#provender house

[andiatas]

Russian princess's flirtation with Stellan Skarsgård: "Handsome"

Princess Olga struggles to make ends meet and dreams of appearing in "Big Brother". In an interview with Dagens Nyheter, she says she is disappointed that they do not pay for the interview but happy to get publicity in Sweden, which she hopes will reach Stellan Skarsgård.

- He is very handsome, she says.

Photo: Dagens Nyheter

Princess Olga, 74, is related to the Russian Tsarist Romanoff family, who were assassinated by Lenin's Bolsheviks in 1918. Her father was Andrei of Russia, grandson of Tsar Alexander III and nephew of Nicholas II, Russia's last Tsar.

Like most other surviving Romanoffs, her family fled Russia when the Revolution began in 1917, and the Russian Civil War raged. They managed to get to the Crimean Peninsula, where the family had a residence, and then, with the help of the British Navy, they managed to get to Great Britain.

Olga Romanoff grew up in Great Britain on the Provender House estate dating back to the 13th century and is more likely to be considered British than Russian. She has previously stated that she only knows three Russian words.

In an interview with Expressen in 2019, she talked about the tough growing-up years where well aware that large parts of her family had been murdered, she was teased for her background as a princess.

The family became poor

Her childhood, she says, is reminiscent of "Downton Abbey".

- I recognized my mother's way of speaking when I saw it. She was born in 1908, and she came from that era. When going to London in her Rolls-Royce, she used to call and ask them to send a driver down here by train. Then, when he had driven her back in the evening, he had to take the train up to London again.

She belonged to high society in Great Britain, and her mother pushed for her to marry according to status - preferably to Prince Charles. As you all know, it didn't turn out that way.

She did marry and had several children, but has been seperated for 30 years. In 2000, she moved back to Provender House to take over the management of the estate and got a bit of a shock.

- I always thought that I was very wealthy and that my mother had lots of money, she has previously said.

It turned out that the family was anything but wealthy. After her father died in 1981, her mother struggled to make ends meet. The consequence was that the goods almost fell into disrepair.

"Stellan Skarsgård, yes he is very handsome"

Extensive renovations have been required over the years and are still needed. Olga Romanoff's solution has been to open up and rent out parts of the house. But it has also been to [opening up/becoming public].

Through Romanoff's family ties to the British royal house, she has appeared in the television series "The Queen's Cousins", "Keeping up with the Aristocrats", "Celebrity Big Detox", and the documentary series "The Royal House of Windsor".

But when she applied for "Big Brother," she got the nob. She tells DN that her sights are set on "I'm a celebrity... get me out of here," which is described as a celebrity variant of "Robinson."

- You get to do funny things like eat kangaroo penises. Although they have certainly been sterilized. And they pay well. Nigel Farage is said to have received a million and a half pounds to participate.

She has her sights set on getting paid well. In the interview, she expresses her disappointment that DN does not pay her for the sit-down.

- But on the other hand, I get publicity in Sweden. Who knows, maybe I'll find a Swedish boyfriend. What is the name of the actor in "Mamma Mia"? Stellan Skarsgård, yes, he is very handsome.

Article by Johan Bratell for Expressen, published July 3, 2024, which is a summary of an interview (behind paywall) by Dagens Nyheter, also published July 3, 2024. Translation and editing for clarity is done by me.

[angela-maps]

The Barn

Consider the humble barn. A mainstay of agricultural architecture, a simple, reliable, essential place of storage for provender, shelter for animals, depository for tools, and the occasional tryst in the hay with the farmer’s progeny. Of course, the protection from the elements it provides can support an even greater range of activities, some more nefarious than others. What better place than this roomy, remote structure to house a den of smugglers and bandits? Mayhaps even more barbaric and murderous activities could be conducted behind its plain wooden walls, out of sight and out of hearing of any potential witnesses. Whether your PCs were born in a barn, or only locked its doors after the horse had already bolted, any of the three versions of this map are sure to provide the ideal location for a rural rumble!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Morning and Evening by C.H. Spurgeon

Morning — June 20th

"For, lo, I will command, and I will sift the house of Israel among all nations, like as corn is sifted in a sieve, yet shall not the least grain fall upon the earth." – Amos 9:9

Every sifting comes by divine command and permission. Satan must ask leave before he can lay a finger upon Job. Nay, more, in some sense our siftings are directly the work of heaven, for the text says, "I will sift the house of Israel." Satan, like a drudge, may hold the sieve, hoping to destroy the corn; but the overruling hand of the Master is accomplishing the purity of the grain by the very process which the enemy intended to be destructive. Precious, but much sifted corn of the Lord's floor, be comforted by the blessed fact that the Lord directeth both flail and sieve to his own glory, and to thine eternal profit.

The Lord Jesus will surely use the fan which is in his hand, and will divide the precious from the vile. All are not Israel that are of Israel; the heap on the barn floor is not clean provender, and hence the winnowing process must be performed. In the sieve true weight alone has power. Husks and chaff being devoid of substance must fly before the wind, and only solid corn will remain.

Observe the complete safety of the Lord's wheat; even the least grain has a promise of preservation. God himself sifts, and therefore it is stern and terrible work; he sifts them in all places, "among all nations;" he sifts them in the most effectual manner, "like as corn is sifted in a sieve;" and yet for all this, not the smallest, lightest, or most shrivelled grain, is permitted to fall to the ground. Every individual believer is precious in the sight of the Lord, a shepherd would not lose one sheep, nor a jeweller one diamond, nor a mother one child, nor a man one limb of his body, nor will the Lord lose one of his redeemed people. However little we may be, if we are the Lord's, we may rejoice that we are preserved in Christ Jesus.

[darkersolstice]

"Lord God of the topcoat and the living wage who has furred the fox against the time of winter and stored provender of bees in summer’s brightest places, do bring sweet influences to bear upon the assembly line: accept the smoke of the milltown among the accredited clouds of the sky: fend from the wind with a house and hedge, those whom you made in your image, and permit them to pick of the tree and the flock that they may eat today without fear of tomorrow and clothe themselves with dignity in December."

Norman Corwin, from "On a Note of Triumph"

Evgeny Sedukhin - “Symphony of the sixth blast furnace” (1979)

[spookyactiongames]

How would you use this barn map? Tell us in the comments!

Consider the humble barn. A mainstay of agricultural architecture, a simple, reliable, essential place of storage for provender, shelter for animals, depository for tools, and the occasional tryst in the hay with the farmer’s progeny. Of course, the protection from the elements it provides can support an even greater range of activities, some more nefarious than others. What better place than this roomy, remote structure to house a den of smugglers and bandits? Mayhaps even more barbaric and murderous activities could be conducted behind its plain wooden walls, out of sight and out of hearing of any potential witnesses. Whether your PCs were born in a barn, or only locked its doors after the horse had already bolted, any of the three versions of this map are sure to provide the ideal location for a rural rumble!

[curtklingermanposts]

Anointing With Oil (Part One)

Meaning

What does it mean to anoint with oil? To begin, there are a handful of different words in the Hebrew (Old Testament language), and the Greek (New Testament language) that are rendered, anoint. However, each has a different meaning, and purpose. We will briefly break them down, then zero in on the word which comes to mind for most. We will see also if there is a difference between Old and New Testament when it comes to the anointing.

Genesis 31:13 I am the God of Bethel, where thou anointedst the pillar, and where thou vowedst a vow unto Me...

This is the first place in the Bible where the word, “anoint” is used. MASHCH (Strong’s Concordance number, 4886) is a primary root word, which means to rub with oil, i.e., to anoint. By implication it means to consecrate (dedicate, induct, or declare sacred). It is rendered “anoint,” or “paint.” In short, to anoint, smear, or consecrate. This particular verse illustrates the idea of anointing someone, or something as an act of consecration. However, the basic meaning of the word is simply to smear something on an object. Usually oil is involved, but it could be other substances, such as paint or dye.

This particular Hebrew word is used approximately 70 times, and mostly used to indicate “anointing” in the sense of setting apart for an office or function. For example, Elisha was anointed to be a prophet (1 Kings 19:16). More typically, kings were anointed for their office. In addition, vessels used in worship in the tabernacle, and temple were consecrated for use by anointing them. Incidentally, the recipe for this “holy anointing oil” can be found in Exodus 30:22-25, which goes into detail.

Briefly speaking, other words rendered as anoint actually carry different purposes than consecration. For instance, CUWK (Strong’s Concordance number, 5480) is always used of anointing the body, which was done after washing in the bath; thus differing from consecration. BALAL (Strong’s Concordance number, 1101) means to pour over, mix, pour together. It may also mean to stain, or soil, as well as to give provender (food) to animals.

The practice of anointing is found throughout the Bible. Use of scented oils was a mark of luxury (see Amos 6:6), such as those Hezekiah kept in his treasure house. The use of ointment was also a sign of joy (see Proverbs 27:9). During a time of mourning, it would be discontinued; however, it would be brought back to use to signify the end of mourning. Moreover, the cessation of its use was a mark of God’s displeasure if Israel proved to be rebellious (see Deuteronomy 29:40; Micah 6:15). It’s restoration would be signify the return of God’s favor (see Isaiah 61:3). Likewise, anointing is used to symbolize prosperity (see Psalm 92:10; Ecclesiastes 9:8).

Matthew 6:17 But thou, when thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy face; That thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in secret: and thy Father, which seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly.

This is first place in New Testament Scripture we read the word anoint, which is ALEIPHO (Strong’s Concordance number, 218); to oil (with perfume): anoint. It means to rub, cover, besmear. It is a general term used for “an anointing” of any kind. It is used universally of either oil or ointment in actual anointings. It was used customarily at feasts in which oil was applied to the head as a symbol of joy. It was also applied to both head and feet of those whom was given special honor. In some cases, this rubbing was used for physical relaxation after washing. Anointing the entire body with oil was also a common practice for treating sick people. Likewise, they did the same for the dead.

