#scribe melody my beloved

[melodyofthevoid]

Notes on a Funeral

A small Drabble of dubious canonicity. I wanted to... indulge, and so I did. The details are accurate, the speaker however, may or may not exist. 

Weather when it comes to funerals is a funny thing.

But what weather would be appropriate for such an event? A bright sun would burn the open wound of loss, dark storms would limit the mourners, and perhaps in extreme cases, lead to one more grave to the pile. Fog is gloomy, overcast skies an uncertainty, so, perhaps, there is no proper way for nature to match the feelings of a funeral.

This may be a note that is somewhat melodramatic to some; however, few will ever read this record of events,this is more of a my personal account than anything else. A way to experience events for myself long after they’ve passed. Serving as the king’s personal scribe may be a busy task most days but it can get rather dull. Arguments over land rights are only interesting the first dozen or so times.

So I amuse myself in other ways.

For one, making note of the goings on of some of the king’s less noted members of the house. Perhaps it’s demeaning to label them as such, but in the eyes of the king, and what he cares for, there’s many who goes unnoticed: the servants, the pages, the guards that stand watch all day, his middle son, the most interesting secrets lie with them more often than not. In the nooks and crannies that often go overlooked whether due to status or sheer neglect.

But I digress.

The day is bright, the sun clear after a rather early snow, the white layer glistening, almost blinding in the light. It’s not often that the air is this cold this soon after harvest, but unfortunately it is. I do not envy those who had to dig this grave, the ground must’ve been unyielding, stubborn, each effort to change it met with defiance. In an odd sense it was like the prince himself was fighting his fate.

Dib’s coffin is simple, as far as coffins go, though I cannot say that I’ve seen many, let alone those of royalty. Then again most of high standing live long lives, long enough to see that they get a proper coffin of their choosing, and most coffins are not empty for lack of their proper occupant. I wonder what his Majesty’s will be like. Presuming I see the day, of course.

The family, as well as Dib’s… former fiance? He would not be a widow in technicality, would he? No, he is merely almost a widower then. An almost more tragic title. In any case, all of Dib’s loved ones are dressed in somber blacks, forgoing their usual blues, whites, and in Prince Zim’s case, pinks, in favor of something more appropriate. It makes them stand out all the more against the landscape, white as it is. They make their way to the graveyard, a good ways out from the capital’s gleam. It’s a rather small and simple place, one not even I knew existed prior.

The fanfare and public mourning have already come I suppose, what need is there for flashy monuments to the dead when they’ll forever be written? Better to let the family mourn in private, show their weaknesses to only those they trust.

The citizens need not see. It is not for them to see. 

It is quiet, quite quiet, as the procession moves forward, the only sound being the light crunch of snow beneath hooves and wheel, nothing more coming from the typically lively group. My quill makes a light scratch, but it is not noticed by any as per usual. No one questions what I write.

All the better for me.

They are better off not seeing the raw manuscripts I put to ink.

I have a feeling they would find my prose less amusing than I do.

The group disembarks from their carriage, quietly grouping around the newest addition to the many markers. A simple message sits upon carved stone: “Here Lies His Highness Dib Membrane. May his spirit roam ever free.”

Lady Gazelene offers Prince Zim her arm as they stand by the gaping wound in the ground. He takes it with some hesitation, as he places his hand on it he seems to wilt, like the frost snapped flowers of early spring. Drained of life before they could truly bloom. The tears sit upon his cheeks yet they do not fall. I have to wonder for whom he keeps them up so high? His beloved or himself? He holds a constant hand on a dagger by his side, thumb running over the amber stone shining from the hilt.

It hasn’t left his side since it was unfortunately returned to him.

Gaz’s expression is unwavering as well, though how her hand shakes at her side does not go unnoticed, at least not by me. It is admittedly odd to see her in a formal gown, no sword by her side. Another upending of normalcy.

Prince Zib stands by his father’s side, impassive and conflicted as the coffin lowers down. His would be a perspective I would love to know, but now is not the time for such questions. I doubt there will ever be a time for such questions. He is an enigma to all. Membrane speaks only a few parting words, his normally booming voice now as gentle as the flakes that glisten around his feet. Their crystalline perfection as cold as the flakes are beautiful.

The last of the dirt covers the coffin, a mound of brown standing stark in a landscape of white. In time flowers will bloom here, life will come to the land, and the people will heal, though I doubt that such closure will come to any of the attendees here. Not for some time at least.

I continue to merely sit and observe, as is my duty, while the return journey begins. I offer no condolences for what would they matter? I am no one to any of this family, and the gods only know how many letters and gifts they will receive in the coming months offering support, sincere or not. I am not needed in adding my empty words to the pile.

Besides, why would I say he will be missed? That his spirit is in some better place? After all, it is rather rude to speak of the living as though they were dead. And to imply his current situation is preferable to living would be tantamount to blasphemy.

Perhaps it is better that there are no mirrors nor are there windows out in this field, that the shovels heaving the dirt down are rusted and covered. It must be odd enough seeing brief flashes of the world during the day, just out of sight as his twin moved about the palace, I cannot imagine the disorientation of seeing one’s own tombstone. Viewing the ones act as though you are gone is strange enough. Watching your brother whom you trusted convince them so even more painful.

The peculiarity of this tragedy will never cease to amaze me, how quickly jealous is acted upon with the right spark of inspiration. What opportunity for growth and prosperity he had and yet he wanted more and for what? Admittedly the pushes and nudges toward Prince Zib’s actions were partially of my own doings, the bird was a direct interference that surprised even myself in its towardness. Much of my meddlings come in offhand remarks, small lapses that add over time.

There’s more uncertainty in that, and thus, more avenues for fate to take. There was really only one way Zib would’ve reacted at that time, but there’s so many ways that a passing glance at a mirror on a dance floor, or a stray vision of someone thought lost can change the outcome.

I doubt that I will attempt such a direct action again, but I will also say that it was a sight to see the prince in such a state of euphoria afterwards. The same that I saw after Dib was locked away. The same I will likely see again. The prince seems hesitant to change his current course, determined to see his claim on the crown through no matter the cost.

No doubt he will be paying it in full eventually.

I know not the exact details of how the events coming will unfold, when Zim will understand the truth of what has transpired, when Gaz will understand her brother’s betrayal. All I know is that my job will be far more interesting when they do occur. For now, I will have to figure out how to translate this for the more… official records. I would like to keep this position after all.

Perhaps I will start with the weather.

-Melody

[alstroemeriadissonance]

So, with the Egypt AU cards, would it be too much to ask for a High Priest!Vyn and Scribe!Rosa having sex in the temple when no one is around? 👀

And could there be some aphrodisiac involved too?

Lotus-eaters (NSFW)

I'm sorry this doesn't quite fulfill all the conditions in the ask! Instead of the temple I have set it in his palace instead; and instead of aphrodisiac, perfume. But I hope you still like it D:

This is something of a new thing for me so I hope I pulled it off...

Usual NSFW, mdni, etc.

Some said the lotus symbolizes purity. 

Scholars who have visited other lands, however, told of tales where the lotus played a part in making people forget their worries.

The Royal Scribe stepped into the lakewater adorned with white lilies floating across the placid moonlit water. Chest-high lakewater enveloped her body, trailing ripples as her white garments floated around her like smoke rising from the incense.

She had removed most of the gold jewelry that usually adorned her body prior to entering the water, but the few ornamental chains that remained on her person glistened in the moonlight refracted onto the lake.

Training her wide olive eyes at the bright, mysterious fullness of the moon shining directly above her, the Scribe sought the moon’s blessing; its silent glow that guided humanity in its eternal wisdom.

Wisdom. That was exactly what the Scribe sought, and the reason why she waded into the deep waters of the lake; she had seen the High Priest do so, and was wondering if gazing at the stars and moon from within the waters of the lake would grant her, at least, an epiphany… 

There were so many things to worry about; now that she and the High Priest have brought about a momentous change in the Pharaoh’s affairs, much of the decision-making that involved the welfare of the common-folk have been foisted upon their shoulders. 

The recent turn of events felt like a tall order for the Scribe, and in her smallness she felt that she was not worthy to take on the yoke of this enormous responsibility. 

While she did care for the well-being of everyone around her, who was she, but a mere Scribe? An ordinary person. Surely someone else of higher stature and birth would be a better counsel for the Pharaoh in these matters.

She touched the lotus pod floating right in front of her. 

I wonder, if I eat this would my troubles be eased?

Then like an unexpected breeze blowing through the fields, a low, tender voice cut through her troubled thoughts.

“There you are. I was looking for you, my beloved.”

She did not have to turn around to know who it was; the Scribe knew the owner of the voice quite well. 

Once, she was blindfolded to focus all her attention towards that very voice and its owner; letting his soft, gentle voice melt like honey, engraving onto her body the memory of its melodious tone–along with it the heavy meaning that his voice bore for her alone. 

Like a secret song, between lovers.

“High Priest,” the Scribe began, still lost in her ruminations. “Have you ever heard of the Lotus-eaters?”

The man in white linen robes skirted the edge of the lake, entering the Scribe’s field of vision. He was always such an apparition, especially during moonlit nights; swathed in the Priest’s garb of white linen, with its cape fashioned into a symbolic facsimile of the sacred ibis’ wings and accented with gold.

His immensely thick, long moonlight silver hair bound into a neat braid that hung behind his back.

“The Lotus-eaters?” The High Priest smiled, his interest piqued by her question. “Yes, I have read about their stories. Those who inhabited an island filled with lotus; blessed with the loss of their worldly cares.”

His eyes, shining like gold, lit with the fires of knowledge; gold that rivaled the luster of the numerous gilded bracelets adorning his right wrist.

The Scribe could only wish she possessed a mere fraction of wisdom found in those eyes.

“Sometimes I feel like eating a lotus fruit or two,” she said, wistfully. 

“Oh? Care to tell me why?” The High Priest sat himself on a large rock that lay by the edge of the lake, making himself comfortable.

The Scribe shook her head gently, the long auburn hair floating behind her making small waves across the calm surface. “Nothing so serious. I just feel like…lost, at times. Maybe overwhelmed?”

“And so you seek the blessing of the lotus fruit, is that it?” The High Priest asked.

“Yes.” She sighed, and idly touched the newly-blossomed lotus flower floating nearby. “I suppose I am being childish.”

A soft, amused laughter chimed like quiet bells in the night air. “The method may be construed as childish, but.” A pause. “Your concern is not. Are you beset by worries? Is it about the task that the Pharaoh gave us, perhaps?”

The Scribe nodded, gathering a lotus flower with the palms of her hands, quietly beholding the pure beauty it held in its petals.

A companionable silence befell them, as the High Priest looked on while the Scribe studied the lotus flower in her hands. 

Eventually she gently placed the delicate, white-petalled flower back onto the water’s surface.

His elegant, low voice cut the veil of quiet between them.

“Are you aware that along with your cares, eating the lotus would make you forget everything that you have ever cherished,” he said, enunciating the words carefully to emphasize their importance. “Do you also wish to forget that which we share with each other?”

“What do you mean?” She looked up at him. 

“For that is what eating the lotus fruit does, in those tales,” he whispered. “The Lotus-eaters forget everything. Their worries, cares.” A sad smile tinged his lips. “...their friends. Their love. Everything that they hated. Everything that they have ever cherished. All of them forgotten, the memories dying at the altar of peaceful apathy induced by the Lotus.”

She sighed. Of course, there has to be something given, in exchange. “No…I apologize. I didn’t hear that part of the story. All I heard was that the lotus could help forget one’s problems.” She let out a self-derisive chuckle. “Think nothing of it. I was just being childish. This is but a mere whim…I’m just tired, is all.”

“Well then, do you wish me to be of assistance?” The High Priest looked at her meaningfully. “I may be able to help you, if only for the moment. After all, we do share the burden that the Pharaoh gave us. It is only right that I share with you the little things that help me.”

“I have troubled you for far too much now, High Priest,” the Scribe said, not wishing to impose on him even further. “I–”

“Am I not allowed to be of service to my lover?”

Ah.

In her stomach, myriad butterflies spread their wings and fluttered about, sending the Scribe almost reeling into the water as she felt weakness in her knees. 

Lover. He called me his lover. 

Yet despite the magic of the moment she merely smiled and said, “No, that is not what I meant. I would be honored–this common person would be greatly honored–to receive your aid, High Priest.”

“You know how special you are to me, my rarest blossom. You are no mere commoner,” the High Priest gently said as he stood up, bending slightly towards her to offer his outstretched hand. “Come. Let me take you to my palace. I shall let you receive the blessings of the Lotus, without the dire effects.”

The Scribe took his proffered hand, yet she let out a surprised yelp as he shifted his grip on her, his hands holding her underneath her armpits; almost effortlessly pulling her out of the water and into his arms. “Up you go.”

Water splashed all around his priestly robes, but the High Priest did not mind; instead he swept her up her feet, carrying her in his strong arms. “Apologies for my impertinence,” he said as he started walking, not minding the heavily blushing Scribe. “Your feet are wet; I am merely concerned about you getting dirtied with mud.”

Yet being carried all the way to the High Priest’s palace was not the Scribe’s main concern. Her main concern was that her white garments–thoroughly drenched with water–were practically transparent, letting her…more delicate parts show.

She covered her blazing hot face with both hands, softly keening in embarrassment all the while.

