her...

And to his joy (and minor fear), she felt the same way about him too. Although he was happy about this development, he was also deeply confused. He was nothing like the other wizards at Hogwarts. Especially not like Andre, her Celestial Ball date.

He was loner and preferred it that way.

Plus... he wouldn't admit out loud that he was insecure about how he looked. With such sharp features for a 15 year old, a lot of people would give him strange looks. It didn't help that he hung out with the owls that the Owlery, people would whisper he was their long lost cousin.

To have a beautiful witch like Judith crush on the likes of him? He would've suspected some kind of prank.

But sure enough, when Judith shyly asked him out on a date, he sound himself at loss for words. And at the wrong time, since Madam Pince had them shelving books for being too loud. But when he spotted an opportunity, he called the girl over and said he accepted to go on a date with her. Her smile made him feel secretly excited for their date.

It was going to be a double date with Brooke and Penny. He was fine with that. He actually sought out the his friend's help, completely unsure of what to wear for his first date with his crush. They settled for a dark blue tux, a bronze tie and dress shoes to match. As the two waited outside Hogsmeade for their respective dates, Talbott couldn't help but to feel nervous. As he readjusted his tie, he couldn't help but to wonder what kind of outfit Judith would show up in and if he did too much showing up in a tuxedo to a tea shop.

When Brooke and Judith did arrive, while Penny was gushing over Brooke and her outfit, Talbott was blushing to the tips of his ears as he took in the Hufflepuff standing before him. Judith's face was just as flushed as she looked at Talbott who was openly staring at her. She wanted to clobber her best friend for putting her in an short off the shoulder dress, revealing a lot of skin-

"You look smart, Talbott." the girl blurted out, unable to handle the silence anymore. Talbott finally came back to reality after realizing that he was staring at his crush.

"Y-you look lovely, Judith..." That didn't sound as confident as he would like and he felt stupid when he realized that he didn't get to compliment her first.

He wanted to smack his forehead.

He was already messing up their first date and they haven't even gotten to the place yet!

The two pairs made it to there date spot and that's where things went downhill.

Talbott wasn't the social type whatsoever.

He had no idea what to talk about and he wanted to kick himself when Judith would glance at the entryway where Madam Puddifoot disappeared through to make their order, the discomfort obvious on her face.

It didn't help how beautiful his crush looked and he couldn't stop staring.

The retreating sunlight washed over her in a gentle glow. Her hair was pushed to one side, curls falling over her right shoulder while a red rose was tucked behind her left ear. Her eyelids were dusted with a dark shadow, enhancing those gold eyes. Her neck was free from any necklaces. Her bare shoulders and fully exposed neck was rather distracting...

To top everything off, Tonks and Charlie came to watch their date. Even though this encouraged conversation, it still felt a little awkward. They didn't remain so for long, seeing how Tonks knocked over a display of teacups that closed the shop.

The walk back to Hogwarts felt like the walk of shame.

This was suppose to Talbott's first date with the girl from his childhood. He felt like he ruined it for her. Which is why he went to the Courtyard to wallow in his shame.

Until Judith showed up...

He felt like his heart was suddenly in his throat as he watch the Hufflepuff take a seat next to him. When she said she wanted to talk about their first date, he had to distract her. He didn't want to hear the girl's inevitable rejection. His heart wasn't ready for that sort of blow...

But he couldn't keep up with the "shooting star" gist for long.

He knew he had to tell her the truth. He just silently prayed that she would quickly rip the bandage off...

He came clean to the girl, a little surprised to see that she was surprised when he hinted at her rejection.

They had a much needed "heart to heart" conversation, dispelling any fears and doubts that lingered between them. Ending it with the promise of a possible second date in their future...

As the two gazed up at the starry night sky, he heard Judith shuffle closer and the light touch of her fingertips against his. He glanced at her quickly to find her looking in the other direction. Taking a chance, he inched closer, laying his fingers on top of hers. He felt his heart race at the fond look that Judith graced him before their fingers intertwined. They looked up at the night sky to find a shooting star.

Talbott felt like he could never feel more complete outside of that very moment. Under the starry night sky, with Judith's warm hand intertwined with his own.

He was proven wrong.

It would be some time until their next date happened. It was February, which meant Valentines' Day was approaching and fast. Talbott never cared for the frivolous holiday.

