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zoocross0vers · 6 years ago

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Raspberries Challenge #5: Cinderella

This is one of my favorites, so yeah. Hope you like it!

@wildehopps-rasps

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Raspberries Challenge #5: Cinderella

Cinderjudy

Trumpets blared at the Zootopian Kingdom's castle, announcing the ball’s commencement. On one end of the large salmon colored ballroom, stood various available maidens of varying species. Each one of them eager to meet the young fox prince that stood across from them in the ballroom. The maidens -- all of them daughters of royalty, high ranking officials and wealthy noblemammals -- lined up and awaited to be announced to greet the prince.

Nicholas Piberius Wilde, the bachelor prince of the Zootopian Kingdom stood -- rather bored -- in place to greet each of his potential brides with a formal bow. He was clad in red pants, his royal cream colored princely coat and white gloves that completely clashed with his natural black paws. Though his back was killing him, he somehow managed to keep a straight posture. Not so much for the sake of his guests, but more so for his overbearing father who wouldn't stop berating him for not yet having found a wife to “make grandchildren” with for him.

Speaking of which, the prince’s father, Jonathan Wilde, King of the Zootopian Kingdom, kept a vigilant eye on his son from atop a balcony just above the ballroom. Beside him, stood the Grand Duke and the young prince’s best friend Finnick, a short fennec fox with a monocle. Both foxes kept a keen eye on the prince as the next girl was called.

“Princess Fredericka Jean-Foxtaine,” a beautiful red vixen clad in a blue gown made her way down the red carpet leading to the prince across the way. Prince Nicholas bowed to her as expected, but paid her no extra attention or care -- another girl crossed off the long list of possible brides for the prince.

The sheep doorman went on to read the next girl, “Mademoiselle Augustine Zubois. Daughter of General Pierre Zubois!” another lovely red vixen in a pink colored dress made her way toward the prince. Once again, the fox prince gave nothing more but a simple bow.

King Jonathan groaned frustratingly as his son yet again rejected another girl. He facepalmed a paw on his snout, “The boy isn't even trying!” he huffed, while Finnick simply shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile as if to say 'I told you so.’

The king began to grow antsy. That was the 70th girl his son’s rejected! Surely he can't keep this up! The next girl must be the one! Right? Right???!

“Mademoiselle Theodora Mercedes Delaroar. Daughter of Colonel and Madame Delaroar.” Another pretty vixen in a green gown made her way toward Prince Nicholas while King Jonathan's blue eyes lit up with hope. A hope that died just as quickly as Prince Nicholas once again rejected the girl. Although this time with a bored yawn and cheeky smile towards his father at the balcony.

“Ugh! Look at that smug smile of his,” the king scoffed. “He’s doing it on purpose just to spite me!”

“I warned you beforehand, sire.” Finnick said while playing around with his monocle.

“But what is it about them that he doesn't like? They're all gorgeous, they're wealthy. I’ve taken all necessary precautions. What more does he want?!” growled the king desperately.

“Maybe Prince Nicholas just isn't ready to marry?” Finnick shrugged.

“Nonsense!” the king snapped back, “I was his age when I married his mother and she was the first and only girl I had presented to me! Fell in love with her the second I saw her. And when we touched paws, I knew she was the one for me,” King Jonathan gazed at his paw with a gentle smile at the thought of his late wife. A smile which was quickly replaced with a grumpy frown the second he thought back to his son. “I didn't give my father this headache! Why must Nicholas do this to me!” The fox sat back massaging his throbbing head between his paws.

Finnick shook his head with a light chuckle as he turned his attention back down.

“Mademoiselle Colette LePew. Daughter of Commander LePew.” Finnick's interest peaked as he saw a female skunk make her way toward the prince.

“Huh, so I see you didn't limit his choices to only vixens,” Finnick commented in surprise.

“I told you I took all necessary precautions into consideration,” King Jonathan uttered with a paw still at his forehead. “And does he thank me for broadening his choices? No!” The king looked down to realize his son had rejected to skunk just as he had the vixens. King Jonathan snarled and slammed his fist down on the armrest of his chair. “Come now! I don't care if I have hybrid grandchildren! There must be at least one of them that would make a suitable mother!!”