“Ohoh? What is this?” The High Priest allowed himself a smirk. “Have we not been intimate before? I have seen all of you already,” he said, voice sultry and suggestive. “And I will once again, later.”

===

What the Scribe did not expect was for the High Priest to strip her of her sopping wet clothing upon reaching the threshold of his palace.

Afterwards he had her sit on the elevated dais in the middle of his audience hall, slightly shivering in the cold night air; her naked, damp skin partially covered by the thin fabric of the High Priest’s cape draped around her shoulders.

He had excused himself for a bit to fetch something, and so the Scribe made use of the time alone to observe the palace’s interior. 

She had not many chances to do so in her previous visits; the High Priest had a way of ensuring that she focused entirely on him, and him alone.

The dais she sat on was padded with soft cushions covered with the smoothest of fabrics. Sheer cloth hung from the high ceiling, draping all the way down around the dais and obscuring the view from beyond the elevated platform; lending the room a somewhat sensual atmosphere that she supposed may have occurred entirely by accident.

It’s the usual cloth that keeps mosquitoes at bay, but…

Moonlight streaming through the ornate windows bathed her in an ethereal glow. The lamps and reed candles were already snuffed out by the time they arrived, and nothing else but the pale blue moon’s rays provided illumination within the hall.

The Scribe pulled the High Priest’s cape tighter around her shoulders. It smelled of lotus, and something woodsy, yet slightly medicinal. Myrrh, perhaps? She wondered as she lifted the edge of the cape to her nose, gently sniffing the pleasant smell that marked his presence at any given time.

“Are you pleased with the scent?” came the High Priest’s low, sweet whisper, as if afraid to ruin the quiet moment were he to speak loudly.

“Yes. It smells of you,” she answered before realizing what her words implied; yet another fierce blush set her face and neck ablaze, like a ceremonial fire. “Um, that is to say…you always wear this scent.”

A satisfied grin spread on his lips as he approached her, an arm cradling a blue glass jar. “It makes me glad knowing that you have committed my scent to your memory.” The High Priest knelt beside her, placing the blue glass jar on the dais. “Am I that special to you?”

The Scribe had to laugh at his question. “You, the revered High Priest, dream of girls everywhere…you are asking me this? If you are special?”

He tipped his head to one side, his long braid sliding off his shoulders. “But of course. My beloved Scribe does not think the same way as other people do. You choose to stand by painful truths when others choose to acquiesce, in the face of dogma.” A subtly scented finger traced her lips. “It is your opinion that matters to me. Well?”

There it is, once again. That teasing side of him that he rarely shows anyone. 

“You know the answer to that,” the Scribe shifted slightly on her haunches to face him more comfortably. “Surely you have heard how my heart beats for you whenever you’re this close…”

“Heh…”

Lips descended upon lips; as they indulged in their kisses the High Priest slowly slid his cape off her shoulders, leaving her body clothed with only moonlight and nothing else; a stark contrast to how he was fully dressed, except for his cape discarded onto the dais, now forgotten.

Only the soft, wet sounds of their kissing could be heard throughout the hall, punctuated by their occasional moans and sighs of longing.

The High Priest pulled back from their deep kiss with great difficulty. “Mm, not yet…I did tell you I would let you indulge in the Lotus’s blessing, did I not?”

Eyes still half-lidded in desire, the Scribe could not do anything but nod in reply. But I do not need the lotus anymore, she wanted to tell him, yet her kiss-moistened lips would not obey her bidding. You are here. You are all I need…

“But I will need your help, first…” the High Priest moved, turning his back–and his abundant silver braid–towards her. “Could you help unbind my hair?”

“Of course,” the Scribe murmured as her hands sought the end of his braid. Soft fingers caressed the lush, well-cared for mane of silver until her fingertips touched the edge of the fabric holding his braid in place.

Carefully her skillful fingers undid the knot, and she tugged at the strip of cloth until it came loose from the braid. It’s the same strip of cloth that he gave me, she realized, and the memories associated with it came rushing to the forefront of her mind, sending her into another flustered loop.

She hid the unbidden rush of emotions by busying herself with his hair; unfortunately for her his tresses were smooth enough that it only took a slight combing with her fingers for the braid to fully unravel.

“I-it’s done,” the Scribe breathed, marveling at the strands of his hair entwined around her fingers. “Your hair, I mean.”

“Thank you.” The High Priest shook his head slightly, and his lustrous locks cascaded over his shoulders; unbound his hair was long enough to pool around his knees as he knelt on the dais.

With his hair loose, the High Priest looked immensely beautiful in the pale blue glow of nighttime. The Scribe bit back her surprise; this was the first time she had seen his hair outside of its usual braid.

His gold eyes sparkled mischievously. “Ah, you are looking at me that way again,” he said, voice enticing. “But not yet. I have yet to deliver on my promise to you.”

“The lotus?” she murmured absently; the desire to emulate the Lotus-eaters in the pursuit of her peace of mind all but forgotten.

A chuckle escaped the High Priest’s lips. “Yes. The lotus,” he reminded her with an amused tone. Then, “Sit up straight,” he gently instructed her as he took hold of the blue glass jar, removing the stopper that kept its contents from spilling.

As soon as the stopper was removed, a soft, familiar fragrance permeated the air. “It’s…it’s your perfume,” the Scribe murmured. “But why��?”

Carefully, he tipped the blue jar over her shoulders, pouring the fragrant, spiced oil over her shoulder blades, and her nape. “You will see,” was all he said.

The Scribe let out a small gasp as sweet, woodsy-smelling oil slowly traveled down in numerous sensual waterfalls all over her skin; rivulets and trickles of scented oil ran down her body: down her arms, the curve of her breasts, across her stomach; eventually trickling down her buttocks and pooling by her inner thighs.

Oil had seeped in through the cushion the Scribe sat on. 

It was as if the High Priest had anointed her with the oil.

“My perfume is a mixture of myrrh, cinnamon, lilies, and…” His long-fingered hands gently kneaded her shoulders before they slid down her body, lingering on her breasts. “...lotus. You may find that bathing in this fragrance may ease your anxieties, somewhat,” he whispered, his lips close to the Scribe’s ear enough that his low, erotic voice sent shivers down her spine. 

Tenderly his hands cupped the heft of her breast, massaging the oil into her skin. “Is this…unpleasant?” His warm breath fanned the Scribe’s cheek as he posed her the question.

All the while the Scribe trembled underneath the sweet treatment his fingers gave her. “N-no. No, please, don’t stop…” she moaned, softly. “It feels…good…”

The High Priest hummed in approval, fingers not letting up their fondling of her mounds. “Well, then, I shall wipe you down…”

Another gasp. “High Priest, that would be unnecessary, that’s too–aah!” Too much for someone of your stature to do for a commoner like me, she wanted to tell him, but his teasing fingers found her nipples, the pads of his fingertips arousing them to hardened peaks. 

A soft kiss on her cheek. “You are my lover. Remember that.” He briefly withdrew his hands from her body. “And I am marking you as mine, with my own scent. This perfume is mine, and mine alone…”

He then gathered his long silver tresses with his hands. 

Gently he wiped the oil coating her left arm by loosely wrapping his hair around her upper arm; then with the soft grip of his hand he slowly slid his locks down, towards her wrist. 

He repeated the motion for her other arm, with as much care and reverence. 

“This is…” The Scribe murmured as she watched the High Priest reverently polishing her skin with his own hair. Her voice trailed off, her words leaving her at the sight of her lover paying her body such worship. The feel of his own locks sliding down her limbs; his warm breath caressing her neck as he performed his lover’s duty; their amorous proximity–all these sending ripples of voluptuous warmth spreading down her loins, and soon enough the cushion she sat on was not only drenched by the fragrant oil he is bathing her with, but also with the juices of desire drenching her inner thighs.

“You were saying?” The High Priest momentarily let go of his oil-saturated hair, now brimming with his intoxicating scent, and tipped her face towards his with a long, slender finger. “Do not be afraid to speak your mind in my presence,” he whispered, leaning forward to slowly lick her lips. “Hahh–you do know how much I value your words, your thoughts…”

Her breath shuddering, the Scribe opened her lips slightly, letting their tongues entwine in an erotic, openmouthed kiss while his hands slid down once again, this time to tenderly wipe her abdomen down with his hair. 

The kiss did not break, not even as his hands and hair paid homage to her body. Lips locking, tongues sliding against each other as the High Priest’s hands slid further downward, his hair brushing–teasingly–onto her sensitive bud between her inner thighs.

With a moan the Scribe now could not help but throw her arms around her lover, pulling him even closer, still not breaking their kiss. Their breaths came in urgent, heated huffs; with every intake of breath the Scribe found herself drowning not only in the heady, woodsy scent of his perfumed oil but also of the man’s desire for her.

“I’m sorry, I’m–” her words were interrupted as the High Priest sucked on her tongue, indulging himself as his hands worked to wipe down her lower abdomen and her upper thighs. “Don’t keep interrupting me while I’m trying to say something!” she managed to murmur as soon as his mouth let go of her tongue, only to once again lock lips with his.

The High Priest let out a deep, throaty chuckle against her lips in response. “Lie down for me. I shall start working on your legs, and feet,” he said, then kissed her fully once again before helping her into a comfortable position as she laid down onto the cushions.

“Your lips distill nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue,” He recited words taken from a poem of another land, as his eyes beheld the beauty of the Scribe laid out in front of him, her auburn waves spread out around her head like a dark, bewitching halo.

All his, for his taking. The most beautiful, divine offering, all for him. 

“The Song of King Solomon,” she whispered. “I should have known you have read that, too.”

He then shifted his body towards where her legs lay, his hair trailing down the Scribe’s body as he moved. “Of course. It filled me with dreams, for the moment that I finally find the one I was looking for.” The High Priest bent low, planting a kiss upon the Scribe’s abdomen.

This prompted a moan, and her thighs squirmed in response. 

Golden eyes–now clouded with lust–beheld her secret flesh between her thighs, moisture glistening in the light of the moon that filtered through the sheer curtains surrounding them. “Do you want me this much…” he murmured as he brought a finger to her slit, slightly dipping its tip into her hole and wetting the fingertip with her juices. 

“Hahh–please…” she writhed on the cushions, olive eyes darkened with hunger. “I want you. Please.”

The finger was withdrawn, and a thick, clear string of her juice hung onto the pad of his fingertip, stretching it. It remained unbroken even as he lifted his finger high enough that the Scribe could see it, hovering above her pelvis.

“Yes. Look how much you want me,” were the High Priest’s words as he showed her how the string of her love-juice shone in the moonlight.

Enthralled, she said nothing, but could only moan as the High Priest brought his hand back to her now-swollen mound, gathering more of her wetness. “Your love has penetrated all within me,” he whispered, once again reciting lines taken from poetry.

Then he brought his fingers–slathered with the Scribe’s essence–to his lips. “Like honey plunged into water.” Holding her olive gaze with his gold, lusty own he tongues his fingers slowly, licking them clean of her juices.

This show aroused her so much she could only whimper, as yet another fierce blush burned her skin.

The High Priest smiled gently down at the Scribe, yet the shadows cast on his face made it seem like he was leering at her. “We are not done yet,” he said as he slowly shifted over her legs, letting his oiled hair cascade over one of her thighs. 

With careful hands he lifted her knee, bending it to allow his lips to trail soft kisses with tongue up her thigh.

Once again the Scribe squirmed underneath his reverent worship. 

“Haha. Please let me indulge in you. I have waited for so long.” A kiss on her knee. “So very long…” He opens his lips enough to let his tongue run its course from her knee to calf, letting her foot rest on his shoulder.

A loud gasp came from his object of worship in front of him. “That’s my foot…which is–” 

He adjusted his hold on her foot; one of his hands supported it by the ankle, while the other slowly, sensuously rubbed it with his oiled hair. Strands of his silver locks threaded between her toes, thoroughly anointing her foot with his fragrance.

“...unclean…” the Scribe continued her protestation, voice now meek and lost in the dark, carnal spiral of their shared lust for each other.

The High Priest’s lips sought out her large toe, sucking on it.

“Wait, what are you doing…?” She cried out, this time her body writhing on the cushions enough that she unintentionally spread her legs wider. She only realized her delicious folly as his fingers crept up her inner thigh, their journey ending as the tip of his digits once again lodged inside her hot flesh.

“I have already cleaned you, my beloved.” He said, grinning at her as he let the flat of his tongue slide across her sole. “Trust in the High Priest’s words when he declares someone clean,” he drawled in between his tonguing of her toes.

“Hnnnh–ah!” She arched her back, moaning loudly. And–distracted by the sweet sensations brought about by his sensuous licking–when two of his long, elegant fingers plunged inside her forbidden fruit she cried out even louder, her voice carrying far into the night. “Oh–hahh–please…!”

“Yess…sing louder for me,” A wet kiss upon the ball of her foot. “I have told the palace guards to give us a wide berth. They know.” Once again the flat of his tongue traced the outline of her scented, delicate foot. 

In the meantime the fingers of his other hand started to slide in and out of her heated flesh between her thighs, thumb flicking at her bud every so often. 

Unconsciously the Scribe started to move her hips, grinding against the hand fingering her core so thoroughly, deeply, chasing that sweet pleasure that lovers indulged in their sweet embrace. Deft fingers moved inside her, stretching her, fingers sought out that ridge that when touched would send her deeper, farther, into the throes of coital pleasure. “Mmnnh–there, right there, ahh–” she babbled as she started to lose her grip on her prized sanity.