He had no interested in anyone... until his little bird.

Their first date never left his mind. On more than one occasion, he finds his heart sighing after the young Hufflepuff whenever he saw her. He could still remember the feeling of her hand in his...

If he ever wanted to have a Valentine, he'd want it to be her.

Hell, his Valentine Howler made it bloody obvious. He felt quick to follow Brooke's example and light the Howler on fire as it spoke. Luckily no one was truly paying attention to him so he didn't need to take such drastic measures.

"Oh how my heart longs for you, pretty gold eyes..." Talbott turned red and immediately glanced at the Hufflepuff, silently relieved to know she didn't hear that.

So much for being innocent.

His feelings were definitely more intense than he expected...

As the day went on, Talbott felt like he could've gone without Gilderoy Lockhart and his party. But he was secretly glad to be working alongside his little bird.

As he was on a fruitless hunt for doves, Judith came to check on him. He tried to focus at the task at hand and not how on a night like this he was holding her hand.

Even with her help in their Animagus forms, they couldn't find any doves. Talbott felt annoyed that he was dragged into this party planning situation and that he was being forced to dress up in pink. But he couldn't lie that it would an opportunity to ask Judith out on another date with him. Especially if Lockhart's party was gonna be a complete mess, he could give her the Valentines' Day she deserved...

"You want to be my date too?!" Talbott caught onto her wording and felt his heart plummet to his feet.

"Too?" The girl blushed at her error.

"Er... I mean, again..." Talbott wanted to fly away but he knew that he had to ask to be sure.

"So, you've been asked to the party already?" The girl bit her lower lip.

"Yes but I didn't give him an answer..."

Him.

Andre.

A twisted feeling settled inside his chest.

'Is this what jealousy feels like?'

"Oh... I can give you time to decide then..." The Ravenclaw wizard didn't give the girl a chance to reply as he flew off.

When they finally decorating the tea shop, Talbott couldn't help but to feel slightly bitter at the idea that Andre and Judith will being having a date here after they came here on their first date. He meant what he said, there was only one person that he would want to go with, and that was her. Judging by Andre's words, she hasn't picked yet. But he wouldn't be surprised if she did pick the style wizard.

He was a nobody after all...

He would admit he was surprised when the girl requested to have a word with him for a moment. He wasn't sure what she had planned to say so he stuck to a party related topic. She giggled when he misread her answer and said she would love to be his date to the party. Talbott was surprised that she chose him over Andre.

But it didn't make him less happy to know that he's gonna have a second date with the girl that he couldn't stop thinking about.

Though he wasn't too keen on his outfit. He felt ridiculous. And felt it even more when Judith and Brooke walked in the tea shop for the party. The Hufflepuff was a similar dress to the one she wore on their first date but the sleeves were long and the dress gradients from pink to white. A black chain that had a blue and sliver ring on it resided around her neck.

One look in Talbott's direction, Judith stifled a giggle before walking towards him. Talbott felt a blush rush to his face.

"I know, I know. I look ridiculous." Gold eyes widen and Judith shook her head. Her high ponytail swaying behind her.

"No! I think you look rather cute, like a Muggle cowboy." She reassured the tall wizard, fiddling with the pink pendant around his neck. The young wizard looked down at her, skeptical.

"Are you sure you're not saying that to make me feel better?" Judith rolled her eyes and got her toes, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose.

This was enough to set the boy's face ablaze.

"Of course I'm not just saying that, you silly goose. I like how you look..." Despite feeling like his face was melting off, Talbott smiled down at her.

Just Talbott expected, the party was a whole sham.

It pissed him off that Gilderoy Lockhart casted a misfired Memory Charm on everyone before apperating. He felt scared that Judith may have forgetting all about their date because of this.

Even when he patiently waited in the Transfiguration classroom holding a red rose with yellow tips, he felt the dread building in his system. He was scared that the girl forget about being his date to the party. Though it was too late to cancel as he heard the doorknob turn.

Judith was in awe of the grand display, reassuring her crush that she didn't forget about being his date. She was sincerely touched that the stoic Ravenclaw would plan such a romantic evening for the two of them.

Treasured items were exchanged that night, a symbol of the boy's heart and a ring that spoke who the girl's heart belonged to.