“Shh! Watch it sire,” Finnick gestured toward the crowd. Reminding him to mind his words and personal goal around his guests.

“I mean wife,” the king groaned, correcting himself.

Cinderjudy, decked out in her new sparkling light blue gown, matching elbow length gloves and headband, a black choker, and glass slippers -- given to her by her tiny shrew of a fairy Godmother -- timidly entered the enormous castle. She was so in awe, she didn't even notice the curious glances the line of guards were giving her.

Despite having been born into a wealthy family, Cinderjudy had never felt like a child of wealth. After her mother's death and after her father married her stepmother, Lady Bellwether, she always felt more like a servant. Or rather a slave. A feeling that was sealed for good once her father died not too long after his second marriage.

Poor Cinderjudy was so young when her father died. She was left to the mercy of her cruel sheep stepmother and her two daughters, Soleil and Luna. Cinderjudy never understood why they hated her so. She had never wronged them in any way, but they treated her like a slave nonetheless -- always ordering her around, belittling her every chance they got, and more recently they tore her mother's good dress right off from her just to prevent her from going to the ball.

But no more! Tonight was her night! Tonight she was not a slave, but a lady! A lady who had just as much of a right to meet the Prince as everyone else!

Now...if she only knew what he looked like... or at the very least knew what his name was…

Cinderjudy made her way up the large stairway leading to the ballroom.

Soleil and Luna Bellwether prepped themselves up as they prepared to be called next. Soleil adjusted her glasses and puffed up the light brown wool at the sides of her face, while Luna adjusted the lower half of the skirt of her dress not realizing that she was stepping on her sister's dress.

Soleil took a step forward, nearly landing flat on her face because of her sister's carelessness. She yanked her skirt out from under Luna’s feet, practically dropping her now. After landing on her feet Luna awkwardly raced behind Soleil, waving her skirt side to side.

“The mademoiselles Soleil and Luna Bellwether. Daughters of Lady Bellwether.”

Prince Nicholas squinted his eyes forward to get a good look at them and groaned quietly to the sky. Ugh! There's no way I'm picking either of these two. Something about them tells me they're not as fluffy on the inside as their wool makes them out to be, he thought to himself, already uninterested in the sheep. A feeling that apparently even his father shared.

King Jonathan took one look at them and immediately cringed, shaking his paws and head. In rejection. He groaned fell back on his chair. He sighed in defeat, “That's it. I give up.”

Finnick chuckled as he played with his monocle like a yo-yo, “I told ya, sire. But you didn't listen.” King Jonathan said nothing. He simply sat on his chair with a heavy frown, listening to the smaller fox mock him. “I'm sorry to say it your grace, but you're too much of a romantic for your own good.” Finnick chuckled again, “No doubt you had the whole thing played out in your head like a pretty picture. The Prince bowing down to the assembly…” Finnick bowed, detailing the story with his own motions.

Meanwhile, below the balcony, Prince Nicholas bowed to the two sheep. But as he rose, his actions mimicked those of Finnick’s words as if the small fox were controlling him like a puppet master does to his puppets. For as Finnick spoke his next words, Prince Nicholas’ eyes widened. His mouth gaped slightly as his emerald gaze caught sight of something in the distance -- or rather, caught sight of someone.

“When suddenly he stops!” Finnick continued with his narrative, “And lo! There she is! The girl of his dreams!”

As Finnick spoke to the king, Prince Nicholas’ eyes were glued on a gorgeous gray bunny moving about in the distance between Soleil and Luna -- his eyes were on Cinderjudy!

Unaware of who he was looking at, Soleil and Luna batted their eyes flirtingly at Prince Nicholas believing his sights were on them. “Um…” he stuttered, entranced by the bunny in the distance, “Excuse me,” he maneuvered between the two sheep, determined to reach the mystery bunny.