“So, you yearn to be touched here,” the High Priest whispered as his fingers pressed more firmly at that certain spot inside her that made her mewl and whimper helplessly. “How about this?” He added another finger as he thrust even deeper inside, thumb still lightly flicking at her now stiff nub.

“Aaah…!” Now totally lost to pleasure, her hands found her breasts, repeating how his hands caressed her nipples earlier: fingers teasing them into sensitive hard peaks. Hips still rutting into his pleasuring hand; back arched the Scribe was now the very image of wanton lust.

Ah. What was I worried about again? Her thoughts were wonderfully emptied of her worldly cares. The lotus– 

Her flesh twitched, the sheer electric current in her loins intensifying and cutting her thoughts short. Her mind blanked out–all that could be seen in her eyes was the strong need to reach the precipice…

“More, please, I want to–” 

Yet the High Priest’s words came cold, and cruel: “No, not yet.”

When he pulled out his hand the Scribe very nearly wept. “But why–I was so close!”

Giving her foot one last lick he gently put it down onto the cushions, then with his hands he gathered her buttocks. “Because, I want to do this…”

So saying, he lifted her hips toward his mouth, hiking up her body and letting her thighs drape over his shoulders. With nary a warning his tongue slipped inside the hole his fingers recently vacated, kissing it as he did her mouth with as much fervor.

The sounds that came from the Scribe’s mouth were now unintelligible; the lightheadedness resulting from the blood flowing directly to her head sending her even further towards the edge of her climax. 

Lips slid up to her bud, his tongue swirling around its tip as he sucked, hard.

“!!” The Scribe threw her head deeper into the cushions; the coil of pleasure quickly unraveled within her core and she cried out, her body shuddering, thighs clamping hard around her argent lover’s shoulders. Fingers gripped at the smooth covers of the cushions underneath her, until her arms reached out for him, desperate to kiss him as she fell into the deep end of sensual abyss…

The High Priest indulged her, gently sliding her legs around his waist as he bent down and moved his body against her. He proffered his lips slick with his perfumed oil and her own juices, letting the Scribe taste, and smell, the heady scent of himself mixed with her own lust for him. Their tongues leisurely entwined as she came down from her orgasm.

“Mmm. Delicious. The most delicious offering that I have ever received,” he murmured as he shifted his robes, removing the inner garment tied around his waist and hitching up the hem of his robes. “But I want more. And more.” 

His eyes were obscured by the shadows cast under the brightness of the moon; the gold in his irises darkened into something more primal in nature.

The Scribe was still in the middle of catching her breath. “Hahh–ahh–of course…” was all she could manage as he pulled her even closer, the hair around his face now spilling around her head like an immensely fragrant, ethereal veil of translucent silver. 

Drowning in his needful kisses, despite how his tongue sought to distract her from everything else, she could feel his hands guide her thighs into wrapping around his now naked waist. 

A telltale hardness poked at her entrance.

“Well then, if you yearn to be taken to the Isle of the Lotus-eaters,” the High Priest whispered seductively as his hips started to move, stiff cock thrusting within her bit by excruciatingly voluptuous bit, “My desire is to reach Elysium. Do you know of it?”

Before she could even start to process his question he bottoms out inside her heated walls, his girth filling her so wonderfully that nothing else mattered for her at that very moment. 

Ah. Maybe this is how the Lotus-eaters felt, came her passive, fleeting thought, until that was also wiped out as he began to thrusting in and out inside her wet flesh. 

The heavenly friction of his cock inside her sparked that innermost hunger within once again; and once again she reached out to pull him down into yet another kiss; the both of them exchanging desperate breaths scented by his perfume. 

If I can drown, and die by his kisses, thought the Scribe as her tongue danced along with his, then let it be done.

The High Priest’s hands held her fast by her waist, pushing her even closer to his hips as he drove deep inside her. Such was the force of his ramming that his ornamental gilded bracelets clinked and chimed at his every movement, their bright chimes mingling with the outright lusty music of the Scribe’s soft, needy mewling, his quiet grunts, and the sound of flesh hitting wet flesh.

“You did say you–hahh–will be together with me always, did you not?” He whispered, voice shuddering, almost pleading. “I am about to–” his movements picked up strength and speed, making the woman underneath him writhe in yet another imminent orgasm. 

“...yes…!” The Scribe cried out, her now twitching flesh squeezing his cock until it spurted and filled her with his seed.

Elysium. He spoke of Elysium, she thought in the midst of burgeoning afterglow. Did he reach it?

And when he slumped onto her body, once again covering her vision with his bountiful silver tresses and her lips with his amorous, blissed-out kisses she knew that he had probably reached it.

===

Present day.

It was well past midnight when a knock resounded at her door. Their lodgings in Mien central were quite modest; the soft rapping on the wooden door caused enough racket that it roused her from her slumber.

“Rosa? It is me, Vyn,” came the muffled voice from outside the door.

Shaking the sleep out of her head Rosa swung her legs off the edge of her cot, feet fumbling for her slippers. “Dr. Richter? Just a minute, I’ll unlock the door…”

Upon opening the door she was greeted with a swift kiss on the lips. “My apologies for waking you. I thought you were still awake, your lamp is still lit,” he breathed against her lips. “Also, ‘Dr. Richter’?”

“I thought you were with the others.” Rosa smiled, then stood on tiptoe to plant another kiss on his lips. “Vyn. Feeling a little lonely tonight?”

Vyn sat himself on her cot, his hand fishing out an object from his jacket pocket. “I always yearn for your presence, beloved,” he said, flashing her a soft, yet seductive smile. “But aside from that I have found something of interest. I thought it would make a good gift–a souvenir–for you to remind you of our travels here.”

In his hand was a small blue glass bottle.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Rosa sat beside him, marveling at the beautiful sparkle of the deep azure-colored glass sitting on his palm. 

“This is a vial of perfume. I had a chat with Professor Padilla,” Vyn said as he pulled out the stopper from the bottle. An alluring scent of floral and woodsy notes wafted into the air. “She told me this was taken from an experimental batch, from when they attempted to recreate an ancient perfume said to be used by a high priest.”

Rosa gingerly held Vyn’s hand holding the perfume bottle, lifting it to her nose. “This scent…seems oddly familiar,” she murmured absently after a few sniffs. “But I can’t place where I’ve smelled it before…”

Vyn looked at her with an unreadable gaze in his gold eyes. “I have to admit that I do feel that same deja vu,” he said. “But unless we have smelled a mixture of myrrh, cinnamon, lily, and lotus it would be quite impossible to be acquainted with this particular scent before we arrived here.” A pause. “Not even my training with wine tasting and scents involved pure myrrh, for example.”

“Hmm.” Rosa tipped her head to one side, peering at Vyn closely. The scent now slowly permeating the air has triggered certain memories that she couldn’t quite place. “You know, Vyn, somehow…”

“What is it, Rosa?”

She smiled sheepishly, slightly confused. “Somehow I think you would look good with long hair.”

“Hm? Whatever made you say that?”

“I don’t know…” Rosa absent-mindedly prised the bottle off Vyn’s fingers and dabbed a bit of the oily perfume onto a fingertip. “You know what they say, scents sometimes jog memories?”

“Yes. It sometimes functions as well as, or even better than mnemonics,” Vyn murmured, observing Rosa as she reached out to his nape, applying perfume on the skin at the back of his neck. “...Rosa?”

She leaned forward, burying her nose in the crook of his neck and breathed in deeply. “This…this smells like it fits you more?” she said, still bemused with her out of place memories. “Not sure.”

Vyn let out a low chuckle as he took back the vial, and dabbed a bit of liquid to Rosa’s exposed collarbone. “It is a scent that becomes you, as well,” he whispered. He slipped the vial into his pocket once again, and pulled Rosa into his arms. “Why not make it our new scent?”

“You sure you want us smelling of the same perfume, Vyn?” Rosa giggled as his lips glided along her jawline.

“Yes. And maybe grow out my hair a little bit,” Vyn said, before nipping the tender part of her neck. “...To please you.”

He reached out to her desk to snuff out the lantern’s flame; and in the moonlit darkness the lovers marked each other with their newfound scent, etching echoes of a strange shared memory into their thoughts for days to come.

[leafvy]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

here’s a list of short names to coincide with my long names list :)

[ disclaimer: my sincere apologies if there are any spelling/meaning/origin mistakes in any of my name lists, i am by no means a professional in this area, i just like creating lists to help aid storytellers. i do try my best to find each name’s corresponding origin/meaning/spelling but i am a human who is prone to make the odd mistake. p.s, i take requests! ]

Female

Ada - German - First born female

Ali - Arabic - High, elevated, champion

Amy - French/Latin - Beloved

Anne - Latin/Hebrew - Favour, grace

Aria - Hebrew/Italian - Air, song, melody

Aura - Latin/Greek - Wind

Ava - Latin - Bird-like

Aya - German/Japanese/Hebrew - Sword, colourful, beautiful, bird

Ayn - Hebrew/Finnish/Russian - God has favoured me, grace, eye

Bay - English/French - Auburn-haired

Bea - Latin - Bringer of happiness

Beau - French - Beautiful, handsome

Belle - French - Beautiful

Bia - Latin/Italian - White, fair

Bindi - Noongar - Butterfly

Blair - Scottish - Plain, meadow, field

Blanche - French - White

Blythe - English - Joyous, kind, cheerful

Bree - Irish - Exalted one, strength

Briar - English - Bush of wild roses

Brook - English - Small stream

Bryn - Welsh - Hill

Buffy - Hebrew - Diminutive of Elizabeth, my god is an oath

Cara - Latin - Dear friend

Chloe - Greek - Blooming, fertility

Cia - Greek/Hebrew - Light,

Clair - French - Bright, clear

Coco - Portuguese/Spanish - Diminutive of Socorro, help, relief

Cora - Greek - Maiden, girl, daughter

Cove - English - Small coastal inlet

Dara - Hebrew/Irish - Pearl of wisdom, gift, compassion

Dawn - English - Sunrise

Doe - English - Female deer

Dot - Greek - Diminutive of Dorothy, gift of god

Dove - English - A bird

Eden - Hebrew - Delight

Edie - English - Prosperous in war

Ella - Greek/Norman/Hebrew/German/Spanish - Beautiful, fairy maiden, goddess

Elle - French - She

Elm - English - Elm tree

Elsa - Scandinavian - Joyful, Noble, god is my oath

Emi - Japanese - Blessed, favour, beautiful

Emma - Germanic - Whole, universal

Erin - Irish - Peace, from the island to the west

Esmé - French/Persian - Esteemed, beloved, emerald

Etta - Latin - Of noble birth

Eva - Hebrew - Giver of life

Eve - Hebrew - Giver of life

Faith - Latin - Confidence, trust, belief

Faye - French - Fairy

Fern - English - Green shade-loving plant

Fiona - Gaelic/Scottish - White, fair

Fleur - French - Flower

Flo - Latin - Flowering, flourishing

Gia - Italian - God’s gracious gift

Grace - Latin - Gracious

Greta - Greek/German/Persian - Pearl

Gwen - Welsh - White, holy

Hope - English - Desire of fulfillment

Ida - Scandinavian - Labour, work

Isla - Scottish/Gaelic/Spanish - Island

Ivy - English - Fidelity

Jade - Spanish - Stone of the colic, precious gemstone

Jae - Korean - Ability, talent

Jane - English - God is gracious

Jessie - Hebrew - He sees

Jill - Latin/English - Child of the God’s, youthful

Joan - Hebrew - God is gracious

Joy - English - Happiness, joyful

June - Latin - Born in June

Juno - Latin - Queen of heaven

Kai - Hawaiian/Japanese - Sea, ocean, shell, restoration, recovery

Kat - English/Greek - Clean, pure

Kate - English/Latin/Greek - Clean, pure

Kim - English/Korean/Chinese/Vietnamese - Gift of God, gold

Kira - Russian/Japanese/Persian/Greek - Mistress, ruler, leader of the people, beloved, light

Kyla - Hebrew/English/Scottish - Narrow channel

Lacy - English/Latin/French - Lace, cheerful, unbridled

Lake - English - Body of water

Lana - Slavic/Gaelic - Little rock, light

Lark - English - Songbird

Lea - Hebrew/English - Delicate, weary, meadow

Leda - Greek - Woman

Leigh - English - Delicate, meadow

Lia - Greek - Bearer of good news

Lily - English/Latin/Greek - Pure, passion, flower

Lisa - Hebrew - God’s promise

Liv - Norse - Shelter, protection, life

Lois - Greek - Superior

Lucy - English/Latin - Light

Lula - German/English - Famous warrior

Luna - Italian/Spanish/Latin - Moon

Lux - Latin - Light

Luz - Portuguese/Spanish - Light

Lyla - Arabic - Night

Mae - French/Latin - Month of May

Maeve - Irish/Gaelic - Intoxicating

Mara - Hebrew - Bitter, strength

Mary - Aramaic/Latin/Hebrew/Greek - Bitter, beloved, rebellious, marine, drop of the sea