Talbott couldn't have felt more complete when he leaned over a pressed a chaste kiss on his little bird's cheek. The adoring look that she have him was cemented into his memory forever.

He felt like nothing could top this moment.

He was proven wrong yet again.

After Valentines Day, Talbott was strongly aware of his feelings for the girl. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted to be her's and for her to be his.

He wanted to be her boyfriend.

He knew that he wasn't like most wizards who would openly shower a girl with affection and such, but he knew he had deep feelings for the girl. Just like she did for him, she gave him a ring gifted to her by her grandmother for Gods' sake!

He'd figured it would be best to be direct about it. Seeing how it helped saved their two precious dates.

He asked her to accompany him on a walk through the forest, which she readily accepted. As they walked through the trees, he couldn't help but to notice how at peace she looked.

"So, Judith... T-there's something I... want to ask you..." The wizard stumbled and silently cursed his awkwardness. Gold eyes trained on him, paired with an adorable owl like head tilt.

"Yes?" Talbott took in a deep breath and reached out for her hand.

"Will... will you..." Talbott felt his face heat up as he tried to get the question out.

'OUT WITH IT!' His mind screamed, but his throat seem to close up. Caught up in his emotional turmoil, he missed the girl's smile or even noticed that she got closer. A soft kiss to his cheek finally brought him back to reality.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend, Talbott..." The Ravenclaw blushed but smiled nonetheless, hugging his now girlfriend close to his chest.

On top of their new found relationship, they had a small surprise. Talbott was in the witch's room, where she was sharing some of her memories that she kept in her little safe. She was showing an old Muggle romance novel when a white clover appear underneath one of the pages. Both seem to having a recurring memory of each other from their childhood, where Talbott gifted a white clover to Judith before never seeing each other again. As Judith touch the flower, both found themselves standing before their deceased parents.

It was then they realized that the other knew of their identity, remembering each other from childhood. Words couldn’t describe the relief and bliss they’ve felt in that very moment.

Until Talbott's mother starting talking about marriage. The two were flustered at this but they wouldn't oppose to the idea.

Judith thought about marriage, but as a mere fantasy. She thought no one would truly love her enough to even considering bonding to her for life.

Seeing her dead father for the first time in seven years brought tears to her eyes.

He would never be able to walk her down the aisle, which broke her heart.

Talbott has considered it as a passing thought. He knew what he felt for the girl, even when he never truly understood it as a child. It would be a dream come true to see her walk down the aisle to him in a wedding dress and have her proclaimed Judith Winger.

His wife.

He unconsciously rubbed her left ring finger, imagining what it would be like to feel a cool metal band around her finger.

His mother did make herself clear the next time she sees them, he better have "wifed her" or she'd box his ears...

As embarrassing the situation was, it became a lingering thought in the back of his mind.

A life with Judith, his little bird.

Marriage.

Living together.

Her becoming pregnant.

Them holding their baby.

Building a family.

He wanted that. All of it. She was everything to him, he wants to be with her forever.

But not everything seems to go according to plan.

Stress landed Judith in the Hospital Wing and Talbott fussed over his girlfriend, doing what he can to keep her calm. What meant to be an innocent massage lead to a passionate embrace, which was nothing new to the pair. They've been intimate before on a few occasions, Judith made sure to drink her potion that kept her from becoming pregnant.

Except Judith hasn't been keeping up with her potions. It wasn't until she went to tell Madam Pomfrey about her sudden sickness is when she realized what happened.

She was pregnant with Talbott's child.

The girl didn't know what to think, nearly becoming an emotional wreck when Madam Pomfrey informed her that she would have to tell her mother about this.

Whatever relationship that existed behind mother and daughter was destroyed when Sade disowned her daughter in front of the school's Headmaster and never looked back. Judith was left with a stinging cheek and a broken heart.

She had no real family left.

Her father was dead.

Her brother disappeared again after she freed him.

Her mother disowned her.

She was alone.

Then she remembered the father of the baby living inside her. Talbott was one of the brightest students of their year and they were so close to graduating, with just one more year and they would go into their respective careers.

He wanted to be an Auror. But now he was a father. They didn't plan for this.

Judith didn't know how to tell him.

So... she didn't.

Time passed and Judith didn't speak a word about their child. After finally cracking under the pressure of everything, Brooke and her decided to leave.