King Jonathan perked up, his gloomy demeanor immediately fading and making way for curiosity as he witnessed his son leave his post. Where's he going? The king wondered as Finnick continued to coincidentally detail the prince’s current actions and state of mind.

“Who is she? Where’d she come from? He wonders. But does he care? No. All he knows is that his heart tells him that here...Here is this girl that's meant to be his bride.”

Just as Finnick said that, Nicholas at last reached Cinderjudy, gently taking her smaller paw into his larger, startling the lost bunny. “Are you lost pretty Carrots?” he asked with a playful yet warm smile.

“Oh,” Cinderjudy's ears stood then dropped in embarrassment as she brought a paw to her mouth, “I guess I am,” she giggled bashfully. “I was looking for the ballroom.”

“Well look no further, it's right in there.” Prince Nicholas bowed to her, offering a paw, “Would you care to dance?”

Cinderjudy's eyes widened. She didn't expect to be made such an offer so soon upon her arrival. She hadn't even met the Prince yet either but... gazing into this fox’s eyes made her knees feel weak. How could she deny such an offer? Especially from such a handsome and sweet mammal. Cinderjudy curtsied and him her paw with a blushing smile.

As Prince Nicholas led her into the ballroom, King Jonathan brushed his eyes in disbelief. Was he dreaming? Or has stubborn son finally found his future bride? The elder fox blinked a few times to realize that he wasn't dreaming! The king smiled wide when he realized Finnick was still laughing at him.

“Hahaha. I tell you, your highness. That's all just fairytale garbage. It just doesn't happen in real life. So I hate to say it, but this plan o’ yours was doomed ta failure--”

“Failure?!” King Jonathan snapped, startling the fennec fox -- first with his anger and then with his sudden burst of jovial laughter, “Then take a look at that you tiny naysayer!” King Jonathan took Finnick's monocle and pressed it against the small fox’s eye so he can take a good look at the Prince and the mystery bunny. “Who is she? Do you know her?” The king asked excitedly.

“No sire. I’ve never seen her before,” Finnick replied.

“Well at least that's one thing in her favor,” said the king with a happy chuckle. He then called down to the orchestra, “The waltz! Quick the waltz!”

The court composer smiled and nodded, tapping his composition stick and lead the orchestra to play a romantic waltz.

Now to set the mood! King Jonathan whistled down to more of his servants loudly whispering, “The lights! The lights!” In his excitement he crawled on top of the balcony railing, nearly plummeting down to the ballroom floor were it not for Finnick quickly grabbing onto his tail.

Prince Nicholas and Cinderjudy walked onto the dancefloor, paw in paw. The young Royal fox brought her small paw up to his lips to give it a tender kiss. Cinderjudy blushed with a curtsy. Prince Nicholas smiled then placed a gentle paw on her small waist while he took her paw in the other. She likewise took his paw while her free paw held onto the large skirt of her dress as he led her into a waltz.

Up at the balcony, King Jonathan chuckled happily, “Failure eh?” He elbowed Finnick, who returned a disgruntled chuckle to the king. King Jonathan took one last look below to his son and the young bunny maiden. The elder fox smiled, his heart swollen with joy and pride, Looks like the boy's got good taste! Just like his father!

The king yawned, tired of a long day’s work of searching for a bride for his stubborn son. “Well, I think it's time for a good night’s sleep.”

Finnick yawned too, “Yeah. I think I'm gonna turn in too--”

“Oh, no, no, no my tiny friend,” King Jonathan said with a tut, picking up the small fennec fox from the scruff of his coat. “You are going to sit right here.” He plopped Finnick down on the chair. “Be sure they're not disturbed and notify me immediately the minute the boy proposes.”

“Notify me immediately,” Finnick mimicked mockingly under his breath, believing the king had left the balcony.