Luke 4:18 The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He hath anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor. . .

Interestingly, the root word for Christ (The Anointed One), orMessiah is this particular word for anoint(-ed). CHRIO (Strong’s Concordance number, 5548) means to daub, smear, rub with oil or ointment, or to rub oneself with oil. By implication, to consecrate to an office or religious service: -anoint. CHRIO is limited to sacred and symbolic anointings.

Mark 14:3, 8 And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as He sat at meat, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; and she brake the box, and poured it on His head... She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint My body to the burying.

MURIZŌ (Strong’s Concordance number, 3462) From G3463; to apply (perfumed) unguent (ointment or healing salve). To anoint for burial, or embalm.

Revelation 3:18 I counsel thee to buy of Me gold tried in the fire, that thou mayest be rich; and white raiment, that thou mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy nakedness do not appear; and anoint thine eyes with eyesalve, that thou mayest see.

EGCHRIŌ (Strong’s Concordance number, 1472); to rub in (oil), that is, besmear: - anoint. This metaphorically speaks to the idea of anointing the eyes to beautify them, and bringing clarity.

John 9:6 When He had thus spoken, He spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and He anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay (read John (9:1-41 for full story).

EPICHRIŌ (Strong’s Concordance number, 2025); From G1909 and G5548; to smear over: - anoint. To rub upon. This indicates the manner in which the anointing was done.

For the most part, the oil referred to throughout the Bible is olive oil. In part two, we delve into its meaning and characteristics. Then we’ll address the difference between Old and New Testament anointing. We’ll address questions about whether anointing buildings (churches, homes, etc.) is a New Testament principle. Here’s a question that will be addressed as well: is it necessary to anoint someone with oil in order for him to be healed? Are there any examples? What about anointing someone with oil for his or her consecration to an office, position or task? Perhaps, see what you can find.perfectfaith.org

[my-islam-reminder]

Narrated Abu Burda:

When I came to Medina. I met `Abdullah bin Salam رضی اللہ عنہ . He said, "Will you come to me so that I may serve you with Sawiq (i.e. powdered barley) and dates, and let you enter a (blessed) house that in which the Prophet (ﷺ) entered?" Then he added, "You are In a country where the practice of Riba (i.e. usury) is prevalent; so if somebody owe you something and he sends you a present of a load of chopped straw or a load of barley or a load of provender then do not take it, as it is Riba." Nadr, Abu Dawood and Wahab did not report " البیت " from Shobah.

Narrated by Sahih Bukhari in his bookImam Bukhari

Hadith (Sahih)

[abraao-vidal-galdino]

Bom dia

Respondeu ele: Paz seja convosco, não temais; o vosso Deus, e o Deus de vosso pai, deu-vos um tesouro nos vossos sacos; o vosso dinheiro chegou-me às mãos. E trouxe-lhes fora Simeão. Depois levou os homens à casa de José, e deu-lhes água, e eles lavaram os pés; também deu forragem aos seus jumentos. Então eles prepararam o presente para quando José viesse ao meio-dia; porque tinham ouvido que ali haviam de comer. Quando José chegou em casa, trouxeram-lhe ali o presente que guardavam junto de si; e inclinaram-se a ele até a terra. Então ele lhes perguntou como estavam; e prosseguiu: vosso pai, o ancião de quem falastes, está bem? ainda vive? Responderam eles: O teu servo, nosso pai, está bem; ele ainda vive. E abaixaram a cabeça, e inclinaram-se.

Gênesis 43:22-27

And other money have we brought down in our hands to buy food: we cannot tell who put our money in our sacks. And he said, Peace be to you, fear not: your God, and the God of your father, hath given you treasure in your sacks: I had your money. And he brought Simeon out unto them. And the man brought the men into Joseph's house, and gave them water, and they washed their feet; and he gave their asses provender. And they made ready the present against Joseph came at noon: for they heard that they should eat bread there. And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present which was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves to him to the earth. And he asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spake? Is he yet alive?

Genesis 43:22-27

APP Bíblia Bilingue - Disponível na Google Play

[craftylovegentlemen]

The Bible Old Testament

Judges 19

1 And it came to pass in those days, when there was no king in Israel, that there was a certain Levite sojourning on the side of mount Ephraim, who took to him a concubine out of Bethlehemjudah. 2 And his concubine played the whore against him, and went away from him unto her father's house to Bethlehemjudah, and was there four whole months. 3 And her husband arose, and went after her, to speak friendly unto her, and to bring her again, having his servant with him, and a couple of asses: and she brought him into her father's house: and when the father of the damsel saw him, he rejoiced to meet him. 4 And his father in law, the damsel's father, retained him; and he abode with him three days: so they did eat and drink, and lodged there. 5 And it came to pass on the fourth day, when they arose early in the morning, that he rose up to depart: and the damsel's father said unto his son in law, Comfort thine heart with a morsel of bread, and afterward go your way. 6 And they sat down, and did eat and drink both of them together: for the damsel's father had said unto the man, Be content, I pray thee, and tarry all night, and let thine heart be merry. 7 And when the man rose up to depart, his father in law urged him: therefore he lodged there again. 8 And he arose early in the morning on the fifth day to depart: and the damsel's father said, Comfort thine heart, I pray thee. And they tarried until afternoon, and they did eat both of them. 9 And when the man rose up to depart, he, and his concubine, and his servant, his father in law, the damsel's father, said unto him, Behold, now the day draweth toward evening, I pray you tarry all night: behold, the day groweth to an end, lodge here, that thine heart may be merry; and to morrow get you early on your way, that thou mayest go home. 10 But the man would not tarry that night, but he rose up and departed, and came over against Jebus, which is Jerusalem; and there were with him two asses saddled, his concubine also was with him.

11 And when they were by Jebus, the day was far spent; and the servant said unto his master, Come, I pray thee, and let us turn in into this city of the Jebusites, and lodge in it. 12 And his master said unto him, We will not turn aside hither into the city of a stranger, that is not of the children of Israel; we will pass over to Gibeah. 13 And he said unto his servant, Come, and let us draw near to one of these places to lodge all night, in Gibeah, or in Ramah. 14 And they passed on and went their way; and the sun went down upon them when they were by Gibeah, which belongeth to Benjamin. 15 And they turned aside thither, to go in and to lodge in Gibeah: and when he went in, he sat him down in a street of the city: for there was no man that took them into his house to lodging. 16 And, behold, there came an old man from his work out of the field at even, which was also of mount Ephraim; and he sojourned in Gibeah: but the men of the place were Benjamites. 17 And when he had lifted up his eyes, he saw a wayfaring man in the street of the city: and the old man said, Whither goest thou? and whence comest thou? 18 And he said unto him, We are passing from Bethlehemjudah toward the side of mount Ephraim; from thence am I: and I went to Bethlehemjudah, but I am now going to the house of the LORD; and there is no man that receiveth me to house. 19 Yet there is both straw and provender for our asses; and there is bread and wine also for me, and for thy handmaid, and for the young man which is with thy servants: there is no want of any thing. 20 And the old man said, Peace be with thee; howsoever let all thy wants lie upon me; only lodge not in the street.

21 So he brought him into his house, and gave provender unto the asses: and they washed their feet, and did eat and drink. 22 Now as they were making their hearts merry, behold, the men of the city, certain sons of Belial, beset the house round about, and beat at the door, and spake to the master of the house, the old man, saying, Bring forth the man that came into thine house, that we may know him. 23 And the man, the master of the house, went out unto them, and said unto them, Nay, my brethren, nay, I pray you, do not so wickedly; seeing that this man is come into mine house, do not this folly. 24 Behold, here is my daughter a maiden, and his concubine; them I will bring out now, and humble ye them, and do with them what seemeth good unto you: but unto this man do not so vile a thing. 25 But the men would not hearken to him: so the man took his concubine, and brought her forth unto them; and they knew her, and abused her all the night until the morning: and when the day began to spring, they let her go. 26 Then came the woman in the dawning of the day, and fell down at the door of the man's house where her lord was, till it was light. 27 And her lord rose up in the morning, and opened the doors of the house, and went out to go his way: and, behold, the woman his concubine was fallen down at the door of the house, and her hands were upon the threshold. 28 And he said unto her, Up, and let us be going. But none answered. Then the man took her up upon an ass, and the man rose up, and gat him unto his place. 29 And when he was come into his house, he took a knife, and laid hold on his concubine, and divided her, together with her bones, into twelve pieces, and sent her into all the coasts of Israel. 30 And it was so, that all that saw it said, There was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt unto this day: consider of it, take advice, and speak your minds.

Judges 19

Diane Beauford

[fordecree7]

THE BIBLE THE BOOK OF GOD

Genesis 43

43 And the famine was sore in the land.

2 And it came to pass, when they had eaten up the corn which they had brought out of Egypt, their father said unto them, Go again, buy us a little food.

3 And Judah spake unto him, saying, The man did solemnly protest unto us, saying, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.

4 If thou wilt send our brother with us, we will go down and buy thee food:

5 But if thou wilt not send him, we will not go down: for the man said unto us, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.

6 And Israel said, Wherefore dealt ye so ill with me, as to tell the man whether ye had yet a brother?

7 And they said, The man asked us straitly of our state, and of our kindred, saying, Is your father yet alive? have ye another brother? and we told him according to the tenor of these words: could we certainly know that he would say, Bring your brother down?

8 And Judah said unto Israel his father, Send the lad with me, and we will arise and go; that we may live, and not die, both we, and thou, and also our little ones.