Judith could resign to the idea of not really having a future becoming a professional Healer like her father.

She made peace with that.

But she refused to bring Talbott down with her. He had a chance.

With a tearful letter leaving out any mention of their unborn child, Judith left Hogwarts. Helping train her best friend during the months she was still light enough before taking a plane back to her homeland.

During that time, Talbott felt like he regressed back to the time when he first came to Hogwarts.

This time, it was the loss of the girl he loves.

She was all he had left, he would follow her to the ends of the Earth if it meant staying by her side. Her ring nearly never left his finger. Bill seemed to be the only one who understood what the young man was going through, considering he felt like he was going through the same. The two men became close during this time period.

It would be months before the two crossed paths again. After finding out the whole truth, Talbott left Hogwarts and Britain to head to Barbados, the land Judith was born and raised. Where he stayed to be with his girlfriend and son, Bakari. He was surprised to see how the little boy came out to be the perfect mix of the two. He had Talbott's skin color and red eyes but the facial features of his mother. Most of his hair was dark brown like Judith's but he had a tuft of hair that hung over his forehead that resembles Talbott's.

He was their little miracle.

After months of tension, Judith and Talbott had a necessary heart to heart which lead them to being in each other's loving embrace.

As much Judith felt happy to be with him again, she still want Talbott to achieve his dream. But he made himself clear that he wasn't going anywhere if she wasn't with him. Judith relented and offered a deal. If he agreed to go back to Hogwarts, she'll return with him to stay in Hogsmeade. But she will not be attending the school since she still needs to be there for their son. Talbott agreed, as well stating he'll be keeping her up on their studies. Judith grumbled at this but agreed nonetheless.

The two flew back to Scotland. With Brooke's and Dumbledore's help, they were able to get a small house in Hogsmeade. Some of the group that associated themselves with Brooke and Judith were curious to where Talbott could've gone for nearly a whole year, but Talbott never answered them.

Not even Penny, who was his first friend at Hogwarts.

Penny was suspicious to where Talbott would go every few days. She would normally respect her friend's space but eventually she cracked.

She followed Talbott out one day in Hogsmeade. She was surprised to see him enter a house. Doing her best to stay quiet, she peeked through a window to find a surprise. Judith holding a young babe in her arms, but the child looked like both of them. Putting two and two together as she watched the couple share a kiss, Penny stared on wide eyed.

Judith was pregnant with Talbott's baby.

She nearly squeaked when the little boy suddenly stared out of the window and directly at her. She quickly left before Judith and Talbott realized she was there. But she didn't hesitate to tell Jamal and Jonah about Judith.

Who later that night, paid the young witch and her little family a visit. Jonah nearly got thrown out of a window when he started demanding on his sister's whereabouts, but a simple hug and kiss from Talbott helped calm her down. As Judith continued to converse with her brother and Jonah from Talbott's lap, his mind was occupied with something else.

He felt a bit angry that Penny found about this, but he wasn't ashamed.

He loved Judith.

He loved Bakari.

And he loved their little family.

Watching Judith interact with their son filled him with a sense of warmth that he could never truly describe. She was such a wonderful mother and loving partner. Everything nearly felt complete. The only thing missing was a ring on her finger...

Fast forward nearly a year and half after graduation and becoming an Auror, and thanks to his prodding Judith was able to "graduate" and become a Healer, he sat in front of Jamal Harris as the older man processed his words.

"So let me get this straight, you want my blessing so you can marry my baby sister," he recounted. Talbott gave him a single nod. Jamal grew to respect Talbott a bit more, seeing how he takes care of his sister and little nephew. But he was still her big brother at the end of the day, he'll always be protective of Judith.

Especially after missing out on so many years of her life.

"Why do you think I should give you my blessing, huh," Jamal stubbornly asked. Talbott sighed, predicting this.

"Your father seems to be happy with the idea of me marrying your sister. He sees something in me deeming me worthy of her." Jamal stiffen and glared.

"Watch your words, Winger. You don't even know my father." Talbott knew that bringing up Kendrick would be a sensitive topic for the man before him. From what he remember, Judith told him that Jamal ran away just several weeks before their father's death. To suddenly to come back to hear about his father's death, struck a cord in Jamal. And Talbott is more than happy to give him the closure he needs.