Maude - German/French/Hebrew - Powerful battler

May - English - Month of May

Meg - Greek - Pearl

Mia - Scandinavian - Of the sea, bitter

Mila - Slavic - Gracious, dear

Mina - German - Love

Mira - Latin/Slavic - Wonder, wonderful, peace

Moon - English - The moon

Mya - Greek/Arabic/German/Persian - Sea of bitterness

Nelly - Greek - Light

Nia - Gaelic/Swahili - Lustrous, goal, purpose, resolve, brilliance

Nina - Spanish/Hebrew/Russian/Babylonian - Enclosure of fish, little girl

Noa - Hebrew - Motion

Nora - Irish/Latin/Arabic - Honour, light

Nova - Latin - New

Nya - Swahili/Gaelic - Purpose

Opal - Sanskrit - Gem

Ora - Latin - Pray

Paige - Latin/Greek - Assistant

Paris - Latin/Greek - Pouch, wallet

Pearl - Latin/English - Smooth round bead formed by a mollusk

Pia - Latin - Pious, reverent

Pixie - Celtic/Swedish/Cornish - Fairy

Quinn - Irish/Gaelic - Counsel

Rae - Hebrew - Ewe, female sheep

Rain - English - Rain

Reese - Welsh - Ardent, fiery

Remi - French - Oarsman

Ren - Japanese - Water lily, lotus

Rita - Spanish - Pearl

Rose - Latin - Flower

Ruby - Latin - Red gemstone

Rue - English/Greek - Regret, herb

Ruth - Hebrew - Friend

Sadie - Hebrew - Princess

Sage - Latin - Wise

Shae - Gaelic/Irish - Admirable, full of majesty

Sky - Norse - Cloud, scholar

Sloan - Irish/Gaelic - Warrior

Sue - Hebrew - Lily

Suzy - Hebrew - Lily

Tara - Sanskrit - Star

Tate - English/Norse - Cheerful

Taya - Japanese - Young

Tess - English/Greek - To harvest, to reap

Teva - Hebrew - Nature

Thea - Greek - Goddess

Tia - Spanish - Aunt

Uma - Hebrew/Sanskrit - Nation

Una - Irish - The personification of truth, beauty and unity

Velma - German - Determined protector

Vera - Slavic - Faith

Wren - English - Small bird

Zara - Arabic - Radiance

Zelda - German - Grey fighting maid

Zia - Arabic - Light

Zoe - Greek - Life

Zuri - Swahili - Beautiful

Male

Ace - Latin - One; unity

Amir - Arabic/Persian/Hebrew - Prince, chief, immortal

Araz - Arabic - Provisions, commodities

Arik - Norse - Eternal ruler

Arlo - English - Fortified hill

Arris - Greek -Best

Asa - Hebrew/Japanese - Healer, physician, born in the morning

Ash - English - Ash tree

Atlas - Greek - To carry

Axel - Hebrew - Father is peace

Bane - Slavic - Glorious defender

Bear - French/German - As strong and brave as a Bear

Beau - French - Beautiful

Beck - Norse - Small stream

Blaire - Scottish/Gaelic - Plain, field

Blake - English - Fair-haired, dark

Bodhi - Sanskrit - Awakening, enlightenment

Bolt - English - Bar, arrow

Bran - Scottish/Irish/Gaelic - Bramble, thicket of wild gorse

Brock - English/Celtic - Badger-like

Brody - Scottish - Broad eye, broad island

Bron - English - Son of a dark man

Buck - English - Male deer

Cade - English - Round, barrel

Cain - Hebrew - Something produced, spear

Cash - English/Latin - Hollow

Chase - English/French - To catch, to seize, hunter, huntsman

Clark - English - Scribe, secretary

Cody - English - Helpful, pillow

Cole - English - Swarthy, coal-black, charcoal

Colt - English - Young horse

Crew - Latin - Chariot

Dane - English - From Denmark

Dax - French - Leader

Dean - English - Valley

Drake - English - Dragon, snake

Duke - English - Leader, son of Marmaduke

Eden - Hebrew - Place of pleasure, delight

Eli - Hebrew - Ascent

Evan - Welsh - Youth, young warrior

Ezra - Hebrew - Help, helper

Felix - Latin - Happy, lucky

Fig - English - Fruit

Finn - Norse/Irish - Finn, Sámi, white, fair

Fox - English - Cunning, sly

Gage - French - One who is defiant

Gale - English/Greek - Jovial, tranquil

Grant - English/Gaelic - Tall, big

Grey - English - Grey-haired

Guy - French - Guide, leader

Heath - English - Someone who lives by a moor or heath

Hugh - English/French/Germanic - Mind, spirit

Ian - Scottish - The Lord is gracious

Ike -Hebrew - Laughter

Iker - Basque - Visitation

Jack - English - God is gracious, supplanter

Jax - English - God is gracious

Jay - Latin - Bird in the crow family

Jeb - Hebrew - Beloved friend

Jed - Hebrew - Beloved of God

Jet -English - Black, airplane

Jody - English/Hebrew - Jehovah increases

Jon - Hebrew - God is gracious

Joss - German - One of the Goths

Jovi - Latin - Father of the sky

Judd - English - To flow down

Jude - Greek - Praised

Kade - Scottish - From the wetlands

Kai - Hawaiian/Japanese - Sea, ocean, shell, restoration, recovery

Kiam - Unknown - Unknown

King - English - Monarch

Kit - Greek - Bearing Christ

Knox - Scottish/English - Hillock, round-topped hill

Koa - Hawaiian - Warrior, brave one

Kye - Welsh/Scandinavian/Gaelic/Greek - Keeper of the keys, earth, narrow, straight

Kylo - Latin - Sky

Lane - English - Small roadway or path

Lars - Latin/Scandinavian - From Laurentum, crowned with laurel

Leif - Scandinavian - Heir, descendent, beloved

Leo - Latin/Greek - Lion

Leon - Latin/Greek/French - Lion, son of a Lion

Levi - Hebrew - Joining, attached

Luka - Italy/Slavic - A person from Lucania

Luke - Latin - The bright one, the one born at dawn

Max - Latin - The greatest

Milo - German - Soldier, merciful

Nash - English - By the ash tree

Neo - Latin - New, gift

Nico - Greek - People of victory

Noah - Hebrew - To comfort

Oak - English - Oak tree

Otis - German/English - Wealth, son of Otto

Pax - Latin - Peaceful

Piet - Dutch - Rock

Pike - English - A person who lives on a sharp hill

Poe - English - Peacock

Quana - Native American - Aromatic

Ray - English/German - Counsel, mighty protection, guards wisely

Reed - English - Red-haired

Remi - French - Oarsman

Ren - Japanese - Water lily, lotus

Rhett - English/Dutch - Advice

Roan - Gaelic - Little red-head

Rory - Irish - Red-haired King

Ross - Gaelic - Promontory, headland

Roth - English/German - Red, wood, renown

Roy - Gaelic - Red

Rudy - German - Famous Wolf

Ryan - Irish - Little King, illustrious

Saint - English - Holy person

Saul - Hebrew - Ask, question

Sid - French/English - Wide meadow

Slade - English - Valley

Tate - Norse - Cheerful

Teo - Spanish - God

Tim - English - One who honours God

Toby - English - God is good

Torin - Gaelic - Chief

Troy - Irish - Descendent of a foot-soldier

Tye - English - Someone who lived near a pasture

West - English - Western stream

Wolf - German - Travelling Wolf

Zane - Hebrew - God is gracious

Zeke - Hebrew - God strengthens

Zen - Japanese - Peace

Zev - Hebrew - Wolf

[wolf-who-rips-throats]

🌳Welcome to the forrest of your nightmares🌲

Obligatory disclaimer: we do not condone, endorse, or otherwise support the actions of these posts even if they are our own. First and foremost this blog is used to vent emotions and thoughts that could put ourselves or others in danger. Secondly, this blog is for the ones writing it. We have the right to block anyone who makes us uncomfortable and ask them to remove our posts from their blog. (Feel free to do the same to us, we don’t mind!)

So- who’s runnin’ this shitshow?

Hi! You can call me Wolf. I’m a co-host of Forrest system and the og creator of this blog. My pronouns are they/he/pup/wolf (if you want to know how to use those neos, shoot me an ask!) and my partner Meia encouraged me to make this blog.

There are eight of us that hold yandere tendencies and thoughts who post here. There are more alters that might use this as a vent blog and that’s okay!

Wolf — they/he/pup/wolf || identification tag is 🐶Wolf

Sayaka Miki — she/they || identification tag is #🎼Melody’s Saber || uses blue text + poems

Kyouko Sakura — she/her || identification tag is #❤️Red Lancer || uses red text + song lyrics

Michael — he/him || identification tag is #📞Michael

Sam — he/him || identification tag is #☎️Hunters’ Nightmare

Glitchza — he/glitch/caw || identification tag is #The Glitched Protector

Scourge — he/paw/blood || identification tag is #⛈️Scourge

Chat Blanc — he/cat/white || identification tag is #🩸Claws out

Honorable mentions:

Hitoshi Shinso — he/him || has his own blog @mindbreak-mind-broken

Inferno Dante — he/him, fire/flame || has flame’s own blog @infernal-inferno

@infectious--infatuation — partner system’s yanblog!

@the-covens-collection — other partner system’s yanblog!

@yamikawas — yan friend!

Tags

General tags:

#Hardwire Brain - used for vents we need to immediately get out of our head. Warning! Some of them may contain n.s.f.w. content! Under 18 do not look!

#A Trio Of Screams - vent post made by Wolf, Sayaka, and Kyouko (3/4 co-hosts of the system)

#🪶⛅️Murder Skies - used to refer to our partner systems

#🖊Ink Spilled Thoughts - general letters or poetry we write

#⛪️Cathedral of lies - religious trauma-esque for Wolf and Kyouko

Alter-specific tags:

#Master’s Pup - n.s.f.w. tag used by Wolf. MINORS BLOCK THIS TAG! /srs

#💫Puppetmaster - used by Wolf to refer to beloved.

#🐍Snake Venom - used by Wolf to refer to beloved.

#💙Blue Knight - used by Kyouko to refer to Sayaka.

#💜Purple Enchantress - used by Kyouko and Sayaka to refer to beloved.

#💞Pink Goddess - used by Kyouko and Sayaka to refer to beloved.

#💛Golden Maiden - used by Kyouko and Sayaka to refer to beloved.

#🍎My Apple - used by Sayaka to refer to Kyouko.

#🏹My Theseus - used by Glitchza to refer to FS!Tommy.

#👑My Anarchist - used by Glitchza to refer to FS!Technoblade.

#🎸My Slain - used by Glitchza to refer to FS!Wilbur.

#🐝My Bee - used by Glitchza to refer to FS!Tubbo.

#🧠My Scribe - used by Glitchza to refer to FS!Ranboo.

#💍M’Lady - used by Chat Blanc to refer to beloved.

#🫀Bloodied Heart - Used by Michael and Wolf to refer to beloved

#💉Ecstasy - Used by Michael and Wolf to refer to beloved

#🦴Bone shard - Used by Michael and Wolf to refer to beloved

#🕊Pigeon Flight - Used by Michael and Wolf to refer to beloved

#🐸Frog-E — Used by Sam to refer to beloved

#🐸Frog-A — Used by Sam to refer to beloved

Rivals:

#Snowstar2219 - A online person who lied to us about being underage that we had a deep friendship with.

#🟩Their Poisoned Tongues - People who have hurt Kyouko in the past.

#👁White Cat - Kyu//bey.

#The Witch - used to refer to the body’s abusive and manipulative womb donor.

#⭐️Final Wish - Michael’s ex

#👣To Be Human - Michael’s rival

#🦷Toothache - Sam’s enemies

#🧱Backbreaker - used to refer to the body’s father (used only by one alter)

#✝️False Priest - Kyouko’s father

#🕰️Demon of Time - An internal persecutor in the system

[deathleadsarc]

This letter is far from anonymous. Christina could undoubtedly place his handwriting anywhere. Still, he left it on her nightstand with a single red rose next to it. "My Beloved, Every single day is a reminder of how fortunate I feel to be part of your life. The moon and stars borrow their beauty and brilliance from you every night while the songbirds copy your melodies in the mornings. There is no one I would rather fall asleep or wake up next to. Love always, Roy"

How sweet it is to be loved! How sweet to be so praised in such high regard! The rose is gently taken into her palms, feather-soft touch to equally soft lips as crimson scans over each lovingly scripted confession. OH how she feels her chest expanding with warmth ; in absolute furious adoration to his kindness! She cannot help it -- squealing coo’s rush to bloom forth directly from that warmth within her swelling chest, cheeks warmed to match the glow of vermillion that absorbs each and every letter scribed upon the paper. 

BONUS:

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

15th October >> Mass Readings (USA)

  Saint Teresa of Ávila, Virgin, Doctor 

    on 

Thursday, Twenty Eighth Week in Ordinary Time.

 Thursday, Twenty Eighth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White)

     (Readings for the feria (Thursday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

    First Reading

Ephesians 1:1-10

God chose us in Christ, before the foundation of the world.

Paul, an Apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, to the holy ones who are in Ephesus and faithful in Christ Jesus: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens, as he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him. In love he destined us for adoption to himself through Jesus Christ, in accord with the favor of his will, for the praise of the glory of his grace that he granted us in the beloved.

In Christ we have redemption by his Blood, the forgiveness of transgressions, in accord with the riches of his grace that he lavished upon us. In all wisdom and insight, he has made known to us the mystery of his will in accord with his favor that he set forth in him as a plan for the fullness of times, to sum up all things in Christ, in heaven and on earth.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God

   Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 98:1, 2-3ab, 3cd-4, 5-6

 R/ The Lord has made known his salvation.