9 I will be surety for him; of my hand shalt thou require him: if I bring him not unto thee, and set him before thee, then let me bear the blame for ever:

10 For except we had lingered, surely now we had returned this second time.

11 And their father Israel said unto them, If it must be so now, do this; take of the best fruits in the land in your vessels, and carry down the man a present, a little balm, and a little honey, spices, and myrrh, nuts, and almonds:

12 And take double money in your hand; and the money that was brought again in the mouth of your sacks, carry it again in your hand; peradventure it was an oversight:

13 Take also your brother, and arise, go again unto the man:

14 And God Almighty give you mercy before the man, that he may send away your other brother, and Benjamin. If I be bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.

15 And the men took that present, and they took double money in their hand and Benjamin; and rose up, and went down to Egypt, and stood before Joseph.

16 And when Joseph saw Benjamin with them, he said to the ruler of his house, Bring these men home, and slay, and make ready; for these men shall dine with me at noon.

17 And the man did as Joseph bade; and the man brought the men into Joseph's house.

18 And the men were afraid, because they were brought into Joseph's house; and they said, Because of the money that was returned in our sacks at the first time are we brought in; that he may seek occasion against us, and fall upon us, and take us for bondmen, and our asses.

19 And they came near to the steward of Joseph's house, and they communed with him at the door of the house,

20 And said, O sir, we came indeed down at the first time to buy food:

21 And it came to pass, when we came to the inn, that we opened our sacks, and, behold, every man's money was in the mouth of his sack, our money in full weight: and we have brought it again in our hand.

22 And other money have we brought down in our hands to buy food: we cannot tell who put our money in our sacks.

23 And he said, Peace be to you, fear not: your God, and the God of your father, hath given you treasure in your sacks: I had your money. And he brought Simeon out unto them.

24 And the man brought the men into Joseph's house, and gave them water, and they washed their feet; and he gave their asses provender.

25 And they made ready the present against Joseph came at noon: for they heard that they should eat bread there.

26 And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present which was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves to him to the earth.

27 And he asked them of their welfare, and said, Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spake? Is he yet alive?

28 And they answered, Thy servant our father is in good health, he is yet alive. And they bowed down their heads, and made obeisance.

29 And he lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother Benjamin, his mother's son, and said, Is this your younger brother, of whom ye spake unto me? And he said, God be gracious unto thee, my son.

30 And Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother: and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept there.

31 And he washed his face, and went out, and refrained himself, and said, Set on bread.

32 And they set on for him by himself, and for them by themselves, and for the Egyptians, which did eat with him, by themselves: because the Egyptians might not eat bread with the Hebrews; for that is an abomination unto the Egyptians.

33 And they sat before him, the firstborn according to his birthright, and the youngest according to his youth: and the men marvelled one at another.

34 And he took and sent messes unto them from before him: but Benjamin's mess was five times so much as any of their's. And they drank, and were merry with

Genesis 43

Diane Beauford

[zonerobotnik]

Smith was a very good poet.

Here's one of my favourite poems of him.

The Ghoul And the Seraph

Clark Ashton Smith

Scene: a cemetery, by moonlight. The Ghoul emerges from the shade of a cypress, and sings.

The Song

The Pestilence is on the wing! Behold! the sweet and crimson foam Upon the lips of churl and king! No worm but hath a feastful home: The Pestilence is on the wing!

Even now his kiss incarnadines The brows of maiden, queen and whore; The nun to him her cheek resigns; Wan lips were never kissed before, His ancient kiss incarnadines.

Good cheer to thee, white worm of death ! The priest within the brothel dies, The baud hath sickened from his breath ! In grave half-dug the digger lies: Good cheer to thee, white worm of death!

The Seraph appears from among the trees, half walking, half flying, with wings whose iris the moonlight has rendered faint, and pauses at sight of the Ghoul.

The Seraph

What gardener in crudded fields of hell, Or scullion of the Devil's house, art thou— To whom the filth of Malebolge clings, And reek of horrid refuse? Thou art gnurled And black as any Kobold from the mines Where demons delve for orichalch and steel To forge the infernal racks! Upon thy face, Detestable and evil as might haunt

The last delirium of a dying hag, Or necromancer's madness, fall thy locks Like sodden reeds that trail in Acheron From shores of night and horror; and thy hands, Like roots of cypresses uptorn in storm That still retain their grisly provender, Make the glad wine and manna of the skies Turn to a qualmish sickness in my veins.

The Ghoul

And who art thou ?— some white-faced fool of God, With wings that emulate the giddy bird, And bloodless mouth for ever filled with psalms In lieu of honest victuals ! . . . Askest thou My name ? I am the ghoul NecromaIor: In new-made graves I delve for sustenance,

As man within his turnip-fields; I take For table the uprooted slab, that bears The words, "In Pace;" black and curdled blood Of cadávers is all my cupless wine — Slow-drunken, as the dainty, vampire drinks From pulses oped in never-ending sleep.

The Seraph

O, foulness Born as of the ninefold curse Of dragon-mouthed Apollyon, plumed with darts And armed with horns of incandescent bronze ! O, dark as Satan's nightmare, or the fruit Of Belial's rape on hell's bIack hippogriff ! What knowest thou of Paradise, where grow The gardens of the manna-laden myrrh,

And lotos never known to Ulysses, Whose fruit provides our long and sateless banquet ? Where boundless fields, unfurrowed and unsown, Supply for God's own appanage their foison Of amber-hearted grain, and sesame Sweeter than nard the Persian air compounds With frankincense from isles of India ! Where flame-leaved forests infinitely teem With palms of tremulous opal, from whose tops

Ambrosial honies fall forevermore In rains of nacred light ! Where rise and rise, Terrace on hyacinthine terrace, hills Hung with the grapes that drip cerulean wine, One draught whereof dissolves eternity In bliss oblivious and supernal dream !

The Ghoul

To all the meat their bellies most commend,

To all the according wine. For me, I wot, The cates whereof thou braggest were as wind In halls where men had feasted yesterday, Or furbished bones the full hyena leaves. Tiger and pig have their apportioned glutt, Nor lacks the shark his provender; the bird Is nourished with the worm of charnels; man, Or the grey wolf, will slay and eat the bird, Till wolf and man be carrion for the worm.

What wouldst thou ? As the elfin lily does, Or as the Paphian myrtle, pale with love, I draw me from the unreluctant dead The rightful meat my belly's law demands. Eaters of death are all: life shall not live, Save that its food be death: no atomy In any star, nor heaven's remotest moon But hath a billion billion times been made The food of insatiable life, and food

Of death insatiate: for all is change— Change, that hath wrought the chancre and the rose, And wrought the star, and wrought the sapphire-stone, And lit great altars, and the eyes of lions— Change, that hath made the very gods from slime Drawn from the pits of Python, and willing Gods and their builded heavens back again To slime. The fruits of archangelic light Thou braggest of, and grapes of azure wine,

Have been the dung of dragons and the blood Of toads in Phlegethon: each particle That is their splendor, clomb in separate ways Through suns and worlds and cycles infinite— Through burning brume of systems unbegun, And manes of long-haired comets, that have lashed The night of space to Fury and to fire; And in the core of cold and lightless stars, And in immalleable metats deep,

Each atomy hath slept, or known the slime Of cyclopean oceans turned to air Before the suns of Ophiuchus rose; And they have known the interstellar night, And they have lain at root of sightless flowers In worlds without a sun, or at the heart Of monstrous-eyed and panting flowers of flesh, Or eon-blooming amaranths of stone; And they have ministered within the brains

Of sages and magicians, and have served To swell the pulse of kings and conquerors, And have been privy to the hearts of queens.

The Ghoul turns his back on the Seraph, and moves away, singing.

The Song

O condor, keep thy mountain-ways Above the long Andean lands;

Gier-eagle, guard the eastern sands Where the Forsaken camel strays: Beetle and worm and I will ward The Iardered graves of lout and lord.

Oh, warm and bright the blood that Iies Upon the wounded lion's trail ! Hyena, laugh, and jackal, wail, And ring him round, who turns and dies !

Beetle and worm and I will ward The lardered graves of lout and lord.

Arms of a wanton girl are good, Or hands of harp-player and knight: Breasts of the nun be sweet and white, Sweet is the festive friar's blood. Beetle and worm and I will ward The lardered graves of lout and lord.

That's a pretty good poem.

[angela-maps]

The Barn

Consider the humble barn. A mainstay of agricultural architecture, a simple, reliable, essential place of storage for provender, shelter for animals, depository for tools, and the occasional tryst in the hay with the farmer’s progeny. Of course, the protection from the elements it provides can support an even greater range of activities, some more nefarious than others. What better place than this roomy, remote structure to house a den of smugglers and bandits? Mayhaps even more barbaric and murderous activities could be conducted behind its plain wooden walls, out of sight and out of hearing of any potential witnesses. Whether your PCs were born in a barn, or only locked its doors after the horse had already bolted, any of the three versions of this map are sure to provide the ideal location for a rural rumble!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Joseph's Brothers Return to Egypt

1 And the famine was sore in the land.

2 And it came to pass, when they had eaten up the corn which they had brought out of Egypt, their father said unto them, “Go again, buy us a little food.”

3 And Judah spoke unto him, saying, “The man did solemnly declare unto us, saying, ‘Ye shall not see my face, unless your brother be with you.’

4 If thou wilt send our brother with us, we will go down and buy thee food.

5 But if thou wilt not send him, we will not go down, for the man said unto us, ‘Ye shall not see my face, unless your brother be with you.’”

6 And Israel said, “Why dealt ye so ill with me, as to tell the man whether ye had yet a brother?”

7 And they said, “The man asked us strictly about our state, and about our kindred, saying, ‘Is your father yet alive? Have ye another brother?’ And we told him according to the tenor of these words. Could we certainly know that he would say, ‘Bring your brother down’?”