"Jamal, do you trust me?" Gold eyes narrowed at him.

"Why are you asking me this," Jamal asked instead. Talbott ignored his question and asked again. Seeing how he's not going anywhere, Jamal let out a simple "I guess". This was good enough for Talbott. Going into the bedroom he and Judith shared, went under the bed to retrieve the safe Judith showed him. Whispering the password, the safe unlocked, revealing the contents inside. He quickly grabbed what he needed and moved the safe back to it's original place before returning to where Jamal sat.

Before Jamal could ask what Talbott was doing, the Auror grabbed his hand with the shark tooth enclosed in between.

"What the f- Where the hell are we, Winger," Jamal growled as he looked around, bewildered.

"Aye, don't be disrespecting my resting place with all that noise, young man." Jamal stiffen at the voice he hasn't heard in years. Turning in the direction which it came from, Jamal stared in shock at who he saw. Talbott felt like it was just yesterday whereas he had the same reaction as Jamal.

Kendrick was sitting in the exact same position as the time Talbott met the man, in the same white clothes and all.

"D-Dad... is... is it really you," Jamal asked, his voice much softer. Tears sprang in the young man's eyes, blurring the image of his father. Jamal gasped when he felt a pair of strong, familiar arms wrap around him in a tight hug.

"It's good to see you too, son," Kendrick whispered, hugging his boy close. The dam broke and Jamal outright bawled into his father's shoulder, not caring if it wasn't really manly.

He missed his dad.

Talbott watched the scene silently. It reminded him where Judith and her father were in that same exact position. The Harris siblings were truly close with their father and it showed tremendously. It was also kinda interesting to see that Jamal didn't resemble his father too much other than eyes and hair color...

"H-How is this p-possible. Judith showed me..." Jamal trailed off as he remember the time his sister brought him to their father's grave.

November 27th, 1981.

Their dad's birthday and deathday.

The same damn year he ran away.

His dad been dead for years and he nearly truly known until he wanted to check in with how his family was doing. Only to watch from a distance to find his mother home but his father was nowhere around. It wasn't until he read an old article of the Daily Prophet when he learned of his father's passing. He felt guilty about it ever since. To see his father for the first time in years... he could've sworn he was dreaming.

"I am dead. Make no mistake son," Kendrick said as Jamal winced at his bluntness. Definitively a trait his sister got from him.

"But when I died, I left my magic imprint on my old necklace and gave it to your sister. That's how I met Talbott again many years ago." Jamal's brows furrowed.

"What do you mean by again," he asked. The older Harris smirked.

"Do you remember Ava and Trent?" Jamal still looked lost until his father motioned to a mirror. Which was replaying a memory from when he was a little boy. A couple walked up to him and his father while they were at Honeydukes. The woman had Talbott's hair and skin color and the man looked like an older version him. Jamal's eyes went wide.

"Those are..."

"My parents," Talbott finally spoke up. Jamal looked at him and back at the memory.

"They were my old friends back in my Hogwarts days. We stayed in touch over the years, even after Talbott and your sister were born. We managed to arranged for them to meet twice before our deaths," Kendrick summarized as he watched his son look at the memory of Talbott and Judith as toddlers and then as little kids.

"Ava always wanted to bring these two together but we couldn't make it make before we died. Luckily, they found each other again on their own," Kendrick said with a fond smile in Talbott's direction. Jamal turned to his father.

"But Dad, how can you trust him after he-OW!" Kendrick smack Jamal upside his head. Kendrick's eyes were steely.

"I know of their son, Bakari. Things happen Jamal. I don't hold against Talbott for getting Judith pregnant. It was her choice to keep Bakari. Just like it was his choice to willingly abandon Hogwarts to be with her and their son. You will not fault him on a situation that happened years ago and he's done his best to make the most of it," Kendrick said coldly. Jamal rubbed the back of his head, he felt like he was a child being chided for doing something stupid...

"Bloody hell, you hit like Judith," he grumbled. Kendrick let out a dark chuckle.

"Good. I expect nothing less from my little girl. If I can't be around to strike fear into the hearts of the men around her, I want her to do it herself." Talbott and Jamal both shuddered, seeing a variations of her rage and strength.

"But I trust Talbott here with Judith’s heart. Which is why he already has my blessing," Kendrick said. Talbott gave the older Harris a grateful smile, fiddling with the ring Judith gave him years ago.