“Oh and Finnick,” King Jonathan said, startling the small fox, “Be advised, if anything goes wrong,” King Jonathan slashed a finger across his throat. Threatening death on the tiny fox. The elder red fox left the balcony and danced down the corridor leading to his bedroom singing to the waltz’ rhythm. “La-di-la-di, la-di-la-di!” He dragged one of his many guards from his post to waltz with the confused mammal only to twirl him back to his spot and bow to him. The jovial king continued onward and kicked his heels together. It won't be long now till he becomes a grandfather!

Back at the ballroom, Lady Bellwether and her two daughters tried to look past the larger ball attendants obstructing their view of the prince’s new mystery bunny.

“Who is she mother?” asked Luna.

“Do we know her?” added Soleil as she managed to catch a slight glimpse of Prince Nicholas and Cinderjudy between a large elephant's legs.

“The Prince certainly seems to,” said Luna, “Although I know I’ve never seen her.”

“Nor I,” said Lady Bellwether as she stood behind some shorter mammals, “But she certainly is--” Bellwether seized her compliment regarding the mystery bunny’s beauty as Cinderjudy and Prince Nicholas waltzed before her. Lady Bellwether's eyes widened the minute she managed to catch a closer glimpse of the bunny’s face. “Wait...there is something familiar about her,” Lady Bellwether uttered, adjusting her glasses and curiously following the two as they waltzed out to the outdoor balcony.

Lady Bellwether attempted to follow when large red curtains blocked her path, “Oh,” she gasped when she noticed Finnick holding the cord of the curtains.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat as if asking her to respect their privacy.

Out at the external balcony, Cinderjudy and Prince Nicholas continued their waltz in peace. Free from the prying eyes of others, it was just them in their own little world that started and ended with them and only them. They gazed deeply into one another's eyes, amethyst pools meeting emerald ones and sparkling just as bright as the glitter of Cinderjudy's gown. They smiled at each other as if that was the only expression their facial muscles were capable of.

It was all so wonderful! They could swear they could hear a mutual song playing in their hearts -- each of their internal voices complementing one another. A sweet hum that spoke their very emotions…

Mmm-mmm

So this is love,

Mmm-mmm

So this is love...

So this is what makes life divine,

Cinderjudy's heart sang, overwhelmed with love for the handsome mystery fox -- as she was still completely unaware of his true identity. She and Prince Nicholas finished their waltz and walked paw in paw to take a tour of the kingdom's vast garden together.

The garden itself was so beautiful. Cinderjudy could swear she was dreaming, so she prompted to give the water in the garden’s fountain a light tap, feeling the gentle ripples of the water forming around her paw. It wasn't a dream! It was real!

I'm all aglow

Mmm-mmm

And now I know

Her heart sang as she gazed at the fox, seeing the same warmth in his eyes. She could swear she could hear him confirm his mutual feelings for her.

And now I know

Cinderjudy sighed as she felt their hearts sync in tune with one another’s.

The key to all heaven is mine

My heart has wings,

Mmm-mmm

And I can fly,

I'll touch ev’ry star in the sky

After their romantic stroll through the garden and some light conversation, Prince Nicholas and Cinderjudy resumed their waltz under the stars.

So this is the miracle,

That I’ve been dreaming of

Prince Nicholas led Cinderjudy to the middle of a beautiful bridge that overlooked a sparkling river. They both gazed down to the gentle ripples of the easy flowing water below them as well as their reflections and that of the bright moon behind them. They lifted their gaze to one another. Cinderjudy's heart hummed...

Mmm-mmm

As did Prince Nicholas’...

Mmm-mmm

As they came to a conclusion, they both new to be true despite their brief introduction...

So this is love…!

Cinderjudy and Prince Nicholas sat at thick stair railing as they talked for a little while -- in the nearby distance there was a tall clock tower. It's time read 11:55pm.

“And so my friend Finnick kissed this girl he really liked and then she ended up with a mustache smeared on her face too!” Prince Nicholas chuckled as he regaled Cinderjudy with one of his many hilarious childhood stories.

Cinderjudy laughed, “So then what happened?”

“Well once he noticed the mustache on her, he realized that he had one too the whole time.”

Cinderjudy giggled, “And no one bothered to say anything when they saw a nine year old boy trodding around town with a mustache?”