8 And Judah said unto Israel his father, “Send the lad with me, and we will arise and go, that we may live and not die, both we and thou, and also our little ones.

9 I will be surety for him; from my hand shalt thou require him. If I bring him not unto thee and set him before thee, then let me bear the blame for ever;

10 for had we not lingered, surely now we would have returned this second time.”

11 And their father Israel said unto them, “If it must be so now, do this: Take of the best fruits in the land in your vessels, and carry down the man a present, a little balm and a little honey, spices and myrrh, nuts and almonds.

12 And take double money in your hand; and the money that was brought again in the mouth of your sacks, carry it again in your hand. Perhaps it was an oversight.

13 Take also your brother, and arise, go again unto the man;

14 and God Almighty give you mercy before the man, that he may send away your other brother and Benjamin. If I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved!”

15 And the men took that present, and they took double money in their hand, and Benjamin; and they rose up, and went down to Egypt, and stood before Joseph.

16 And when Joseph saw Benjamin with them, he said to the ruler of his house, “Bring these men home, and slay a beast and make ready; for these men shall dine with me at noon.”

17 And the man did as Joseph bade, and the man brought the men into Joseph’s house.

18 And the men were afraid because they were brought into Joseph’s house; and they said, “Because of the money that was returned in our sacks the first time are we brought in, that he may seek occasion against us and fall upon us, and take us for bondmen, and also our asses.”

19 And they came near to the steward of Joseph’s house, and they communed with him at the door of the house

20 and said, “O sir, we came indeed down the first time to buy food.

21 And it came to pass, when we came to the inn, that we opened our sacks, and behold, every man’s money was in the mouth of his sack, our money in full weight; and we have brought it again in our hand.

22 And other money have we brought down in our hands to buy food. We cannot tell who put our money in our sacks.”

23 And he said, “Peace be to you, fear not; your God and the God of your father hath given you treasure in your sacks. I had your money.” And he brought Simeon out unto them.

24 And the man brought the men into Joseph’s house, and gave them water and they washed their feet; and he gave their asses provender.

25 And they made ready the present for Joseph’s coming at noon, for they heard that they should eat bread there.

26 And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present which was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves before him to the earth.

27 And he asked them of their welfare and said, “Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spoke? Is he yet alive?”

28 And they answered, “Thy servant our father is in good health; he is yet alive.” And they bowed down their heads and made obeisance.

29 And he lifted up his eyes and saw his brother Benjamin, his mother’s son, and said, “Is this your younger brother of whom ye spoke unto me?” And he said, “God be gracious unto thee, my son.”

30 And Joseph made haste, for his heart yearned for his brother, and he sought somewhere to weep; and he entered into his chamber and wept there.

31 And he washed his face and went out, and restrained himself, and said, “Set on the bread.”

32 And they served him by himself, and them by themselves, and the Egyptians who ate with him by themselves, because the Egyptians might not eat bread with the Hebrews, for that is an abomination unto the Egyptians.

33 And they sat before him, the firstborn according to his birthright and the youngest according to his youth; and the men marveled one at another.

34 And he took and sent portions unto them from before him, but Benjamin’s portion was five times as much as any of theirs. And they drank and were merry with him. — Genesis 43 | 21st Century King James Version (KJV21) The Holy Bible; 21st Century King James Version Copyright © 1994 by Deuel Enterprises, Inc. Cross References: Genesis 12:10; Genesis 32:13; Genesis 33:3; Genesis 35:24; Genesis 37:7; Genesis 42:2; Genesis 42:13; Genesis 42:20; Genesis 42:24-25; Genesis 42:27; Genesis 42:35; Genesis 44:1; Genesis 44:23; Genesis 44:25; Genesis 45:1; Genesis 45:2-3; Genesis 46:34; Numbers 6:25; Daniel 6:4; Matthew 8:10; Luke 7:44; John 19:22; Philemon 1:18-19

Summary of Genesis 43

[mudgasseparator]

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[solivar]

From the Annals of Unnatural Causes

Since today is Dr. Kieran Terrance Corben's birthday, I thought I would repost this snippet from 2012: Best Ever/While You Were Sleeping. Rated M for consensual sexy funtimes and supernatural violence, though not at the same time.

The evening clerk at the B&B caught his eye as they walked in, still slightly damp and smelling of sea salt, ylang-ylang, and sandalwood, exuding a certain unmistakable aura of freshly pampered. He nodded and, twenty minutes later, once they'd had the chance to change out of the clothes they'd been wearing all day and into something slouchier and softer (horrifying tie-dyed pants and that ancient, shapeless Grateful Dead tee-shirt for Terry, a pair of his surviving University of Washington sweatpants and an equally shapeless plain black tee for himself), a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a room service caddy containing a bottle of nicely chilled sparkling cider, two glasses, a tiny box of rose-scented cloth petals, and a platter of assorted sugary delights, which the clerk passed to him with a whispered, “Good luck!”

Nate was not entirely certain exactly how everyone, including apparently random strangers and hotel employees, knew he was utterly hopeless at the relationship starting thing, but it was beginning to become rather alarming.

Terry, bless his black little heart, was making things easy. Instead of turning on all the lights in their little semi-suite, he had purred in his own ineffable way over the gas fireplace and turned it on, snuggling down on the loveseat in front of it and laying his head on the cushioned back, his eyes closed. He looked about as boneless as it was possible for a healthy adult human not suffering from some atrocious degenerative spinal condition to be and didn't even open his eyes when Nate breezed past behind him, tray in hand, and set it on the coffee table. He did respond to the popping of the cork, however, lifting his head and blinking in the firelight, as Nate poured two champagne flutes of non-alcohol and handed him one.

“Well now,” Terry grinned and took a tiny sip, and grinned some more. “Living dangerously tonight, Dr. Harada.”

“The circumstances seemed to warrant it.” Nate grinned back and seated himself in one of the nicely padded chairs set directly off the side of the loveseat, extending his glass for a toast. “To your birthday, Dr. Corben. May you see many, many more.”

Terry made their glasses go ting and drank to his own honor. “What goodies did they bring us to help celebrate this most natal of days?”

“...Was that a pun? That was a pun. I should have thought of that first.” Nate laid out the provender: the tiny box of very delicious and very expensive Belgian chocolates, the plate of assorted fun-sized fruit tarts that he knew from past experience that Terry loved, the plate of cheese and grapes and little savory-sweet flatbreads. “And you should drink some more. Right now.”

“Right now?” Terry offered his half-empty glass for a refill and no meaningful argument. 

“Yes. Massage is wonderfully relaxing but you're going to be intensely thirsty in about an hour.” He provided the refill and a plate of goodies. “And fortunately there's supposed to be water in the suite fridge.” 

“But no sylphs clad in diaphanous tunics to feed me grapes and chocolates. Alas.” He made a comedically tragic face and fed himself one of each, sequentially, the tragedy transforming into bliss. “Wow.”

“I'm sorry about the sylphs, they wanted twice the going union rate to come out in diaphanous anything in October.” Nate considered the platter, found his stomach entirely too knotted up to cooperate with casual fine dining, and settled back in his chair. “So...enjoying your birthday?”

“Best. Birthday. Ever.” Terry bit into another chocolate and made a face that could be legitimately described as orgasmic.

“Really? Ever? Bear in mind that I've been to your family's vacation house and I'm finding that a little hard to believe.” 

“Oh, my friend. You have no idea. My parents' idea of a fun and relaxing birthday celebration is dinner at a three-star restaurant or possibly some fustily exclusive country club – black tie all the way, of course – and attended by somewhere between fifteen and fifty of their closest friends and associates, followed by a stimulating evening of cultural enrichment at the symphony or the opera or some gala art show opening. I mean, I enjoy the occasional art gallery or museum, but I usually prefer not to be one of the objects on display. And there is literally no such thing as a non-tragic opera. I don't care what anyone says. Aida. On my birthday. Really.” He contemplated the chocolate held daintily between his thumb and forefinger. “Whereas this is one of the best things I have ever voluntarily put into my mouth, and it comes following a day full of enjoyable things undertaken with a person that I actually know and like.”

“There are comedic operas,” Nate felt compelled to point out and desperately hoped he wasn't blushing as visibly as he thought. And the glass wasn't really big enough to hide behind, dammit.

“No. No, there are not.” Terry sat up a little straighter and grinned easily at him. “And this is one of the best days ever. And best things. Seriously, you have to taste this. We're talking angel kisses and kitten love, here.”

“I got those for you – “

“And I'm choosing to share them. Open your mouth, Nate.”

They were, Nate had to admit, exceptionally good chocolates. Terry's blue eyes did that little dancing with glee thing they did at his own theobromine-fueled O-face. “And I swear that they get worse every year. Much, much worse now that...” He paused, took a breath, and managed a half-smile. “Now that I'm single again. I think my Mom managed to find an unmarried Vanderbilt relation to throw at me, she was so crushed that I didn't want to come to Scotland with them for my birthday. Or possibly an unmarried countess.”

Nate managed not to choke on his mouthful of bliss. “...Why a Vanderbilt?”

“My Mom has always wanted to be able to say that she's related to the Vanderbilts. I have no idea why, it's just a thing with her.” Terry shook his head mournfully. “But I suppose that's still slightly better than having the lifelong ambition to be related to the Kennedys. But! I am not going to digress into a diatribe about the insanity of my parents today. Today I am going to revel in the glory that is.”

“I guess I'm sort of lucky that way – my grandparents always let me pick what I wanted to do on my birthday.” Nate firmly decided that he was not going to make any sort of inquiries about potential Vanderbilt in-laws, no sir and no way, and drained his glass, wishing that its contents might have been a tiny bit more alcoholic. 