Kendrick saw this and smirked.

"And I'm sure my mother would've said the same thing..." Jamal's eyes went wide, recognizing the ring.

"I always wondered why that ring looked so familiar. That's the same ring that Judith always wore around her neck..." Talbott blushed and nodded.

"Mercy gifted it to her before she died. That ring is only able to fit the person Judith loves wholeheartedly. If not, the ring will immediately reject the person. I'd like to think my mother would've loved you Talbott..." Talbot felt his blush grew worse.

Now he didn't know that part...

Jamal studied the Auror in silence before cracking a small smile.

"If my grandmother and dad are able to trust you, Wi- Talbott... then I have no reason to stand your way. Especially since you help me after I've been such a hardass... you have my blessing to marry my sister." Talbott gave the Harris men a smile.

"Thank you, both of you. I'll take good care of her, I promise..."

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

"This is lovely," Judith breathed out a gentle sigh as she leaned against Talbott's chest. They were able to moved into an apartment, slightly bigger than the previous home they resided in their 7th year.

It was New Year's Eve. Bakari was sound asleep and the couple were watching the night time sky from the couch outside on the balcony, awaiting the fireworks. Talbott gave a small nod, willing his heart not to pound out of his chest. He had the small black box in his pocket and as the moment grew closer, he felt himself grow more nervous.

"Something wrong, love?" He heard Judith ask before she planted those soft lips against his cheek. The young man bit lip as he glanced at his watch to check the time. 11:55 PM.

"There's nothing wrong, darling. But there is something I would like to say," he said softly. Judith leaned off his chest and turned to face him properly.

"What is it?" Talbott took a deep breath.

Now or never...

"I honestly would've never thought I would see myself in this the position. I never thought I would feel a bond so indescribable as the one we share ever since we were children. I never thought I would lose my parents at such a young age. I never thought I would ever find the same happiness I felt from we met when we were 7 years old. Until I met you again. Neither of us fully realized who the other was until we met the others’ parents again. It was hard to express how I felt when I saw you through your father's memories. You looked so happy and carefree before you came to Britain. Even more so when we met again... But your smile dimmed when your brother disappeared... and you lost the same glow when Kendrick died. And I wanted nothing more but to bring that back. To make you feel like you were never alone. Like you never lost your smile. To make you feel loved. You're precious and dear to me, Judith. I've loved you for a long time, even before I could truly realize the depth of my feelings. You gave me something worth living for. You gave me you and Bakari... and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to either of you..." Talbott watched as a cute blush colored his beloved's adorable confused face.

"W-Why are you telling me all this," she asked softly. She watched as her boyfriend slid off the couch to kneel before her on one knee. Those who were out enjoying the holiday began chanting the countdown.

"I'm telling you this because I love you, Judith Harris. And I wish to spend the rest of my life with you..." Judith gasped as she watched Talbott reach into his pocket to pull out a small box. Her vision grew misty and she rapidly blinked away any tears, wanting to make sure this was real.

That she wasn't dreaming.

That Talbott was-

"Judith Harris, my sweet little bird and queen of my heart, will you marry me," Talbott softly asked as he displayed the ring he picked out.

Judith smiled at Talbott, a single tear sliding down her face. In the distance, they could hear the people approaching the T minus 10 countdown.

"Yes... yes I will marry you," Judith whispered. Talbott smiled at her, the brilliance of his smile rivaled the stars twinkling above them. He held her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. Judith leaned in and kissed him just as the fireworks went off.

"I love you, Talbott," she whispered against her fiancé's lips. Talbott chuckled, looking at her with an adoring gaze.

"I love you too, my future wife..."

#hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #hphm talbott #talbott x jacob's sibling #talbott winger #hogwarts mystery talbott #talbott x mc #judith harris

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bush-viper-cutie · 5 years ago

Text

Mess After Mess

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1,944

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: Severus is forced to restock almost all his potions ingredients at once all because of two clumsy students who never learn their lesson.

Warnings: None

A/N: For Snape Appreciation Month, prompt 7: Snape and Potions. @snapeloveposts

Posted: 6/16/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

“YOU INSOLENT CHILDREN! Look what you’ve done!” Severus stepped over the broken glass and spilled powders and liquids. “This is why wands are NOT ALLOWED in my potions classrooms! Clean this mess up at once. WITHOUT MAGIC.”