“Nope,” the fox Prince answered casually. “Boy but did he and his little girlfriend wanna kill me after that.”

They laughed wholeheartedly together. Prince Nicholas wiped a tear from his eye from his laughter. After regaining his composure, he gently took one of Cinderjudy's paws in his, “You know pretty Carrots, in all this time we’ve been spending together I feel like I can really talk to you,” he said with a warm and sincere smile.

“Me too,” Cinderjudy agreed, returning her own tender smile to him. “It isn't often I get to talk to someone, much less someone as sweet and funny as you.”

Prince Nicholas’ eyes widened in shock and surprise, “Why not?”

Uh-oh. She shouldn't have said that. “It's... it's complicated,” Cinderjudy uttered quietly, gently pulling her paw from his grip and turning away from him. Hoping he wouldn't pry any longer.

“Hey,” he softly placed a paw over hers again, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just thought you might wanna talk for a change. I’ve been doing all the talking all night and who knows if I’ve been boring you with my riveting tales about my bratty childhood.” Cinderjudy giggled at his attempt to cheer her up. “Besides, I’d really like to know more about you. I mean I don't even know your name. I’ve just been calling you pretty Carrots all night.”

“That's true,” Cinderjudy reasoned. “I'm sorry I've been such a mystery. It's just that…” Cinderjudy sighed, “I don't know... this whole night has been so wonderful and I’d hate to ruin it. I just can't help get over wondering if this is all one big beautiful dream that I’m going to wake up from at any moment.”

Prince Nicholas blinked in surprise at her words. All night she had been so chipper, he almost began to think she was incapable of such sadness. He may not know what demons haunt her, but he knows he certainly brought her some joy. Perhaps he shall save his questioning for another day when she's more comfortable talking about it.

He reached out a paw to her cheek with an understanding and comforting smile. He gently pulled her gaze to his. “Trust me my mystery Carrots. I promise you this isn't a dream.”

Cinderjudy gazed into his comforting eyes as he softly traced his paws down her shoulders and slowly moved his lips toward hers. She in turn moved her own lips up toward his. Their muzzles inching closer and closer when--

DONG! The clock tower rang.

“Oh! Oh my goodness!” Cinderjudy gasped in shock, lifting her ears and pulling her lips away before she could kiss Prince Nicholas.

“What’s the matter?” Prince Nicholas asked, wondering why she pulled away.

“It’s midnight!” she said as she stood.

“Yeah. So?” Prince Nicholas said, stating the obvious and still heavily confused.

“Good bye!” Cinderjudy called as she tried to run from him.

“No, no. Wait!” Prince Nicholas gently caught her arm, “You can’t go now, it’s only--”

“You don’t understand! Please, please I must!” Cinderjudy said, desperate to flee before her spell could be undone.

“But why?” the fox prince asked, not wanting to let the sweet bunny go.

“Well I-I...” Cinderjudy thought fast. She needed an excuse and she needed it now. “The Prince! I haven’t met the Prince yet!”

“The Prince?!” the fox’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh...are you being serious? Because didn’t you know that I--”

DONG! The clock tower rang again, louder than before.

“Good-bye!” Without a moment to lose, Cinderjudy ran.

“No wait! Come back! Please come back!” Prince Nicholas called back desperately to her. “I don’t even know your name or how will I find you!” Hearing the hurt in his voice, Cinderjudy turned briefly to face him one last time at the top of the garden’s stairway, desperately wanting to stop and stay with him but knowing that she can’t. She continued to flee as Prince Nicholas continued to call to her, “Wait! Please wait!”

Cinderjudy re-entered the ballroom, emerging from the large red curtains Finnick had closed prior. “Good-bye!” She politely waved to Finnick on her way out.

Finnick politely returned her wave until he realized who it was he was waving to. “Whoa wait a minute!” he called out when the curtains were pushed to his face. Muffling his calls as Prince Nicholas emerged from behind the curtains.