Sing to the Lord a new song,

 for he has done wondrous deeds;

His right hand has won victory for him,

 his holy arm.

R/ The Lord has made known his salvation.

The Lord has made his salvation known:

 in the sight of the nations he has revealed his justice.

He has remembered his kindness and his faithfulness

 toward the house of Israel.

R/ The Lord has made known his salvation.

All the ends of the earth have seen

 the salvation by our God.

Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands;

 break into song; sing praise.

R/ The Lord has made known his salvation.

Sing praise to the Lord with the harp,

 with the harp and melodious song.

With trumpets and the sound of the horn

 sing joyfully before the King, the Lord.

R/ The Lord has made known his salvation.

    Gospel Acclamation

John 14:6

Alleluia, alleluia.

I am the way and the truth and the life, says the Lord;

no one comes to the Father except through me.

Alleluia, alleluia.

    Gospel

Luke 11:47-54

The blood of the prophets is required, from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah.

The Lord said: “Woe to you who build the memorials of the prophets whom your fathers killed. Consequently, you bear witness and give consent to the deeds of your ancestors, for they killed them and you do the building. Therefore, the wisdom of God said, ‘I will send to them prophets and Apostles; some of them they will kill and persecute’ in order that this generation might be charged with the blood of all the prophets shed since the foundation of the world, from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah who died between the altar and the temple building. Yes, I tell you, this generation will be charged with their blood! Woe to you, scholars of the law! You have taken away the key of knowledge. You yourselves did not enter and you stopped those trying to enter.” When Jesus left, the scribes and Pharisees began to act with hostility toward him and to interrogate him about many things, for they were plotting to catch him at something he might say.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

 ——————————

     Saint Teresa of Ávila, Virgin, Doctor 

  (Liturgical Colour: White)

     (Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Thursday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

    First Reading

Romans 8:22-27

The Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings.

Brothers and sisters: We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that sees for itself is not hope. For who hopes for what one sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait with endurance.

In the same way, the Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. And the one who searches hearts knows what is the intention of the Spirit, because he intercedes for the holy ones according to God’s will.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God

   Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 11

 R/ The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just.

or

R/ Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life.

The law of the Lord is perfect,

 refreshing the soul.

The decree of the Lord is trustworthy,

 giving wisdom to the simple.

R/ The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just.

or

R/ Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life.

The precepts of the Lord are right,

 rejoicing the heart;

The command of the Lord is clear,

 enlightening the eye.

R/ The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just.

or

R/ Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life.

The fear of the Lord is pure,

 enduring forever;

The ordinances of the Lord are true,

 all of them just.

R/ The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just.

or

R/ Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life.

They are more precious than gold,

 than a heap of purest gold;

Sweeter also than syrup

 or honey from the comb.

R/  The judgments of the Lord are true, and all of them are just.

or

R/ Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life.

    Gospel Acclamation

John 15:9b, 5b

Alleluia, alleluia.

Remain in my love, says the Lord;

whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit.

Alleluia, alleluia.

    Gospel

John 15:1-8

Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit.

Jesus said to his disciples: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither; people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you. By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[galen066]

Heartbreaker: a June Six New Vegas ficlet

Cass had yet to get used to riding a hayburner, but she had to admit it beat walking. The trip from Vegas to Red Rock Canyon used to take most of the day, according to June. A similarly long trip to the 188 trading post had the two women and their mounts arriving in maybe two hours.

The 188 was still the ramshackle collection of Mojave wasteland shelters and tents, still inhabited and maintained by Sam and Michelle, and the Forecaster still lived under the overpass. The first person they spoke to was Alexander of the Gun Runners, who grudgingly informed them he had some new stock.

"Check this out", he offered, holding out what looked like a sawn-off lever-action shotgun. June lifted it out of the fancy leg-rig scabbard.

"What the...? Why would you do this to a perfectly good trail carbine?"

"Lemme see that", Cass insisted. June handed the weapon over without further comment. Cass spun the weapon by the loop, working the action, then lowered the hammer on the empty chamber. "How many shots?", she asked, eyes dancing.

"Eight rounds of .44 Magnum", Alexander grumbled. "The guy who sold it called it a 'Mare's Leg', if that means anything to you."

June eyed the weapons merchant, then Cass' smile. "How much, for that and fifty rounds?" She merely screamed when he told her the price, but paid it.

The one-time Courier led both of their mounts up the slope as Cass buckled on her new gunbelt, and was surprised to see a familiar face near the trading post. "Veronica? What the hell are you doing here?"

The former Brotherhood of Steel scribe turned with a small sad smile. "Hi, June." Veronica nodded at Cass, who returned the greeting in kind. "I thought I'd swing by the old stomping grounds one last time. Before I...", she trailed off, then hastily wiped away a single tear. "Thanks for the dress. It was only perfect. And thanks for finding Christine, I guess." A sniffle. "I'm sorry about the whole collar business. You didn't deserve that, and God knows I don't hold it against you for wiping out the squad of Brotherhood soldiers they sent to kill both of us." Veronica looked away to the East. "And God knows I'm sorry I didn't ask you out."

Cass looked away, embarrassed, fidgeting with her necklace. June rubbed at her throat, the memory of the Brotherhood bomb collar still very vivid.

"Veronica, I'm-", June started, but the scribe cut her off.

"It's okay, really. Cass, you look after June, or I'll punch your lights out." Veronica looked away, stamped a foot, and fresh tears flowed.

Impulsively, June wrapped her friend in a bear hug, holding her tight. "You don't go doing anything stupid, you hear me?", June scolded. "You die on me and I will fucking kill you!"

Veronica laughed, wiping away a tear. "Jerk. I'm joining the Followers at their fort. If they'll have me." Mollified, June nodded.

Cass tipped back her topper, then joined the hug. "You always had our backs in a fight. We have yours."

The three women stepped apart. "Well, this is me joining the Followers", Veronica said half-waving both arms, and then lifted her pack. "Drop me a line at the fort next time you're in town."

"Count on it", June promised. "First round is on me at the Wrangler." Veronica shouldered her pack, and walked down the slope, towards the casino towers of New Vegas.

The ride to Novac passed in silence, and small talk over supper was quiet and non-committal. June cried softly when they made love.

It was well after moonrise when Cass felt the bed shift, heard the door open and close. A quick survey of the room showed only June's beloved guitar was missing. A soft chord from outside told her where June was.

She was perched on the portico over the motel lobby, her "thinking place" as June called it, looking out into the Mojave as she began to pick out a plaintive Spanish guitar melody, singing softly.

"Go 'way from my window

Leave at your own chosen speed

I'm not the one you want, babe

I'm not the one you need

You say you're lookin' for someone

Never weak but always strong

To protect you and defend you

Whether you are right or wrong

Someone to open each and every door

But it ain't me, babe

No, no, no, it ain't me, babe

It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe..."

@cyndercrys @vkm11 @saberwriter @tarberrymentats @worthlesssix

[spiritspectres]

I hear my help is required. What may I assist with, mine beloved?

‘Trap her. Lock her out so Scribe can’t fall prey to her noise or that blasted melody again. You always had the stronger magic than I...’

As you desire.

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Leaving Home pt 10

Bombur’s legacy

Bombur spent his final day in Ered Luin in the kitchen of the restaurant he worked for. Calling it a restaurant might be a bit of a stretch, as the clientele was mostly miners and smiths, his own Athalrún a beloved patron when she came round for lunch. If she had had a good day in her forge, she might be persuaded to sing something before she ate, which was always a treat and doubly so for Bombur, who loved her singing.

He had many happy memories from the eatery, where Bofur’s crews often found their hearty dinners and even the upper class Dwarrow of Ered Luin had been known to seek out Bombur’s meat pies. Kjalarr’s Food Hall served everyone and anyone, and Bombur had had several miners try to persuade him to stay in Ered Luin with offers of coin, rather than head off to Erebor. He did not take the miners seriously, simply because he did not believe that his food – while Bombur considered himself a more than fair cook, he served simple, but filling, fare at Kjalarr’s – warranted the level of adoration bestowed upon him. When the time came to collect his last payment from Kjalarr, however, his old friend added his voice to those protesting Bombur’s decision.

“If you’re sure I can’t change your mind, Bombur, I will wish you best of luck on your journey,” Kjalarr said heavily, tossing a bag of coins at Bombur. “Mukhuh mabaddakhi ya bunmû Mahal.[1] And tell that wife of yours that I’ll hear her voice in my Hall again while you’re gone.” He added, solemnly nodding at Bombur, who returned the gesture with equal solemnity. He could already feel that the coin-bag was heavier than usual, and he knew that Kjalarr meant the extra coin to help him on his journey, even if the old greybeard also knew that Bombur would leave the money for Athalrún to spend in his absence.

“I’ll convey your invitation, Kjalarr,” Bombur replied quietly. “Thank you. Mukhuh targzu satarrigi sigin.[2]” Kjalarr patted his rather impressive facial hair with a twinkling smile in his eyes before waving Bombur out the door.

Making it to the House of Healing that belonged to Master Óin, Bombur thanked the Maker that Lord Víli – who had worked with both he and Bofur in the mines before the terrible accident that killed him – had introduced him to the old Master. Blidarún was under the tutelage of the best Healer in Ered Luin, and Bombur knew that they had never paid Master Óin what his skills were truly worth. He would be happy to walk across Arda alongside the gruff old Healer, and privately swore that he would ensure that Master Óin receive a generous share of the food for his kindness in taking on Blidarún. When he knocked on the door, young Vakri answered. Bombur exchanged polite greetings with the journeyman Healer, who would be taking over teaching Blidarún while they were gone, something he also owed to Óin’s kindness.

“Master Bombur, you’re here for Blidarún?” Vakri asked, and Bombur nodded silently. The young Healer smiled, disappearing back into the Healing House and reappearing a few minutes later with Blidarún eagerly following, talking a mile a minute about the surgery Óin had let her assist with that afternoon. She had only fetched instruments and held the light, but going by her excitement, she had helped set the man’s finger bones herself. One of the frequent mining mishaps had led to an unlucky miner breaking three fingers, normally not something that required surgery, except this time the third finger had snapped in such a way that the bone poked up through the skin. Óin had repaired the fracture, in a procedure his daughter described so vividly Bombur rather hoped that Athalrún had not planned for sausage as their supper that evening. Above Blidarún’s head – though the Dwarf blood was stronger than the Hobbit in Athalrún’s line, most of Svari’s descendants exhibited some Hobbit traits and Blidarún was shorter than the average Dwarf – Vakri smiled softly, patting her shoulder to get her out of the door. Bombur nodded once to Master Óin, before he grabbed his daughter’s hand and began herding her back towards their house.

When they arrived, the house was filled with the smell of Athalrún’s cooking – not sausage, a lovely venison stew – and loud with the presence of their loved ones. Bofur was telling a tall tale in the corner of the kitchen while Athalrún hummed at the stove. Bolbur – also returned from the forges – was playing with Blákur and Fjelarún while little Borkur had taken up his usual seat on Bifur’s lap and was babbling away at his silent Uncle. Bifur looked up, but only greeted the newcomers with a smile. Bombur, in a fit of theatricality that made his children grimace, swept into the kitchen, bending his wife over backwards in a dip that made her braids swish over the floor and stole her laugh with a deep kiss that drew a hoot of laughter from Bofur.

 “Adad, Adad!” Borkur shouted, excitement colouring his eyes – a peculiar green he had inherited from his Hobbit ancestry – as he bounced on Bifur’s lap. “Amad made you a present!” Bombur looked up from his almost empty bowl and caught Athalrún’s soft smile. He reached over to squeeze her hand.

“She did, aye?” Borkur nodded, almost falling off his perch with excitement. Beside Bombur, Blákur sighed, exasperated with the Dwarfling’s antics.

“Shall I fetch it, Amad?” he asked quietly. Of all his children, despite the dark hair, Bombur thought Blákur resembled him the most. Bolbur, his eldest, took after his own father, broad and strong, with the red hair that had also passed to Bombur himself. Blákur’s dark locks, curly like his mother’s but the colour of tar, hid a quietly studious mind. At thirty years of age, he had already begun studying for an apprenticeship with Master Balin, as a scrivener. Young Ori, Master Balin’s Journeyman Apprentice, would be joining them on the Quest as the official Scribe and Historian, while Blákur’s lessons would be taken over by Master Oneisi. Fjelarún, her mother in miniature, but with Bombur’s copper hair, wanted to be a Bard like her grandfather, and Bombur knew that she would have no trouble finding a Master in a few years. He tried not to wonder what their little Athalrós might have been, but when their family was altogether like this, he found it difficult not to imagine what she might have looked like sitting next to her sister. It was too early to tell what Borkur would become, but Bombur quietly wanted him to follow in his own footsteps and take up a building trade. While Bombur had been lost in pensively gazing at his children, Athalrún had nodded to Blákur, who had run into their bedroom and returned swiftly with a package. Little Borkur had obviously seen it, though Athalrún had wrapped the object in what Bombur recognised as his travelling cloak, and had told his siblings, who were trying not to giggle. Bombur took the oblong shape from his son with a wary glance at his wife, whose eyes were dancing with laughter. It was a sight that – even sixty-odd years after he had first seen it, grimy from travel and tired from a hard day on the road – took his breath away. In his eyes, he had the most beautiful Dwarrowdam in Ered Luin – and elsewhere, obviously – for his wife.

“Open it, Buknakun,” Athalrún said mildly. With a grin at her children, she continued cheekily, “Your son already named it, a most accurate term.” Bombur slowly unwrapped the cloak until he held… a ladle.