“Not your Dad?” Terry handed him a plate of grapes and chocolate.

“Sometimes. He was home with me during the school year so he had to travel on business quite a lot during the summer months – he always called, at least. And sent plenty of cool presents.” He grinned, remembering the more than a little squashed boxes of summer festival sweets and painted carp kites that had arrived over the years. “I had a few cousins close to my own age that visited Granny Hanako and Grandpa Toshiaki for a couple weeks every summer, so we usually ended up having fun.”

“That sounds nice – most of our cousins were a lot older than us, and we traveled so much we were almost never in the same place for more than a birthday or two. It was usually just Rob and Mal and I when it came to friends.” Terry looked him dead in the eye with an air of utter seriousness. “And, believe it or not, my brothers were insufferable goobers when they were kids. Age has definitely improved them.”

Nate managed not to choke to death on a grape. “Goobers.”

“That is what I said.”

“Goobers.”

“It is a finely descriptive and entirely accurate term. They started out the worst brothers anyone could possibly want to have – Rob was was six different kinds of popular everywhere we went and was embarrassed to admit that he was related to us for most of our childhood and Mal was the sort of annoying kid brother that invariably found the older kids on base stealing his underwear and running it up the school flagpole. Then, at some point after we all went to high school or college, everyone became a couple orders of magnitude more tolerable.” Terry sipped meditatively at his cider.

“'We looked around and suddenly we were all grown up'.”

“Yeah, like that. More or less.” Terry's eyes danced again. “Though I'm pretty sure Mal still gets his unders run up the flagpole on occasion.”

Nate snickered helplessly and Terry laughed and for a time they lapsed into a comfortable sort of silence – Nate's stomach unknotted enough to actually enjoy what he was putting into it. “So, what's the best birthday present you've ever gotten? Before today that is.”

Terry accepted a refilled glass and, after a meditative moment, announced, “Haggis.”

“....Seriously?”

“Okay, not the haggis itself. That was pretty nasty and required half a bottle of HP sauce just to get past the texture and I'm pretty sure it's the reason that I can't stand the taste of liver to this day.” He sat down his plate, the better to talk with at least one hand. “Making it, however, was my first real lesson in cooking – my grandmother's housekeeper, Mrs. Carmody, caught me lurking around the kitchen being surly and antisocial and put me to work. Granny wanted a Burns supper and didn't feel like waiting until January to get it – and so I found myself sitting in front of a cutting board covered in freshly boiled sheep innards that I was allowed to chop to my heart's content and serve to my brothers without even a whiskey chaser to soften the blow.” He grinned in fond reminiscence. “Next week she taught me how to make poor man's beef Wellington. I think I'm always going to miss that woman.”

“I know you've said that you were a terrible thirteen year old before, but I seriously cannot imagine you being surly. Or antisocial for that matter.” Nate shook his head.

“Well. Thirteen was sort of peak terrible teens for me.” Terry's smile went crooked again. “You?”

“I'm reasonably certain that I was the most mopily wangst-driven seventeen year old on the face of the Earth.”

“Seventeen has never treated anyone well but, in this case, I was asking about your favorite birthday present.”

“Oh!” Nate physically repressed the urge to facepalm. “Oh, man. I had so many nice things as a kid – it was just my Dad and I for the longest time and he spoiled me absolutely rotten when it came to toys that I wanted. But the very best, most what the fuck thing? A beer stein.”

Terry's eyebrow migrated toward his hairline. “You don't drink.”

“No, I do not. I have never drunk, not since my doctors told my Dad I would likely be sensitive to sulfates my whole life.” Nate refilled his own glass for emphasis. “Nonetheless, on my twenty-first birthday, Dad was in Germany on business and sent me a beer stein to celebrate that particular socio-cultural milestone. And not just any beer stein, mind you – it wasn't one of those cheap touristy things. It's made from hardened waxed leather, banded in horn and polished wood, and covered in this really fancy decorative carved leather work. Yggdrasil and Nidhogg. Oh, and it's the length of my freaking arm, so I'm assuming that it was probably a beer stein intended for use by a frost giant.” 

“I so need to meet your father one day.” Terry accepted a refill of his own. “Where is it? I'm pretty sure I would have noticed a frost giant beer stein in your apartment.”

“Granny Hanako uses it for extra large sized flower arrangements.”

“I need to actually meet your grandmother one day, too. I know!” Terry smiled a bright eyed smile of impending trauma. “We'll go to Oregon for your birthday this year. Clear you calendar, Dr. Harada.”

“I'm pretty sure she's already half in love with you, so a meeting couldn't hurt. If I put in for it now, I might even get the time off.” Nate smiled wryly. “Be warned, my grandmother will probably try to hook you up with one of my unmarried cousins. She apparently doesn't have enough grandchildren yet.”

“She can't possibly be more rabidly baby-bit than my own mother, I assure you. One granddaughter and suddenly she can hear her biological clock ticking again. Of course,” He had that dance in his eyes again. “You could always introduce me as your boyfriend, which would – “

Fifteen minutes later, once he'd stopped coughing all the cider out of his lungs with the aid of a few solid whacks and some therapeutic rubbing between the shoulder blades, Nate managed to croak out, “Well, yeah. Okay, that might work as a means of discouraging the cousin-throwing.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, well, nearly kill you.” Terry looked quite sincerely contrite which, for some reason, made Nate feel utterly wretched. 

“Not your fault. It's – It just surprised me. I – “ Nate stopped, realized he had no idea how he wanted to start that sentence, much less finish it, and soldiered on. “We're a pair, aren't we? Your folks want you to hurry up and get over that whole tragically widowered at a traumatically young age thing  and get on with the remarrying and making more grandchildren. And my folks want any option that renders me something other than a creepy recluse whose only close friends are corpses and case files.”

“Amazing, isn't it, how what you want to do with your life never seems to enter into it, even when you're all grown up?” There was a more than trace element of bitterness in Terry's voice.

“Astonishing.” Nate reached for the bottle with hands that were considerably less steady than they'd been a few minutes before, and poured for them both with exaggerated care. “Do you...want to be married again?” 

Terry accepted the glass but didn't drink, turning it slowly between his hands as he found sudden, passionate interest in the patterns of firelight on the carpet. “Someday. With the right person.”

“Ah.” Nate took a quick breath and found that not entirely sufficient to dispel the sudden, strangling tightness in his chest. 

“Which isn't to say 'never' but – “ Terry flashed him one of those quick, fantastically bright smiles. “Nate? Are you okay?”

“Fine. I'm fine. Really.” From somewhere, he dredged up the artful approximation of a smile.

Terry was Not Going For It, and Nate felt a little twinge of alarm in his gut joining the torturous cardiac contortions making themselves known in his chest. “What about you?” Softly.

Oh please don't DO that. Don't ASK that. Too late, he'd asked. “You've probably noticed that I suck with an audible sucking sound at that whole 'having a relationship' thing.”

“I don't know – I think we've got a pretty good relationship going on right here.” Terry inclined a single questioning brow and Nate wanted to sink through the floor.

“Friends. I'm good at being friends. Not so great at everything else.” He put down his glass and stood, rubbing his suddenly damp palms on the legs of his sweats. “In fact, I'm really epically terrible at everything else. I'm fairly sure that Rin's kids are going to be the ones picking out my nursing home.”

All the nervous energy suddenly bubbling out of where it had lain in wait for just this moment forced his legs to move, one stride, then two, and a few heartbeats later he was looking out the doors opening on the balcony, which itself overlooked the garden, at the moment a basically amorphous glob of wind-blown foliage in the night. Terry stayed where he was, which didn't help at all because Nate could feel the weight of his gaze, that intensely earnest blue-eyed look that belonged to a man who helped people cope with their emotional fuckedupedness for a living.

Whatever made me think this was a good idea? “Have I ever told you about my last...relationship-shaped...thing?” Nate heard the words emerging from his mouth with the sort of dull, disconnected horror he usually associated with dreams of walking into work naked.

“A little bit.” Oh so calmly neutral and Nate wondered, briefly, if throwing himself off the balcony would be enough to kill him or just hurt really badly. They probably weren't high enough up to make it totally painless unless he landed just right on his head. “Mostly that it ended really badly. Also that your ex is a colossal dick, which is a sentiment I can fully empathize with. I've got some exes that could only be improved via gravity slingshot into the photosphere of the sun.”

“Yeah...that would more or less describe it.” With massive reluctance, he turned around, but couldn't make himself pace back, leaning against the decorative door molding in case his legs decided to get all wobbly on him, which was looking like a distinct and unfortunate possibility. “I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not like that with everyone I used to – used to date or see or however you want to put it. I'm still friends with both the people I went out with in high school – Christmas cards and everything! But those weren't what you'd call relationship relationships, either. We were just doing the stuff that teenagers do, movies and pizza and necking in the backseat of somebody's first car and it wasn't really...serious emotional involvement. We liked each other but it wasn't...”

He absolutely could not say what he was thinking and look at Terry at the same time. He took a shaky breath and looked back out the window. “Like I said, I do friends really well. Sometimes even friends with benefits if it's the right friend. But I'm – I can't – “

“Nate.” Softly.

“I'm really bad at making other people happy. At even really knowing what would make someone happy. Long-term happy, I mean. Short term happy is easy – that's just basic paying attention and contingency planning. The rest? That's...beyond me. Totally beyond me, even when I try and I've really tried, I promise you that. But...trying isn't enough. It's just not.” He closed his eyes against the prickle of completely and utterly embarrassing tears and he was not going to start crying in front of Terry on his freaking birthday. “We...do have a good relationship going on here. A wonderful relationship. You're the best...the best friend I've had in years. And I...don't want to do anything...I don't want to say anything that would screw that up.”