The two second years nodded and ran out of the classroom for brooms and mops. Severus took out his wand and put out the small fire starting in the student stores. All of the middle shelves were broken in half and only half the bottom shelf jars survived the flaming sparks.

It would take an entire afternoon at the apothecary alone to replace everything that had broken, although he wasn’t sure how soon he could replace the ingredients that had been fermenting since before he was born.

He shook his head and hung it low, cursing himself for thinking these children could be trusted alone for even a minute. He stormed out of the potions classroom, growling at the children running back in with dustpans in hand, and stepped into his office.

He closed the door and fell onto it, ripping his cravat from his neck and unbuttoning the top buttons to breath better. Why couldn’t people be more MINDFUL of things? He had yelled about using magic in the classrooms countless times and yet he constantly caught students messing about with it.

“It’s like these wizards can’t spend five SECONDS without casting a spell of some sort.”

He threw his cravat onto a chair and sat at his desk, opening a drawer and taking out the list for the student stores. The middle shelves had half the materials alone… If he was their Head of House they would be neck deep in detentions but he knew what the others would say… ‘Just children’. More like obnoxious brats.

. . .

“Headmaster. I will be gone for the weekend and will be back Sunday night,” Severus wound his scarf around his neck and turned to leave Dumbledore’s office.

“Heading down to Hogsmeade, Severus?”

Severus turned, fearing what the old fool would ask of him, “I… am – but only for one thing.”

Dumbledore looked up from his book and smiled, “Then perhaps, you wouldn’t mind me asking for a few things… not too many, I can assure you.”

He sighed, “Fine. Give me the list.”

. . .

Hogsmeade was loud during this time of year. The leaves crunched under his foot, the birds chirped above everyone’s heads, and the chatter from the passersby cluttered the air. Even the signs sung their creaks under the influence of the cold wind. Hogsmeade village was at its peak during these types of autumn days.

Dervish and Banges was a shop at the corner of two intersecting streets on the opposite side of the village. There were two doors in the front of the shop; the yellow was the entrance to the store, and the run-down one lead right up to the living quarters of the old man that ran it.

He knocked on the rundown door and waited for the heavy footsteps and creaking of the old man coming down the interior stairs.

He opened it and tipped his hat, “Ah, Mr. Snape. Your order – ”

“Thank you, Mr. Dervish,” Severus took out the bag of coins he had collected from Dumbledore and held it out, “Your payment.”

Mr. Dervish nodded and turned around, picking up a heavy box from behind the door and handed it to Severus, “Careful there – ”

“Thank you,” Severus poured the coins into the man’s hands and clutched the box tight as he walked down the street towards Hogsmeade Station.

The train arrived precisely on time, like it always had since the first time he rode it.

He boarded and picked an empty car, luckily having to share it with no one since wizards didn’t really travel from Hogsmeade to London all too much and certainly not so early in October. He opened up the Daily Prophet – he had held back on reading it that morning specifically for the trip – and scanned the headlines, hoping for anything good to read.

It was all the same type ridiculous journalism that had people fretting for their lives every other weekend. First the journalists claim that the Ministry was allowing dragon egg trading between trainers will cause minors to harbor illegal eggs for fame among their peers and burn houses down, and now that the Ministry has banned it again, they are risking the lives of wizards by making the illegal harboring of dragon eggs that much more appealing to minors, causing houses to burn down.

. . .

It was as dark as the Hogwarts dungeons outside when the train arrived at London. He picked up his box and hailed a cab for Leadenhall Market where the Leaky Caldron entrance to Diagon Alley was located. The ride took fifteen minutes but the ‘quick’ chat with Tom the innkeeper took almost twice.

Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore had sent a message to confirm his room reservation and explained the whole story to Tom, who had wanted to hear the story all over again from him this time.

“What do you want me to say. The students were senseless. Therefor did something careless. And then the results were disastrous!” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please,” he pushed the box into Tom’s arms, “take this to my room.”

Tom nodded and headed upstairs, finally freeing Severus from the social corner he had been forced into. He sat down at a stool and ordered the most expensive hot meal, Why not, if I’m not paying. After the meal he headed up and went to bed, knowing the next day would be incredibly long.