“Il-lebalu,” Blákur chuckled, setting off the laughs around the table as Bombur held the Battle-Spoon high with a loud war-cry. Athalrún leaned against his arm, and when she pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, Bombur wrapped his free arm around her and kissed her full on the mouth.

“I say it’s the perfect weapon for a cook!” Bofur called from across the table.

“Made by my perfect wife,” Bombur agreed quietly. Bifur muttered something melodious in High Khuzdul that Bombur didn’t catch entirely, but his cousin signed the meaning in Iglishmêk a second later. In his hand, the Battle-Spoon felt heavy in the way a good weapon suits the hand it was made for. Turning over the gift, he squeezed Athalrún’s compact form when he caught sight of the small runes inlaid in the darker iron. Bombur. Athalrún. Bolbur. Blidarún. Blákur. Fjelarún. Athalrós. Borkur. Bofur. Bifur.

“When you return it to me, I will engrave the name of our new pebble here,” Athalrún pointed at the blank space between Borkur and Bofur. “So you will always have your family with you.” Bombur had to kiss her again, for that. Under his free hand, the pebble moved, as though aware that she was being spoken of. Athalrún claimed that the pebble would be a girl, and had been convinced of the veracity of the claim since she learned she was pregnant. She had done the same with all her other pregnancies, even if she had not known at first when she was carrying twins, but she had known the sex of each child, so Bombur did not argue when she told him that he would have a daughter in another three turnings of the moon.

“Thank you, my love.” Bombur barely realised the departure of his brother and cousin, though he roused enough to send Bolbur a grateful smile when he and Blidarún scarpered with their younger siblings. At fifty and forty-five years of age, the two were almost twins, to Dwarrow minds, and rarely needed to speak their plans aloud for the other to pick them up. Bombur knew they were being given time alone, and he appreciated the chance to lie quietly with Athalrún in his arms and not have to worry about his children for the night. Being part Hobbit, even if the blood was now so diluted that the effects were only notable because he knew the reason, his children seemed to mature slightly faster than Dwarrow generally did. Physically, a Dwarf would be grown by age 25, though some matured earlier, becoming Battle-Ready – as it was known – as early as 20 winters. Mentally, however, Dwarrow remained Dwarflings until about 70 winters had passed, and spent the intervening years learning their Crafts or trades as well as growing up.

Holding his wife in their bed for the last time in who knew how long, Bombur tried to remain confident that he would get to see his youngest daughter grow up. With Athalrún resting against his girth, her head pillowed on his chest and his own arm wrapped securely around her growing waist, he almost believed it, only a sliver of dread left. Running his fingers through her dark brown curls – unbound for once, for his sensual pleasure, he knew – he tugged slightly when she spoke. Her fingers wound their way into his massive beard, and Bombur idly wondered if Bolbur would end up with as glorious a beard.

"Promise me you'll come back, Buknakun[3]." When she finally gave voice to her fear, Bombur couldn’t help but stiffen. With effort, he kept his own voice calm and soft.

"I'll do my very best, my love...promise me you'll be here to greet me." He did not want to imagine that she would not be, but even after six births, he worried that the new pebble would claim her life. He knew that he had not managed to keep his worry entirely concealed, could taste the sting of desperation in her kiss.

"I will. And our daughter too." She whispered, sealing the promise with another kiss. Bombur sighed, wrapping her in his warm arms. He felt horrible that she would be going through the final stages of her pregnancy alone, even if he felt even more terrible that there would be no way for him to receive news of her trial. Until he either died or returned to Ered Luin, he would not know if his wife or pebble lived, a thought that filled him with dread.

"If you need anything, go to the Lady Dís." He said, hoarse with unshed tears. Athalrún’s kiss this time tasted salty, wetter than before.

"I know."

"I love you, luslasul[4].”

"And I love you"

Neither spoke again during the long hours of the night, though they both knew the other wasn't asleep.

 [1] May we meet again with the grace of Mahal.

[2] May your beard continue to grow longer.

[3] Tiny-dawn, nickname.

[4] Tiny-rose, nickname

Full series on Ao3!

Dwelf-’verse on Ao3

@life-is-righteous

[mrmichaelchadler]

Why Mary Poppins Returns is Disney’s Best Reimagining to Date

“Can’t put me finger / on what lies in store / But I feel what’s to happen / all happened before.”—Bert (Dick Van Dyke) in “Mary Poppins”

Fifty-four years after its release, “Mary Poppins” remains the greatest Disney film of all time. Had “Mary Poppins Returns” been a mere remake of Robert Stevenson’s 1964 Oscar-winning classic, it would rightly be labeled a work of heresy. But what director Rob Marshall has pulled off here is more akin to James Bobin’s “The Muppets” or J.J. Abrams’ “Star Wars: The Force Awakens.” Both of these gems achieved the seemingly impossible task of recapturing the appeal of the landmark crowd-pleasers from which they spawned, and that had evaded numerous imitators. Viewers who criticized Abrams for hewing too close to the formula of “A New Hope” failed to take into account just how monumental an achievement it was to make a film that felt like “Star Wars.” Even George Lucas couldn’t replicate his own signature blend of space opera and Saturday morning serials in his enervated prequel trilogy. With “Mary Poppins Returns,” Marshall has triumphed in making a film that—with the exception of its technological flourishes—feels like it could’ve been released in the 1960s, preferably as the first half of a double bill with this year’s similarly goofy “Christopher Robin.” No attempt is made to modernize the source material of P.L. Travers’ books or the Vaudevillian charm that characterized Stevenson’s film. On an aesthetic level, it is as transporting a throwback as Todd Haynes’ “Far from Heaven,” with every cobblestone of the Banks family’s street, Cherry Tree Lane, meticulously recreated in an indoor set, courtesy of ace production designer John Myhre.

“Finding Neverland” scribe David Magee loosely mirrors the beats of the original film in his screenplay, just as composer Marc Shaiman and his “Hairspray” co-lyricist Scott Wittman have created nine new songs that pay homage, in one way or another, to the unforgettable numbers by Robert and Richard Sherman—the melodies of which are interwoven throughout the score. So immortal were the songs in “Mary Poppins” that the Sherman Brothers themselves couldn’t equal them in either “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” or “Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” though both films went on to become widely beloved as well. How extraordinary it is to see, in 2018, a brand new old-fashioned musical, complete with an overture accompanied by paintings evocative of legendary matte artist Peter Ellenshaw. “Hamilton” creator Lin-Manuel Miranda channels the exuberance of Dick Van Dyke’s jack-of-all-trades Bert as lamplighter Jack, who opens the film with “(Underneath the) Lovely London Sky,” a stirring spin on “Chim Chim Cher-ee.” Playing the adult version of Matthew Garber’s Michael Banks, Ben Whishaw sings “A Conversation,” a poignant remembrance of his late wife, in the speak-singing style of Michael’s father (David Tomlinson), who once expounded about “The Life I Lead.” 

No actor in the history of cinema has possessed the indelible screen persona, let alone the pipes, of Julie Andrews, and a “Mary Poppins” film featuring her in any role other than the titular one would feel profoundly wrong. Andrews was entirely correct in turning down a cameo role, providing Emily Blunt the space needed to create her own version of the character. She is a complete delight—sweet, sardonic and more zesty than deadpan. Her singing voice may not hit Andrews’ high notes, but it is more than capable of belting “Can You Imagine That?” (the equivalent to “A Spoonful of Sugar” that kicks off the enchantment), “The Royal Doulton Music Hall” (an abbreviated “Jolly Holiday”), “A Cover Is Not the Book” (Mary and Jack’s irreverent tongue-twisting duet that tips its hat to “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”) and “The Place Where Lost Things Go” (a lullaby reminiscent of both “Stay Awake” and “Feed the Birds”). 

Meryl Streep delivers her best musical performance in ages as Topsy, Mary’s dotty cousin who, like Uncle Albert, has a supernatural conundrum in need of fixing, as detailed in “Turning Turtle” (a much more urgent number than “I Love to Laugh”). Jack and his fellow lamplighters’ big dance routine, “Trip a Little Light Fantastic,” is being pushed as an Oscar contender, though it’s not nearly as acrobatic or catchy as “Step in Time,” which was itself inspired by the British music hall anthem, “Knees Up Mother Brown.” My favorite song of them all is saved for last: “Nowhere to Go But Up,” a joyous companion piece to “Let’s Go Fly a Kite,” performed by living legend Angela Lansbury (who might as well be playing the grandmother of Eglantine Price, the benevolent witch she brought to life in “Bedknobs and Broomsticks”). 

By the time Lansbury materialized for the grand finale, I was already levitating in my seat. Had my critical faculties been rendered useless by the glorious imagery drawn frame-by-frame, thanks to a team of veteran animators who were brought out of retirement solely for the occasion? (The fact animated flowers initially leap from a bowl, after Mary’s spinning of it causes the designs on its rim to coalesce as in a zoetrope, is a brilliant touch.) Or was it the peerless casting of Julie Walters as Ellen, the Banks clan’s longtime maid who nails the accent of Hermione Baddeley, and David Warner as Admiral Boom, a hilarious yet less surly version of Jane and Michael’s delusional neighbor? Or perhaps it was the cameo by Karen Dotrice (the original Jane Banks), who shows up just long enough to utter her trademark line, “Many thanks, sincerely.” I have no doubt my love of the picture was increased exponentially by the marvelous appearance of Dick Van Dyke as Mr. Dawes Jr., the son of the banker he played incognito in “Mary Poppins.” Inhabiting that role in the original film was Arthur Malet, who went on to play Tootles in Steven Spielberg’s “Hook,” where he received his own opportunity to defy gravity just like Mr. Dawes, Sr. The 92-year-old Van Dyke does not soar through the air on wires in “Mary Poppins Returns,” but he does leap atop a desk and dance, a euphoric sight that had the crowd at my preview screening applauding. 

I’m reminded of a priceless story Van Dyke shared on the 40th anniversary DVD of “Mary Poppins.” “When I was playing the old man,” he recalled, “we would break for lunch, and on my way to the commissary, I liked to wait for the buses with the tourists to come along. Then I would start to cross the street. The bus would stop, and I would take forever to cross the road, turning toward the driver to say, ‘Thank you!’ Once the bus began moving on, I’d let it get 20 yards away before I’d pass it in a dead sprint, as fast as I could run.” That’s the same sort of childlike spirit that appears to have informed Marshall’s approach to this movie. It has the same kinetic pacing as the director’s sensational stage-to-screen adaptation, “Chicago,” and it could likely be transferred onto the stage without much alteration. What I admire most about the picture is its refusal to simply recycle what came before. It puts forth the effort to come up with new songs, set-pieces and emotional payoffs, rather than go through the motions of what had already been perfected. In an era where shot-for-shot duplicates are the new norm at Disney, “Mary Poppins Returns” stands as a definitive example of how to honor a masterpiece. “Mary Poppins” will always be irreplaceable, but this endearing tribute succeeded in making me feel like a kid again.

Header Photo Credit: Jay Maidment - © 2017 Disney Enterprises, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

from All Content http://bit.ly/2Q2X2ZJ

[fevie168]

Saturday (October 20): "The Holy Spirit will teach you what to say"

Scripture: Luke 12:8-12

8 "And I tell you, every one who acknowledges me before men, the Son of man also will acknowledge before the angels of God; 9 but he who denies me before men will be denied before the angels of God. 10 And every one who speaks a word against the Son of man will be forgiven; but he who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be  forgiven. 11 And when they bring you before the synagogues and the rulers and the authorities, do not be anxious how or what you are to answer or what you are to say; 12 for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say."

Meditation: What is the unforgivable sin which Jesus warns us to avoid? Jesus knows that his disciples will be tested and he assures them that the Holy Spirit will give them what they need in their time of adversity and temptation. He warns them, however, that it's possible to reject the grace of God - his favor, blessing, and help - and to fall into apostasy - giving up our faith and loyalty to Jesus Christ out of fear (being a coward), pride, or disbelief (refusing to believe and trust in the Lord Jesus). The scriptural expression to deny someone means to disown them - to have nothing to do with them anymore.

Do not reject the gift and help of the Holy Spirit Jesus also speaks against blaspheming the Holy Spirit. What is blasphemy and why is it reprehensible (extremely bad and deserving severe rebuke)? Blasphemy consists in uttering against God, inwardly or outwardly, words of hatred, reproach, or defiance. It's contrary to the honor and respect we owe to God (who is our Father, Creator, and Savior) and to his holy name. Jesus speaks of blaspheming against the Holy Spirit as the unforgivable sin. Jesus spoke about this sin immediately after the scribes and Pharisees had attributed his miracles to the work of the devil instead of to God.

Do you trust in God's help and deliverance? A sin can only be unforgivable if repentance (admitting wrongdoing and asking forgiveness) is impossible. If someone repeatedly closes his or her heart to God and shuts their ear to his voice, they come to a point where they can no longer recognize God even when God makes his word and presence known to them. Such a person ends up perceiving evil as good and good as evil (Isaiah 5:20). To fear such a sin, however, signals that one is not dead to God and is conscious of the need for God's merciful help and strength.