“What makes you think you could?” Again, so very softly.

“Because I always do. Always. I say something or I do something – or I don't say something or don't do something – and that's it. Over. And I don't – want this to be over.” Darwin's fucking finches, he was, in fact, almost in tears. A head-first dive at the hydrangea bushes was starting to look better and better.

“Well, that's good.” Terry had obviously taken some stealthy like ninja classes at some point in his education because he very simply materialized right there next to him, leaning against the locked balcony doors in a manner that suggested he knew exactly what Nate was thinking just then and believed an intervention might be in order. Hell, he might – Terry was scarily good at that sort of thing. “Because I don't particularly want this to be over, either. Why might it be over, Nate?”

“Because I think I'm in love with you. Seriously, completely, emotionally involved with love for you and you – you're – my friend.” Was that his out loud voice? It was. He had said that out loud. “You're my friend and I'm in love with you and I always screw up being in love, I can't do it right, and can we just pretend I never said anything? Please? Please? Let's just...stay friends and be friends because I don't want this to end.”

Far, far too out loud for that, in all likelihood, and he buried his face in his hand before he could complete his self-actualized utter and abject humiliation by crying on top of everything else. He almost jumped out of his skin when Terry's hand closed around his wrist and pulled his hand down and he was totally crying right there in front of him and Terry was, he could not help but notice, smiling. And his eyes were dancing. 

“Nate, what if I told you that I don't want to be just friends?”

Nate took a shocked, gulped-in breath that came back out as something close to, “Oh?”

Not really a question, per se, or any other sort of sensible response because that was all it took for Terry to step in close and pull him closer and he tasted like chocolate and cider and Nate's mind temporarily shut down in self-defense as his back came to rest against the nearest wall. When his brain finished rebooting he was mildly astonished to discover that he wasn't experiencing a post traumatic relationship-related hallucination, that Terry's hands were really resting on his hips and Terry's soft, warm lips were really gently brushing his own, and his own hands were clinging helplessly to Terry's shoulders. When they parted, it was with an audible little moan of dismay on his own part and a sigh on Terry's. He swayed away from the wall at the gentle tug on his hips and into the warmth of Terry's body, burying his still-wet face against the junction of his neck and shoulder, Terry's hand against the small of his back, stroking his hair.

“In my personal experience,” Terry said quietly, “being friends isn't fundamentally incompatible with being lovers. Pretty much the opposite, in fact. I've never loved someone I haven't liked first. And I like you. I've liked you since we first met, that weekend when we both volunteered to stay at the office and you brought Cards Against Humanity to keep everybody entertained. I started falling in love with you every time you got fire-spitting pissed or cried with someone's family or snarked at some asshole defense attorney or reporter. So many people lose themselves to the work we do – let it peel chunks of their humanity away and go numb because caring hurts too much. But you...don't do that. You care. You feel. And I love you. I love you for that. I love you for you. And I freely confess that I want to find the asshole who made you think that you weren't enough, weren't worthy of being loved just for who you are, and psychoanalyze the living holy fuck out of him.”

Nate laughed, helplessly, holding on tight, the sound coming out suspiciously like a sob, and if anything Terry held him closer. 

“So no,” Terry's hand climbed up between his shoulder blades. “This isn't going to be over. Not because of this. I've wanted this for so damned long now...”

Nate took a deep, shaky breath and looked up just as Terry was looking down and it only took a bit more effort to finish the motion and bring their lips together again, a little less soft this time, a little less gentle. Terry's hand tangled tighter in his hair and his tongue brushed against the curve of his lower lip and Nate whimpered helplessly and let it slip inside. Chocolate and cider, stronger than before, and under that Terry himself; sandalwood and almond oil and musk filled up his head and sent his heart pounding off at a thousand miles an hour. A sudden, convulsive movement on somebody's part brought their bodies even closer together – which Nate hadn't thought physically possible – and made it absolutely, blindingly clear that he wasn't alone in the blood flowing swiftly condition.

“Terry,” He gasped, when the kiss finally broke and their hips ground together again and it was all he could do to keep his knees steady against the rush of pleasure this provoked, “we should probably get away from the window.”

“...Good idea.”

Nate wasn't quite sure who actually started the backwards motion away from the window and toward the fireplace and its cosy little sitting area – there was too much going on with hands and mouths and the head-spinning rush of having someone touching him with genuine desire again. Terry's hands were under his shirt, fingers spread wide across his skin, and then his shirt was over his head and the loveseat was behind his knees and they were tangled together, Terry's weight on his lap pressing him into the cushions and both their bodies together. Terry started working his way south, becoming distracted en route with the apparently irresistible allure of his neck and chest and collarbones and the delight to be found in licking and sucking and kissing and covering all of the above in a necklace of bites and Nate took advantage long enough to rid him of his own shirt, placing all that ink adorning Terry's shoulders at the tips of his fingers, and the tip of his tongue, happy to explore. A surprisingly back-arching, breath-catching, desperate writhing and moaning exploration, to be sure, Terry half trying to get away and half trying to get even closer, as though those tattoos were the most severely erogenous zone ever applied to any living creature on the face of the Earth, just waiting for human contact to set them on fire. 

“Nate,” It was easily the most desperate thing he'd ever heard in his whole life, Terry's voice at that moment, and the way their bodies ground together and then everything went a little sideways.

The rush of it came over him so suddenly he almost didn't have a chance to yelp a warning, his head going light and prickles of warmth running all the way up his body and his own spine bending at a rather acute angle. Terry blinked down at him, half startled and half dazed with lust, and he found himself blushing furiously.

“Sorry,” He croaked, fighting the urge to sink through the floor again. “It's been a long time. A really long time. And you're just so...so...Yeah.”

“Oh, Nate. Don't be sorry. I'm an idiot.” Terry kissed him, gently, and climbed off, helping lever him to his feet.

“No you're not. Stop it. Shut up.” He slithered out of the rest of his clothes and used the first available piece of clothing – that ancient Grateful Dead tee, so very appropriate – to sponge off a bit. “Get on the bed.”

The look on his face was not a single conclusive expression so much as a collision of emotional reactions, none of which resulted in an immediate response to what Nate felt was an extremely reasonable request. With a sigh, he grabbed the loosely knotted tie of Terry's horrific pants, pulled it loose and them down in a single smooth motion. He wasn't wearing underwear. Which explained a few things, actually, and he blushed gorgeously, and Nate took him firmly in hand on the way to the very nice King-sized bed with the mountain of pillows and goose down coverlets. Those tattoos and their erotic possibilities really required a more thorough and comprehensive examination, especially since just running his fingers over them  caused Terry to shudder and whimper and beg for more. Especially the ones wrapped in serpentine coils around the base of his spine and the delicious indentation of his navel and slender curve of his hips and the long muscles of his thighs. Milk white skin and a dusting of pale freckles and fine coppery hair, looped with jet ink, and he wanted to touch it all, kiss him, lick him, make those hungry noises of pleasure come out of his mouth. And that was, he was willing to admit very quietly to himself, something he was good at. One of Terry's hands found its way into his hair, gripping almost painfully tight and that was wonderful, almost as wonderful as the taste and smell of him, salty and musky and so very good. He couldn't keep his hips still for even a minute, between Nate's mouth and his hands spread over his hips and over his thighs, stroking and sliding and finding all the places that made those long, shuddering moans flow up his throat. The sound he made at the end was the sweetest thing Nate had heard in years, a helpless little mewl of ecstasy, and then his back arched and his hips tensed and Nate drank him down, milking him until there was nothing left to taste.

Terry's eyes fluttered open again as he settled down in the pillows next to him, running a hand through the fine dusting of coppery hair on his chest, a fingertip over the curling spiral of ink ringing one pebbly nipple. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head again and he reached up to capture that hand, holding it flat in place while he caught his breath. Nate leaned up and kissed him long and slow, nibbling a lip, sucking languorously on his tongue, and when they parted, Terry whispered, “You don't have any idea what you do to me, do you?”

“I think I can guess.” Nate smiled wryly and lay back in the pillows, tangling sweat-soaked red hair in his fingers, curly and imminently pettable.

Terry arched his head into the stroking and rolled onto his side, nuzzling gently at Nate's neck again, which apparently hadn't gotten quite enough attention or visible marks of possession just yet. “I feel that I have somehow fallen down on my half the deal here...”

“It's your birthday.” Nate pointed out, and kissed him again – and abruptly found himself pinned down in the pillows as Terry rolled a long leg over him and hoisted himself somewhat unsteadily astride.

“True, it is. And I freely confess, I've always been the sort to indulge in giving myself presents.” He rocked back and Nate arched helplessly himself as his body responded to the heat and friction and sweet sweatiness of it all, already more than half-stirred, and came all the way back to life. “Do we have any lube?”

Nate swallowed with some difficulty around the constriction of his throat and the sounds trying to crawl out of it occasioned by the teasing circular motions of Terry's goddamned wanton hips, croaking out, “Beside the table.”

Terry crawled to the edge and fished around in the little toiletries bag that Nate had almost decided not to bring coming back with a bottle and a little foil wrapped square and a gentle, nipping kiss. “Thank all the gods you didn't get that self-warming crap. It's awful.”

He poured out a generous dollop and massaged it between his hands, smiling the sort of lazy cat smile that made Nate acutely nervous in most situations but in this one seemed strangely exciting instead. “Close your eyes.”