. . .

Severus unfurled the list of items he needed to buy from the apothecary and smoothed it out over his thigh. He could see the scrawled names better and reminded himself to stay on track and not let anything distract from the task at hand.

“Student stores ingredients only,” he whispered.

He opened the door and a gust of air rushed out of the cold shop. There were dozens of baskets stacked on tables with little cards for labels. All the jars were filled with powders and the barrels full of dried creature parts were all labeled as well.

He stepped in and started his way down the shop, looking at all the shelves and sticking his nose in every barrel. He opened a few jars and shifted the powders to check for any additives – none were found. This was his favorite store – or the only favorite one he didn’t have to be cautious to be found in – so he decided he’d take his time.

He lined up seven of the best-looking armadillo bile jars and inspected each one for the best color, holding them up to the light and checking each one against the rest. Next, he moved on to the Abyssinian Shrivelfig and picked out those with the longest stems. The bubotuber pus unfortunately required several whiffs that left him nauseous, but he recovered with the honeywater samples.

. . .

It took him from dawn to dusk to inspect and choose every last ingredient on the list. He made it out of the shop just before closing time and headed to his room, eager to get started. He spread out all the items on his bed and unboxed the jars. He rubbed his hands together, excited to start putting everything into place.

He took off his coat and quickly unbuttoned his clothes, shrugging everything off and slipped into his night shirt. The floor of his room wasn’t very dirty, so he brushed away some dust and knelt on the ground beside his bed.

He felt like it was Christmas already, having to unwrap all the ingredients from the brown paper and twine wrappings to organize it all in their glass jars. He cut some twine in half and put his hair up, not wanting it to get in his way.

He got to work putting everything where it was supposed to be. He stuck tape on all the jars and labeled everything with the contents and exact date he acquired it. All the jars were put back in the box, all but one. The newest find at the apothecary. The frozen glass frogs.

He had bought twenty of the little frogs and filled the jar up to the brim. He had been sending owls to the owner for years to stock it, and not just include it in the potions kits, and finally he had done just that. The one potion every student messes up every year he could now make them do again and again until they got it right.

. . .

The train ride back was long and uncomfortable but what made things worse is he had to go back into Hogsmeade for the items Dumbledore wanted. He took out the list and looked it over.

“Unbelievable,” he crumpled the list and headed into Honeydukes Sweetshop.

“Welcome, can I help you find anything?”

Severus turned to the woman at desk, “Yes. About… a pound… of Green Lime Jumpers.”

He stood by the counter as the woman took out a bag and filled it up, weighing it carefully and handing it over to him. He paid her and left, carrying the heavy box in one arm and the bag in the other. He delivered the bag to Dumbledore, refusing to stay and chat, and got to work restocking the student stores.

He set out all the glass jars on his desk and one by one they disappeared onto the labeled spots on the shelves – all except the jar of glass frogs, which he needed to place in his own stores cabinet later. He closed the door and locked it, hoping he wouldn’t have to go in to replace almost everything for another several years. He rolled his eyes and sat at his classroom desk, putting his head down for a second.

“Ah, Severus, thank you for the sweets.”

He looked up to see Dumbledore walking into the classroom with the two troublemakers behind him. He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I expect everything was able to be restocked,” Dumbledore looked over at the closet door with a large lock on it.

“Yes. This time,” he stared down the students.

“They feel very sorry about the whole thing,” Dumbledore smiled down at the students, “They didn’t mean to burn and break the shelves.”

Severus hummed in acknowledgment but rolled his eyes.

“Might I have the bag back? I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

He sighed and headed out of the classroom into his office quickly spotting the bag of coins he had been given before the trip and grabbed it. He closed his office door and walked down the corridor to his classroom. He opened the door and stood there, staring in.

All of the frozen glass frogs were jumping about the classroom in all directions trying to escape. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up and looking at Dumbledore. He had one of the tiny frogs stuck in his beard trying to jump away. One of the two students opened their mouth and spit out a tiny frog while the other dropped the clump of unfrozen frogs from their hand.

“I assumed you had bought a jar of Green Lime Jumpers for yourself.”

“Naturally. Headmaster,” Severus stepped back out and closed the door, shutting Dumbledore in with the mess he had created. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he headed to his office for a much-needed drink.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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