There are no limits to the mercy of God, but we can reject his mercy by refusing to ask God's pardon for our wrongdoing and by refusing to accept the help he gives us to turn away from sin and from whatever would keep us from doing his will. God gives sufficient grace (his favor and mercy towards us) and he gives sufficient help (his wisdom and strength) to all who humbly call upon him. Giving up on God and refusing to turn away from sin and disbelief results from our own sinful pride, stubborn will, and the loss of hope in God's promises.God never turns a deaf ear to those who seek his help and listen to his voice - his word of hope, pardon, and freedom from sin and oppression.

Our hope and confidence come from God What is the basis of our hope and confidence in God? It is the free gift of his beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave his life for our sake and who now intercedes for us at the right hand of the throne of God's mercy (Hebrews 4:14-15). John the Evangelist tells us that "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16).

Jesus' death on the cross won for us new life and freedom to live as men and women of faith, hope, and love. That is why Jesus offers us the gift and power of the Holy Spirit (Luke 11:13) who enables us to live each day as God's beloved children - his sons and daughters. The love and mercy of Jesus Christ, the forgiveness of sins, and the gift of the Holy Spirit are freely given to all who acknowledge Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Is your hope securely placed in the Lord Jesus and his victory on the cross?

"Lord Jesus, you are my hope and my salvation. May I never waver in my hope and trust in your merciful help and strength. Let the fire of your Holy Spirit burn in my heart and fill me with a consuming love for you."

Psalm 105:6-6,42-43

6 O offspring of Abraham his servant, sons of Jacob, his chosen ones! 7 He is the LORD our God; his judgments are in all the earth. 8 He is mindful of his covenant for ever, of the word that he commanded, for a thousand generations, 9 the covenant which he made with Abraham, his sworn promise to Isaac 42 For he remembered his holy promise, and Abraham his servant. 43 So he led forth his people with joy, his chosen ones with singing.

Daily Quote from the early church fathers: The Holy Spirit will inspire martyrs and teach believers, by Cyril of Jerusalem, 430-543 A.D.

"You must also know that the Holy Spirit empowers the martyrs to bear witness... A person cannot testify as a martyr for Christ's sake except through the Holy Spirit. If 'no man can say "Jesus is Lord" except in the Holy Spirit' (1 Corinthians 12:3), will any man give his life for Jesus' sake except through the Holy Spirit?" (excerpt from

CATECHETICAL LECTURES 16.21 )

Friday (October 19):  "Do not fear those who kill the body"

Scripture: Luke 12:1-7  

1 In the meantime, when so many thousands of the multitude had gathered together that they trod upon one another, he began to say to his disciples first, "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy. 2 Nothing is covered up that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. 3 Therefore whatever you have said in the dark shall be heard in the light, and what you have whispered in private rooms shall be proclaimed  upon the housetops. 4 "I tell you, my friends, do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. 5 But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has power to cast into hell; yes, I tell you, fear him! 6 Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. 7 Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.

Meditation: What does leaven have to do with hypocrisy? To the Jews leaven was a sign of evil. It was a piece of dough from left-over bread which fermented. Fermentation was associated with decay and rotting - the state of foul-smelling decomposition. Why did Jesus warn his disciples to avoid the ways of the Pharisees? The Pharisees wanted everyone to recognize that they were pious and good Jews because they meticulously and scrupulously performed their religious duties. Jesus turned the table on them by declaring that outward appearance doesn't always match the inward intentions of the heart. Anyone can display outward signs of goodness while inwardly harboring evil thoughts and intentions.

God's light exposes darkness and transforms our minds and hearts The word hypocrite means actor - someone who pretends to be what he or she is not. But who can truly be good, but God alone? Hypocrisy thrives on making a good appearance and masking what they don't want others to see. The good news is that God's light exposes the darkness of evil and sin in our hearts, even the sin which is unknown to us. And God's light transforms our hearts and minds and enables us to overcome hatred with love, pride with humility, and pretense with integrity and truthfulness. God gives grace to the humble and contrite of heart to enable us to overcome the leaven of insincerity and hypocrisy in our lives.

Godly fear draws us to God's love and truth What does fear have to do with the kingdom of God? Fear is a powerful force. It can lead us to panic and flight or it can spur us to faith and action. The fear of God is the antidote to the fear of losing one's life.

"I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears... O fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him have no want! ..Come, O sons (and daughters), listen to me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord." (Psalm 34:4,9,11)

What is godly fear? It is reverence - respect for God's authority, right judgment, and power to save us from the destructive forces of sin and evil in our lives. The greatest injury or loss which we can experience is not physical but spiritual - the loss of one's heart, mind, and soul to the power of hell - the kingdom of darkness, corruption, and eternal death. A healthy fear of God leads to spiritual maturity, good wisdom, and right judgment - and it frees us from the tyranny of sinful pride, deceit, and cowardice - especially in the face of falsehood, deception, and evil. Do you trust in God's merciful love, forgiveness, and power to change and transform your life? And do you submit to his life-giving word of truth and righteousness (moral goodness)?

"Lord Jesus, may the light of your word free my heart from the deception of sin, and consume me with a burning love for your truth and righteousness."

Psalm 33:1-5, 12-13

1 Rejoice in the LORD, O you righteous! Praise befits the upright. 2 Praise the LORD with the lyre, make melody to him with the harp of ten strings! 3 Sing to him a new song, play skillfully on the strings, with loud shouts. 4 For the word of the LORD is upright; and all his work is done in faithfulness. 5 He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD. 12 Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage! 13 The LORD looks down from heaven, he sees all the sons of men

Daily Quote from the early church fathers: Comfort for those who doubt God's providence in Christ, by Cyril of Alexandria (376-444 AD)

"To bestow yet another means of comfort on our minds, he forcibly added that five sparrows are scarcely perhaps worth a penny, and yet God does not forget even one of them. He also said that the separate hairs of your head are all numbered. Consider how great care he takes of those that love him. The Preserver of the universe extends his aid to things so worthless and descends to the smallest animals. How can he forget those who love him, especially when he takes so great care of them? He condescends to visit them, to know exactly each particular of their state, and even how many are the hairs of their heads... Let us not doubt that with a rich hand he will give his grace to those who love him. He will not permit us to fall into temptation. If, by his wise purpose he permits us to be taken in the snare in order that we may gain glory by suffering, he will most assuredly grant us the power to bear it." (excerpt from COMMENTARY ON LUKE, HOMILY 87)

[josefina8702-blog]

♥ Read Online The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer `Review` / Download PDF Book

How to Read / Download Ebook With Easy

💡 Hello Fellow Readers,

If you want to read online or download your favorite books, i can give you suggestion.

There is a good site about book & reviews, the site provides the best book ads link to get easy the popular books,

so maybe you can try it to read or download your favorite book on any device you like. 👍

👉 I and my friends very like to read book reviews there, Many interesting & addicting books.

The site always update hot new releases and best classics books to review before we read it, although you want to get the book in anywhere sites you like.

Visit the site if you want to read most popular book reviews! You will not be disappointed! .

Many of people very interesting to read books reviews there also. 👍

👉 How to read or download Ebook

✔ Visit: www.zarabook.club

✔ Find your book and read the review.

✔ You May Visit book ads link provided.

✔ Register free account to try, then youâ€��ll receive access to entire library.

✔ Wish you have good luck and ready to read online or download the book.👍

👉 Sometimes maybe your book is unavailable depend from the advertiser.

👉 If you don’t fully love your experience, don’t worry — you can cancel of being member at anytime.

👉 Hope this help and Happy Reading!

8989

3.86

===================================================

BEST The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer PDF.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer ePub.

Book The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer DOC.

R.e.a.d The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer WORD.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer PPT.

Free The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer TXT.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Ebook.

Ebook The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Kindle.

BEST! The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Rar.

Best The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Zip.

!BEST The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Mobi Online.

Best! The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Audiobook Online.

D.o.w.n.l.o.a.d The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Review Online.

Best The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Read Online.

B.e.s.t The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Download Online.

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

Short Review about The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Book :

“Readers of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander and Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring…will be swept away by the spell of medieval Siena” (Library Journal, starred review) in this transporting love story and gripping historical mystery. Accomplished neurosurgeon Beatrice Trovato knows that her deep empathy for her patients is starting to impede her work. So when her beloved brother passes away, she welcomes the unexpected trip to the Tuscan city of Siena to resolve his estate, even as she wrestles with grief. But as she delves deeper into her brother’s affairs, she discovers intrigue she never imagined—a 700-year-old conspiracy to decimate the city. As Beatrice explores the evidence further, she uncovers the journal and paintings of the fourteenth-century artist Gabriele Accorsi. But when she finds a startling image of her own face, she is suddenly transported to the year 1347. She awakens in a Siena unfamiliar to her, one that will soon be hit by the Plague. Yet when Beatrice meets Accorsi, something unexpected happens: she falls in love—not only with Gabriele, but also with the beauty and cadence of medieval life. As the Plague and the ruthless hands behind its trajectory threaten not only her survival but also Siena’s very existence, Beatrice must decide in which century she belongs. The Scribe of Siena is the captivating story of a brilliant woman’s passionate affair with a time and a place that captures her in an impossibly romantic and dangerous trap—testing the strength of fate and the bonds of love.

[brayden8303-blog]

♥ Read Online The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer `Review` / Download PDF Book

How to Read / Download Ebook With Easy

💡 Hello Fellow Readers,

If you want to read online or download your favorite books, i can give you suggestion.

There is a good site about book & reviews, the site provides the best book ads link to get easy the popular books,

so maybe you can try it to read or download your favorite book on any device you like. 👍

👉 I and my friends very like to read book reviews there, Many interesting & addicting books.

The site always update hot new releases and best classics books to review before we read it, although you want to get the book in anywhere sites you like.

Visit the site if you want to read most popular book reviews! You will not be disappointed! .

Many of people very interesting to read books reviews there also. 👍

👉 How to read or download Ebook

✔ Visit: www.zarabook.club

✔ Find your book and read the review.

✔ You May Visit book ads link provided.

✔ Register free account to try, then you’ll receive access to entire library.

✔ Wish you have good luck and ready to read online or download the book.👍

👉 Sometimes maybe your book is unavailable depend from the advertiser.

👉 If you don’t fully love your experience, don’t worry — you can cancel of being member at anytime.

👉 Hope this help and Happy Reading!

8832

3.86

👉 tags:

BEST The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer PDF.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer ePub.

Book The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer DOC.

R.e.a.d The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer WORD.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer PPT.

Free The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer TXT.

B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Ebook.

Ebook The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Kindle.

BEST! The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Rar.

Best The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Zip.

!BEST The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Mobi Online.

Best! The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Audiobook Online.

D.o.w.n.l.o.a.d The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Review Online.

Best The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Read Online.

B.e.s.t The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Download Online.

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

Short Review about The Scribe of Siena: A Novel by Melodie Winawer Book :

“Readers of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander and Tracy Chevalier’s Girl with a Pearl Earring…will be swept away by the spell of medieval Siena” (Library Journal, starred review) in this transporting love story and gripping historical mystery. Accomplished neurosurgeon Beatrice Trovato knows that her deep empathy for her patients is starting to impede her work. So when her beloved brother passes away, she welcomes the unexpected trip to the Tuscan city of Siena to resolve his estate, even as she wrestles with grief. But as she delves deeper into her brother’s affairs, she discovers intrigue she never imagined—a 700-year-old conspiracy to decimate the city. As Beatrice explores the evidence further, she uncovers the journal and paintings of the fourteenth-century artist Gabriele Accorsi. But when she finds a startling image of her own face, she is suddenly transported to the year 1347. She awakens in a Siena unfamiliar to her, one that will soon be hit by the Plague. Yet when Beatrice meets Accorsi, something unexpected happens: she falls in love—not only with Gabriele, but also with the beauty and cadence of medieval life. As the Plague and the ruthless hands behind its trajectory threaten not only her survival but also Siena’s very existence, Beatrice must decide in which century she belongs. The Scribe of Siena is the captivating story of a brilliant woman’s passionate affair with a time and a place that captures her in an impossibly romantic and dangerous trap—testing the strength of fate and the bonds of love.

[flyinghigh716]

Bargain & Daily Book Deals 08/02/17

Today on Amazon's Gold Box, get up to 50% Off on Adidas MLS Fan Gear, 20% Off on a Lenox Butterfly Meadow 12-Piece Bowl Set and 67% Off on a Lenox Butterfly Meadow 18-Piece Dinnerware Set, Service for 6.

My Bargain Picks

No Way Down: Life and Death on K2 ($0.99 Kindle), by Graham Bowley [HarperCollins]

No Way Down is both a gripping read and a clear-eyed investigation of the hubris, politics, and bad luck that brought on one of the worst disasters in modern mountaineering history. - Michael Kodas, author of High Crimes: The Fate of Everest in an Age of Greed

Graham Bowley's No Way Down does a great job of putting you on the mountain. It is a refreshingly unadorned account of the true brutality of climbing K2, where heroes emerge and egos are stripped down, and the only thing achieving immortality is the cold ruthless mountain. - Norman Ollestad, author of Crazy for the Storm

In the tradition of Into Thin Air and Touching the Void, No Way Down by New York Times reporter Graham Bowley is the harrowing account of the worst mountain climbing disaster on K2, second to Everest in height but second to no peak in terms of danger. From tragic deaths to unbelievable stories of heroism and survival, No Way Down is an amazing feat of storytelling and adventure writing, and, in the words of explorer and author Sir Ranulph Fiennes, the closest you can come to being on the summit of K2 on that fateful day.