He did so and was rewarded a moment later by the sensation of Terry's warm, slick hand cupping him, fingertips painting teasing circles in water soluble lubricants and it was all he could do not to whimper. Foil tore. Terry made a low sound in the back of his own throat and, an instant later, his grip shifted, sliding Nate's length from tip to root, once, twice, and his eyes flew open in shock as Terry's position shifted higher. He rocked down, slowly, and Nate's hips bucked as he was enveloped in smooth, slick heat, an inarticulate moan escaping him at the sensation and the sight of Terry taking him in, hands braced on his own thighs, back arched with the pleasure traveling all the way up his spine. Terry laughed, breathless, at the look on his face and rocked his hips and then all chance of actually saying or doing anything went utterly away and all he could do was hold on, catching hold of the curve of his hips and rocking up to meet him, their bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as blood pulsing and breath rushing and it was very simply too good, too right, too perfect. Every nerve in his body sang with how perfect it was, to please and be pleasured by this man, to love him and be loved by him, to know he'd give every drop of his blood and his every breath just to see that smile and those dancing blue eyes, hear that voice and hold that body, knowing it was the house a beautiful soul lived in. His head went white with it and his body went light and he let himself fall into it without a fight, let those wanton noises come out of his mouth, drank Terry's moans, and allowed the pleasure to drag him down into a warm and flawless darkness.

He wasn't sure how long he floated there in the tenebrous warmth inside his own mind, his own body, but it was still dark in the room when he woke, firelight casting shadows on the walls, Terry's warm weight pillowed against him, still trembling and breathing raggedly. He wrapped his arms around his lover's body, ran a hand through the sweat painting his back, curled into the curvature of his arms. 

Terry lifted his head and kissed him long and slow and sweetly. “Best. Ever.”

***

Kieran had, on the occasion of their first time sleeping together, expected Nate to look younger at rest than he did while awake. He had the face and build for it – a solid foot across the line that separated beautiful from handsome, as long and lean and wiry as a man a good ten years his junior. To his very great surprise, that had not at all been the case. The tension never seemed to leave the line of his neck and spine and shoulders, not even at rest – he seemed, even then, to be bracing himself, tightening up to take a hit, or else picking himself up from one. Even at his most bonelessly relaxed, curled up next to him by the warm glow of the firepit with the Orinids falling just beyond the shadow of the trees overhead, he wasn't genuinely at peace.

He was now.

Beneath his hand, Nate's back was one smooth line of bone and muscle and almost impossibly soft skin, still gently scented with massage oil and sea salt and more recently with sweat. His head lay pillowed on Kieran's shoulder, one long arm laying sleepily possessive across his stomach, their legs welded together from hip to knee. His hair was damp with sweat and his lashes were sooty shadows above his still gently flushed cheeks and his mouth was full and lush and kiss-bitten and through all the places they were still in contact, Kieran could feel the echoes of pleasure still ringing through all the places in his mind and soul that he usually kept locked up tight. Pleasure and more than pleasure. Exultation. His heart was singing with it.

And not alone. He pressed a kiss to Nate's temple and shivered slightly as, even asleep, he responded, squeezing the last microns of space from between their bodies, his arm curling up over his chest, sending a frisson of pleasure that echoed through them both, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. A slow stroke the length of his spine made those ridiculously long lashes flutter, brought a noise past his lips that was half moan and half plea and more erotic than either sound alone. 

Beautiful, the thought crawled through Kieran's head, along with shared and tangled and mutual ecstasy still humming in every nerve and inch of skin, the heart-song and heart fullness and gentle wash and curl of emotion twining together. So beautiful precious wonderful mine. My own. Belonging to me.

He had not thought – had never really allowed himself to think – that he would ever be this happy again. And yet here he was, with his beloved and his heart's-ease laying warm and safe in his arms. Nate's breathing deepened as he fell further into sleep. Rain drummed slow and steady against the roof, a breath of cool air finding its way through the seams of the window casements. Against the far wall, the shadows cast by the fireplace joined and parted and joined again.

He wasn't quite certain how long he slept but when he woke it was immediately and all at once – without the slightest trace of disorientation and with every nerve ringing like the strings of a harp struck by a two year old. 

Something ghosted across the edges of his awareness, something swift and subtle, flirting with the warded boundary he'd built around the perimeter of the building when they'd checked in earlier. Powdered silver and salt and more than a trace of his own blood, that not even the rain could wash away – not that it was raining now. The only sound from outside was the wind, rushing through the trees with a roar not unlike a stream in full flood.

...witchthing...

It curled through him, through his mind and soul, like the first breath of winter, ran needles of ice deep into his gut. Next to him, Nate stirred in his sleep, responding to his own sudden tension, and he bent and soothed him back down with a kiss and a comforting murmur and a quiet inner caress. Slowly, carefully, he eased out from under Nate's arm, rested his head on his own warm pillow and drew the covers up over him – even with the fireplace, the room was cool and damp now, though how much of that was psychic chill and how much was the weather blowing through he couldn't quite tell. He found the clothes they'd discarded earlier, dressed swiftly and silently, opening the inner ward he'd forged around the suite itself barely a sliver and closed it tight behind him as he went.

Outside, the wind nearly clawed the loggia door out of his hand, storm-front strong and breath-stealingly cold, the roar of it in the trees easily drowning out any other natural sounds. But not the unnatural ones. The scrape of claws across densely patterned defensive energies, looking for some weakness it could make or exploit in the weave. Inarticulate gutturals and hissed sibilants, filled with rage and frustration and no small amount of pain. Morpheus was certain that he'd hurt it badly and the confirmation gave him a coldly happy grin as he started off across the vast expanse of beautifully manicured lawn in the direction of the equally manicured garden. He felt it sense him in motion, felt it catch his scent – and more, Nate's essence mingled with his own in the most intimate of ways, the quarry it had always been hunting. Felt it peel away from the house and begin limp-loping after him, low to the ground and more invisible than not, but far, far less sleek and strong and fast than it had been. Felt it gather itself in long, leaping strides and launch itself at his back, forelimbs stretching into scythes, smooth, serpentine head splitting into a muzzle lined in razor-fine needles – and slam face-first into the already active first line of his personal wards, the defenses it had bypassed practically without effort weeks before, filaments of power flaring into eye-searing visibility brighter than a stroke of lightning. It limned the creature's shifting-twisting body as it writhed in the net of the wards' power, seeking the shape that would let it escape, or at least break the circuit of punishing energies connecting them.

Kieran called them back down before the thing could find it, pulling the net of his protections in – not quite skin-close but near to it. The creature landed in an ungraceful, mostly-visible sprawl in the muddy, leaf-strewn lawn, form flickering as it struggled to hide itself again. He shook a gently chastising finger at it. “Now. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, and a thousand generations of my ancestors will rise from the grave specifically to kick my ass for embarrassing them that way.”

Clever witchthing, It keened at him, form losing visible definition even as he watched, springing away to try to circle him again, hoping to shake his perception. Should have eaten your heart when I had it in my claws. 

“Yes, you probably should have.” He replied, mock-commiserative. “But since you didn't...? Well, sucks to be you.”

He broke for the garden at a sprint, skidding on mud and wet grass and leaves as he went, the creature howling rage and hate and hunger at a pitch inaudible to human ears – human minds were another story – and leaping after him in ground-eating strides. He hit the entrance to the boxwood hedge before it could reach him and slid into the maze with his feet barely under him, skinning his palm on the field stone pylon marking the entrance as he grabbed it and took the corner at a dead run. Behind him, expensively cultivated and embellished greenery snapped and tore and he couldn't help wincing a bit because it was a very nice garden and he genuinely felt somewhat bad about wrecking it – but he rather suspected that the house was not really an ideal alternative venue for this sort of thing. His Eye snapped open and the path he'd traced earlier in argent and crimson and white leapt out at him, a shimmering thread in the otherwise absolute darkness. He held the wards tight around him, masking his presence as best he could at the cost of losing his finer sense of where the creature might be at any given moment – it hardly mattered, since it would chase him down no matter what, in order to get at what it really wanted.

Clever witchthing, the thing's soundless voice curled across the surface of his mind. Feeding the halfthing its magic. Cleverclever. Will like eating your heart.

He clamped down hard on the urge to taunt back – it was too close, would be on him too fast, for that to have the desired effect. 

Smell the halfthing onyouinyou, the sensation that accompanied those words churned his stomach in spite of himself, grotesque and vile and obscene, knew you would have liked helping with him, witchthing. Too bad.

The creature slammed into him from above, claws briefly finding purchase in his shoulder before the wards could engage, flung away before they could bite deep or cause serious harm, the recoil of energies slamming him into the ground and the creature through a few layers of hedge. He fought for air and staggered back to his feet – the center of the maze was only a few more turns away – the creature howling and thrashing and coiling in on itself in agony.

The center of the maze, the hotel's brochure had informed him on the way in from the city, was marked by a spectacular display of seasonal flowers. It really was impressive when he'd visited earlier, all Japanese anemone and monkshood and helenium and autumn crocuses, arranged in an inwardly curling spiral of color and perfume. The wind hadn't done it any favors and neither had the rain and neither were his feet as he ran across it, coming to a halt at the innermost point of the whorl of vegetation, the creature crashing through the final border of the hedge only a few breaths behind. He stopped, breathed, and his wards flowed out around him again, forcing the creature back a pace or two, its form flickering briefly more visible as it snapped and growled, its eyes lambent in the dark.

Witchthing, a purr. Should have stayed inside.

Overhead, the wind finished shredding the last of the cloud cover. The moon, full as it had been on the night of his birth, spilled her radiance across the vault of the heavens, bright enough that it washed the color out of even the stars, and cast hundreds, thousands of tiny, sharp-edged shadows across the parterre stones of the garden. Cast his own shadow across the creature, lending its shape a form and solidity that it otherwise lacked.

“Well – one of us should have.”

The creature shrieked, a hideous psychic ululation, as the shadows pierced it, wrapped around its throat and limbs in skeins of barbed darkness to bind it in place, deny it freedom of movement and shape, spears carved of night's own substance driving through its hide and setting its blood flowing. 

“I'm really thinking that was you.”

The creature's struggles slowly ceased, its shrieks dying away to desperate whines of distress, its eyes rolling in its head.

Witchthing witchthing –

Then, he heard it, beneath the creature's own voice.

Kagemasuta.

“Guilty as charged.” He smiled thinly. “Hellcaller.”

A hiss – a double hiss, one from the creature and one from the thing riding its senses, trying to force it to keep acting even as it died. Finally, finally died.

“I know you can see me. I know you can hear me.” Kieran replied, softly. “So I strongly advise you to listen to me now. He is under my protection. If you raise your hand against him again, I will find you and I will end you. And nothing – nothing you can do, not the Serpent, nothing in this world or beyond it – will save you.”

He spoke the word that released the shadows bound into his own flesh, the ward structure that held them quiet and quiescent folding in upon itself, and they reared out of him hungry. He almost felt sorry for the creature, and the human-shaped monster on the other end of it, but not for very long. It took longer, by far, to wrestle his personal darkness back under control, the sky beginning to go gray with false dawn and the creature little more than an unfortunately gooey blotch in the middle of the thoroughly wrecked hedge maze, though at least part of that could be explained away by the ferocity of the last night's storm. He did, however, make certain to scrape as many crushed flowers as he could off the bottom of his shoes, and take them off on the porch, before he padded upstairs to the room where his lover lay sleeping.

[terrence-silver]

Name Taking

@msfbgraves

🧚🧚🏻‍♂️

Fairies were known to steal --- so the old stories went.

They wouldn’t steal in the physical sense, in a way that would warrant calling the proper authorities. Running off with a cow or the livestock, covertly, hidden throughout the night like ordinary thieves, no. They’d they only take what is called in Gaelic its toradh, or rather, its substance, virtue, fruit, or benefit. The outward appearance is left, but the reality is gone. Thus, when a cow is elf-taken, it appears to its owner only as suddenly smitten by some strange disease. In reality the cow is gone, and only its semblance remains, animated it may be by an Elf, who receives all the attentions paid to the sick cow, but gives nothing in return. The seeming cow lies on its side, and cannot be made to rise. It consumes the provender laid before it, but does not yield milk or grow fat. 

That’s the first thing Dougal thinks of when faced with the namelessness of one of his guests.

She is, perhaps even stranger than their tall, statuesque, supposedly American visitor who introduces himself as Terry Silver, short from Terrence. She, unlike him, speaks not a lick of Irish. In fact, she doesn’t speak much at all, leaving most of the speaking to Terry and when she does, it is done with a lick of accent he cannot place and he most notably has a knack for placing the speech patterns of tourists. Of course, it is not Dougal’s job to snoop and he makes no habit of it --- not always, anyhow. He’s just careful and analytical. Have to be around these parts, where nobody comes often. He merely politely accepts it when their imposing lodger introduces her as Mrs. Terry Silver. A bit archaic, isn’t it? Might be the old fashioned sort, this Terry, but then again, not even Dougal’s own grandfather introduced Mamó as Mrs. so and so and Dougal certainly wouldn’t introduce Kathleen as Mrs. Dougal Clarke lest he be playfully whacked over the head for it. And referring to someone with a consistent endearment such as Beloved in a quantity too frequent to be natural was equally suspicious. Not natural. -”He took her name, do you figure? Stole it?”- He whispers down in the cellar, away from all ears, where he’d be left unheard, pretending to be tinkering about the Whisky bottles even though he already procured his best for them, his voice deliberately low. It wasn’t wise to accuse someone of theft, least of all an inhabitant of the netherworlds. Might anger them. Kathleen was diligently preparing roasted lamb in the evening, being hospitable and bent on impressing their guests with the best food they could possibly muster. They don’t indulge in such a lavish meal unless it is Christmas day or a holiday, but with the innate oddity of their guests, they feel they must, or else ---

-”It’s none of our business, Dougal. Sweep in front of our own door.”- 

She answers with an old proverb, cutting him off, lifting a cooking pot that stands discarded and saved for special events, big enough to prepare a horse in. -”Maybe they’re just the discreet sort. Big on privacy. You know how people out West are?”- She shakes her head. Comforting herself, was she now? -”They’ll leave in a fortnight anyway, you silly man and we’ll never see them again. They’ll go back from wherever they actually came from. Why does it matter?”- Kathleen quips as she walks up the stairs with distinct purpose and back into the house and it doesn’t give Dougal any sort of comfort, in fact, it leaves him restless. He’s heard of tales of people being taken and usurped by the Fair Folk, aeons ago, when he was a boy himself and he was certain his parents were trying to frighten him with stories of possession, but he’s never seen it so acutely portrayed in the flesh as he did now, with this Terry Silver and Beloved. Even his own name sounded like something out of myth. Silver Terry. Silverhaired Terry. Terry of the Silver locks. The faeries took children and infants back in the old days, that much Dougal has heard, but he’s never heard of them taking women. Lovers. Wives. Mates. He tries to observe his guests huddled by the crackling fireplace, keeping cozy and warm, the TV above head muted and entirely ignored --- they seemed commonplace enough. Very much smitten, yes. Not in love in that surface level way Dougal has seen before. This was something profound, like a deep current trickling below the surface --- burning hot like the flames behind them. Terry Silver seemed like the type of fellow who’s sharp blue eyes were always following his Beloved, intensely. By god, Dougal was convinced the man barely blinked. Did that not hurt him or cause him discomfort? He didn’t dare imagine what would happen if someone had Beloved’s attention for all but a second. Their Fae King guest seemed like he would jump up and smite them all with righteous violence.

It gets somewhat worse when he and Terry merely talk, man to man, after dinner.

Beloved sweetly offers to help wash the dishes with Kathleen in the kitchen.

Kathleen rejects as gently as possible and Dougal knows why.

Don’t have her doing anything that might provoke Terry’s ire.

No, no, don’t separate them, don’t separate them, don’t separate them.

Somewhere during the night and after dessert, even though Dougal isn’t sure how the conversation came to be, Terry flips out a leather wallet from his pocket and shows him a picture of himself as a young man. Dougal never could decipher just how old their guest was upon first glance, even though he had all the markers of an advanced age, including his wrinkles, gravely voice and grayed hair, or furthermore, how old he was compared to his own companion. He dared not imagine that Terry is his own age or older. Younger? No, That’d be downright ridiculous.The man in the picture looks a certain way, though. Hair dark as night, tied at the nape, appearing to have not changed in ages. The same pale blue eyes. A looker. Tall cheekbones and a chiseled face bearing an impossible, regal intensity, bordering on hypnotic --- he’s never quite seen anyone look like that. Elven, the thought instinctually crosses his mind as Dougal nods and smiles politely. That’s how elves look. If he ever had to imagine or describe one, that’s what he would describe. An elf. Aos Sí. Sidhe. The shining ones. Young Terry Silver on the photograph looked --- well, too beautiful to be entirely human and it was safe to say his current self appeared no different. That’s usually not how old men and elderly local farmers looked around these parts or anywhere else, to Dougal’s knowledge. He lacked a gut. Bald patches. Any hanging bits natural for an older fellow. He must’ve stolen your name for real then, he thinks, trying to suppress his thoughts directed at Beloved, seated right next to her man, sharing tender glances. Must’ve taken your toradh. Must’ve done it because he loves you too much to be parted from you, separated by two worlds. The old magic tying you to him forever. That thought follows Dougal into bed as Kathleen’s fast asleep after a hard day’s work, horses in the stable.

-”God’s sake, do you figure ---”- He ponders, laying on his back, only to be cut off.

-”Sleep, Dougal Clarke. Enough conspiracies for a day. Leave some for tomorrow.”-

Kathleen snorts from her side of the mattress, voice groggy and drowsy.

They were best friends outside of being spouses, so he supposed he could tell her.

-”Do you figure he just had to take her name?”- Dougal continues, staring up at the darkened ceiling he repaired after a leak just last year with the help of some of the local repairmen working for an hourly rate, hands neatly clasped over his own chest and his buttoned up pajamas, looking over at his wife’s back turned to him, placing special emphasis on the ‘had’, signifying a lack of choice on Terry Silver’s behalf. This name taking, or act of name theft was not in the way a husband takes his wife’s name, ascribing her his own instead, but in the way someone takes a bit of one’s very being, attaching it to themselves --- a hook connecting two souls, from plane to plane. The fae were known to be possessive, envious and territorial and their guest Terry seemed just like the type, judging by his body language alone. Not a man to be crossed, around his woman, especially.. -”That if he didn’t, they wouldn’t be able to be together?”- Dougal gulps, figuring he loved old legends and that for most of his life, it the was the prime entertainment of the rural folk in this county, brought over from an older time when all people had was each other’s stories, company, a good day’s work, church and the tales they’d collectively weave when someone had no morning news to tune into on the television or when the world itself appeared much larger --- unknown. Maybe his imagination was just overly vivid and it was an individual thing. Their Californian guests were in a separate bedroom all of their own upstairs, so he supposed nobody would hear him whispering his theories. He never pondered fairies in immortal love and how their courtships would look like if imagined, though. Not until this very instant. -”And now, they can be. Together, that is.”- He adds once Kathleen turns in bed, feeling his own voice tremble, facing him, her cheek against the pillow, leaning her face on the back of her hand --- she always had a soft spot for all things romance. He knew she indulged him in his fairy-talk. He indulged her in her penchant for the things of the heart. She smiles.

-”Aye, love. That’s a nice thought. I like that.”-