Open Road One Day Deals & Promos

Kimberly's Flight: The Story of Captain Kimberly Hampton, America's First Woman Combat Pilot Killed in Battle ($2.99 Kindle), by Anna Simon and Ann Hampton

US Army Captain Kimberly N. Hampton was living her dream: flying armed helicopters in combat and commanding D Troop, 1st Squadron, 17th Cavalry, the armed reconnaissance aviation squadron of the 82nd Airborne Division. An all-American girl from a small Southern mill town, Hampton was a top scholar, student body president, ROTC battalion commander, and highly ranked college tennis player. In 1998, she was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the army. Driven by determination and ambition, Hampton rapidly rose through the ranks in the almost all-male bastion of military aviation to command a combat aviation troop.

On January 2, 2004, Captain Hampton was flying an OH-58D Kiowa Warrior helicopter above Fallujah, Iraq, in support of a raid on an illicit weapons marketplace, searching for an elusive sniper on the rooftops below. A little past noon, her helicopter was wracked by an explosion. A heat-seeking surface-to-air missile had knocked off the helicopter's tail boom. The helicopter crashed, killing Hampton.

Kimberly's Flight is the story of Captain Hampton's exemplary life. This story is told through nearly fifty interviews and her own e-mails to family and friends, and is entwined with her mother's narrative of loving and losing a child.

More Daily Deals

Horrorstor ($1.99 Kindle), by Grady Hendrix [Quirk Books] Shelf Awareness for Readers Starred Review

Praise for the author: National treasure Grady Hendrix follows his classic account of a haunted IKEA-like furniture showroom, Horrorstr (2014), with a nostalgia-soaked ghost story, My Best Friend's Exorcism.-The Wall Street Journal

A traditional haunted house story in a thoroughly contemporary setting, Horrorstr comes packaged in the form of a glossy mail order catalog, complete with product illustrations, a home delivery order form, and a map of Orsk's labyrinthine showroom. It's a treat for fans of The Evil Dead or Zombieland, complete with affordable solutions for better living.-Kirkus Reviews.

Something strange is happening at the Orsk furniture superstore in Cleveland, Ohio. Every morning, employees arrive to find broken Kjerring bookshelves, shattered Glans water goblets, and smashed Liripip wardrobes. Sales are down, security cameras reveal nothing, and store managers are panicking.

To unravel the mystery, three employees volunteer to work a nine-hour dusk-till-dawn shift. In the dead of the night, they'll patrol the empty showroom floor, investigate strange sights and sounds, and encounter horrors that defy the imagination.

More Bargain Picks

A Sense of the World: How a Blind Man Became History's Greatest Traveler ($1.99 Kindle), by Jason Roberts [HarperCollins] Publishers Weekly Starred Review

He was known simply as the Blind Traveler - a solitary, sightless adventurer who, astonishingly, fought the slave trade in Af-rica, survived a frozen captivity in Siberia, hunted rogue elephants in Ceylon, and helped chart the Australian outback. James Holman (1786-1857) became one of the greatest wonders of the world he so sagaciously explored, triumphing not only over blindness but crippling pain, poverty, and the interference of well-meaning authorities (his greatest feat, a circumnavigation of the globe, had to be launched in secret). Once a celebrity, a bestselling author, and an inspiration to Charles Darwin and Sir Richard Francis Burton, the charismatic, witty Holman outlived his fame, dying in an obscurity that has endured - until now.

A Sense of the World is a spellbinding and moving rediscovery of one of history's most epic lives. Drawing on meticulous research, Jason Roberts ushers us into the Blind Traveler's uniquely vivid sensory realm, then sweeps us away on an extraordinary journey across the known world during the Age of Exploration. Rich with suspense, humor, international intrigue, and unforgettable characters, this is a story to awaken our own senses of awe and wonder.

The Scribe of Siena: A Novel ($1.99 Kindle), by Melodie Winawer [Simon and Schuster] Library Journal Starred Review; Publishers Weekly Starred Review

Equal parts transporting love story and gripping historical conspiracy, debut author Melodie Winawer takes readers deep into medieval Italy, where the past and present blur and a twenty-first century woman will discover a plot to destroy Siena.

Accomplished neurosurgeon Beatrice Trovato knows that her deep empathy for her patients is starting to impede her work. So when her beloved brother passes away, she welcomes the unexpected trip to the Tuscan city of Siena to resolve his estate, even as she wrestles with grief. But as she delves deeper into her brother's affairs, she discovers intrigue she never imagined-a 700-year-old conspiracy to decimate the city.

After uncovering the journal and paintings of Gabriele Accorsi, the fourteenth-century artist at the heart of the plot, Beatrice finds a startling image of her own face and is suddenly transported to the year 1347. She awakens in a Siena unfamiliar to her, one that will soon be hit by the Plague.

Yet when Beatrice meets Accorsi, something unexpected happens: she falls in love-not only with Gabriele, but also with the beauty and cadence of medieval life. As the Plague and the ruthless hands behind its trajectory threaten not only her survival but also Siena's very existence, Beatrice must decide in which century she belongs.

The Scribe of Siena is the captivating story of a brilliant woman's passionate affair with a time and a place that captures her in an impossibly romantic and dangerous trap-testing the strength of fate and the bonds of love.

Will remind historical fiction readers of Diana Gabaldon's Outlander and Tracy Chevalier's Girl with a Pearl EarringLovers of meticulously researched historical fiction and time-travel narratives will be swept away by the spell of medieval Siena (Library Journal, starred review).

Winawer's debut is a detailed historical novel, a multifaceted mystery, and a moving tale of improbable loveWinawer has created a prodigious, vibrant tale of past and present that transports readers and fills in the historical gaps. This is a marvelous work of research and invention (Publishers Weekly, starred review)

May be price matched at eBooks.com, iTunes or Kobo for those needing EPUB.

Please see this post in regards to backing up your books purchased from B&N and this post if you are having problems with the new web design.

All prices current at the time the post is written. Most bargain books remain at their listed price until midnight (each store operates on it's own timezone and schedule), but prices can change at any moment. I have seen prices change within the hour or even minutes after posting.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings July 04, 2020

Psalm 33

Psalm 33

The Greatness and Goodness of God

1 Rejoice in the Lord, O you righteous. Praise befits the upright. 2 Praise the Lord with the lyre; make melody to him with the harp of ten strings. 3 Sing to him a new song; play skillfully on the strings, with loud shouts.

4 For the word of the Lord is upright, and all his work is done in faithfulness. 5 He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the steadfast love of the Lord.

6 By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and all their host by the breath of his mouth. 7 He gathered the waters of the sea as in a bottle; he put the deeps in storehouses.

8 Let all the earth fear the Lord; let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him. 9 For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.

10 The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples. 11 The counsel of the Lord stands forever, the thoughts of his heart to all generations. 12 Happy is the nation whose God is the Lord, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage.

13 The Lord looks down from heaven; he sees all humankind. 14 From where he sits enthroned he watches all the inhabitants of the earth— 15 he who fashions the hearts of them all, and observes all their deeds. 16 A king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. 17 The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great might it cannot save.

18 Truly the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love, 19 to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine.

20 Our soul waits for the Lord; he is our help and shield. 21 Our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. 22 Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Sirach 10:1-8

10 A wise magistrate educates his people, and the rule of an intelligent person is well ordered. 2 As the people’s judge is, so are his officials; as the ruler of the city is, so are all its inhabitants. 3 An undisciplined king ruins his people, but a city becomes fit to live in through the understanding of its rulers. 4 The government of the earth is in the hand of the Lord, and over it he will raise up the right leader for the time. 5 Human success is in the hand of the Lord, and it is he who confers honor upon the lawgiver.[a]

The Sin of Pride

6 Do not get angry with your neighbor for every injury, and do not resort to acts of insolence. 7 Arrogance is hateful to the Lord and to mortals, and injustice is outrageous to both. 8 Sovereignty passes from nation to nation on account of injustice and insolence and wealth.[b]

Footnotes:

Sirach 10:5 Heb: Gk scribe

Sirach 10:8 Other ancient authorities add here or after verse 9a, Nothing is more wicked than one who loves money, for such a person puts his own soul up for sale.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Sirach 10:12-18

12 The beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord; the heart has withdrawn from its Maker. 13 For the beginning of pride is sin, and the one who clings to it pours out abominations. Therefore the Lord brings upon them unheard-of calamities, and destroys them completely. 14 The Lord overthrows the thrones of rulers, and enthrones the lowly in their place. 15 The Lord plucks up the roots of the nations,[a] and plants the humble in their place. 16 The Lord lays waste the lands of the nations, and destroys them to the foundations of the earth. 17 He removes some of them and destroys them, and erases the memory of them from the earth. 18 Pride was not created for human beings, or violent anger for those born of women.

Footnotes:

Sirach 10:15 Other ancient authorities read proud nations

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

James 5:7-10

Patience in Suffering

7 Be patient, therefore, beloved,[a] until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. 8 You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near.[b] 9 Beloved,[c] do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! 10 As an example of suffering and patience, beloved,[d] take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.

Footnotes:

James 5:7 Gk brothers

James 5:8 Or is at hand

James 5:9 Gk Brothers

James 5:10 Gk brothers

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 107:1-32

BOOK V

(Psalms 107–150)

Psalm 107

Thanksgiving for Deliverance from Many Troubles

1 O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever. 2 Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, those he redeemed from trouble 3 and gathered in from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south.[a]

4 Some wandered in desert wastes, finding no way to an inhabited town; 5 hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted within them. 6 Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress; 7 he led them by a straight way, until they reached an inhabited town. 8 Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. 9 For he satisfies the thirsty, and the hungry he fills with good things.

10 Some sat in darkness and in gloom, prisoners in misery and in irons, 11 for they had rebelled against the words of God, and spurned the counsel of the Most High. 12 Their hearts were bowed down with hard labor; they fell down, with no one to help. 13 Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; 14 he brought them out of darkness and gloom, and broke their bonds asunder. 15 Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. 16 For he shatters the doors of bronze, and cuts in two the bars of iron.

17 Some were sick[b] through their sinful ways, and because of their iniquities endured affliction; 18 they loathed any kind of food, and they drew near to the gates of death. 19 Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; 20 he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. 21 Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. 22 And let them offer thanksgiving sacrifices, and tell of his deeds with songs of joy.

23 Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the mighty waters; 24 they saw the deeds of the Lord, his wondrous works in the deep. 25 For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. 26 They mounted up to heaven, they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their calamity; 27 they reeled and staggered like drunkards, and were at their wits’ end. 28 Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out from their distress; 29 he made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. 30 Then they were glad because they had quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven. 31 Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. 32 Let them extol him in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.

Footnotes:

Psalm 107:3 Cn: Heb sea

Psalm 107:17 Cn: Heb fools

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Revelation 21:1-7

The New Heaven and the New Earth

21 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. 2 And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home[a] of God is among mortals. He will dwell[b] with them; they will be his peoples,[c] and God himself will be with them;[d] 4 he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”

5 And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” 6 Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.

Footnotes:

Revelation 21:3 Gk the tabernacle

Revelation 21:3 Gk will tabernacle

Revelation 21:3 Other ancient authorities read people

Revelation 21:3 Other ancient authorities add and be their God

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[animiayuna-blog]

Read / Download The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Ebook in PDF or Epub

Simple Way to Read Online or Download The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer

Before I read this book, I had read some reviews which had me wondering if this one would be something I'd like, reviews from people whose opinions I trust. It's True, so the book stayed on my "TBR Someday". This book is one of best seller books in the world. Many of people very interesting to read this book. So, your life will be regret if you never read this book on your life. How to get this ebook : 1. Open New Tab on your browser and Visit www.filtow.com 2. Type in search menu "The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer" 3. Get your ebook. Or just follow this link below :

Link : http://filtow.com/book-item/30753660-the-scribe-of-siena.html

 Click & Download Your Book

Book Overview: Accomplished neurosurgeon Beatrice Trovato knows that her deep empathy for her patients is starting to impede her work. So when her beloved brother passes away, she welcomes the unexpected trip to the Tuscan city of Siena to resolve his estate, even as she wrestles with grief. But as she delves deeper into her brother’s affairs, she discovers intrigue she never imagined—a 700-year-old conspiracy to decimate the city. After uncovering the journal and paintings of Gabriele Accorsi, the fourteenth-century artist at the heart of the plot, Beatrice finds a startling image of her own face and is suddenly transported to the year 1347. She awakens in a Siena unfamiliar to her, one that will soon be hit by the Plague. Yet when Beatrice meets Accorsi, something unexpected happens: she falls in love—not only with Gabriele, but also with the beauty and cadence of medieval life. As the Plague and the ruthless hands behind its trajectory threaten not only her survival but also Siena’s very existence, Beatrice must decide in which century she belongs. The Scribe of Siena is the captivating story of a brilliant woman’s passionate affair with a time and a place that captures her in an impossibly romantic and dangerous trap—testing the strength of fate and the bonds of love.. BEST The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer PDF. B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer ePub. Book The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer DOC. R.e.a.d The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer WORD. B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer PPT. Free The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer TXT. B.O.O.K The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Ebook. Ebook The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Kindle. BEST! The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Rar. Best The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Zip. !BEST The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Mobi Online. Best! The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Audiobook Online. D.o.w.n.l.o.a.d The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Review Online. Best The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Read Online. B.e.s.t The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Download Online.

aniwulandari's insight:

Read / Download The Scribe of Siena by Melodie Winawer Ebook in PDF or Epub