“Wait! Carrots!” Prince Nicholas called with an extended paw, just as he was swarmed with a sea of of his former potential brides. All of them curiously asking him about the mystery bunny he was dancing with.

Cinderjudy made her way down the large flight of stairs near the main entrance when--

Oops! One of Cinderjudy’s glass slippers slipped off her foot. Figures, not many mammals wear shoes so it was no surprise she was unaccustomed to wearing them. She tried running up to get it, only to spot Finnick racing down the stairs behind her. Not wanting to get caught and with her time running out, she decided to leave it and proceeded to rush down the stairs once more.

“Mademoiselle! Señorita! Miss Bunny!” Finnick called behind her as he grabbed her fallen glass slipper.

Once out the door, Cinderjudy raced to her carriage and climbed aboard. She and her equally spellbound assistants fled past the castle’s gates as fast as they could as Finnick called for the castle’s guards to stop her close the gates so she wouldn’t flee.

“Stop that coach! Close those gates!” Finnick shouted to no avail. Realizing they had managed to escape past the gates, Finnick instead called their guards to chase after them. “Follow that coach!” Various guards on horse pulled carriages raced out the castle’s gates in search of Cinderjudy.

Cinderjudy looked back, hoping they wouldn’t catch up to her and her friends. All the while the clock tower continued to remind her of the time with its terrible and constant,

DONG! DONG! DONG!

With one last heavy dong, the spell was broken and Cindejudy’s gown vanished and was replaced once more with her mother’s torn dress. Her beautiful carriage was reduced to nothing more but the pumpkin it was once originally, her family friend and fellow house servant Major -- an old gray horse --was no longer a well dressed footmammal, but was returned to his old farm clothes. The same went for her friends and other fellow house servants Jaq and Gus -- two brown mice -- who were transformed into horses to help pull the carriage.

Cinderjudy and the others sat on the road in shock to realize that they have all returned back to their old former selves. They immediately moved and sought shelter in some brush on the side of the road when they heard the castle guards catching up to them.

They managed to move just in time when the guards ran past them, crushing the pumpkin underneath their hooves and the wheels of their carriages.

“I’m sorry,” Cinderjudy apologized to her friends once the guards were gone. “I-I guess I forgot about everything. Even the time, but...but it was so wonderful.”

None of her friends said anything, they just took in her joy and smiled. Happy that they could help her and happy to know that she had a wonderful time. They had known her practically her whole life and they’ve known how horribly she’d been treated by her step family. She deserved to have a good time and be happy.

“And he was so handsome! And when he danced…” she sighed, the thought of Prince Nicholas filling her heart with love. “Oh I’m sure even the prince himself couldn’t have been more...more…” Cinderjudy sighed once more but this time with a bit of disappointment, “Oh well, it’s over and--”

“Cinderjudy! Cinderjudy! Look! Look!” called Jaq and Gus while pointing at her foot. “A slipper! A slipper! Yeah a slipper! Your slipper Cinderjudy! Your slipper!” they continued to shout together.

Cinderjudy reached down and realized she was still wearing one of her glass slippers! But how? Everything else was gone. Why did this remain?

Oh well. Perhaps it was a gift from her fairy Godmother Fru-Fru! Cinderjudy sighed in awe as she held the sparkling slipper in her paws. She looked up at the sky with a smile, “Thank you. Thank you so much! For everything.” Cinderjudy held the glass slipper tight, a memento of such a glorious night, a reminder of a wonderful fox, and of a night she’ll never forget.

#zootopia #fanfic #cinderella #disney #crossover #raspberries challenge

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honestsycrets · 6 years ago

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Eddic [Mythology of All Races] Loki

A/N: Happier things. All content is from Mythology of All Races Vol. 2. These are simply my notes of what I want to remember from this chapter.. Obviously things within this can be debated.

Names

Evil companion and bench mate of Odin by Snorri. Mit-othin (?) Father of Fenris-wolf Utgard-Loki (?) The bound god The Cunning Loki The Sky god Lodur (Voluspa) The Firebringer

Birth

Son of giants Farbauti ‘dangerous striker’ and mother Laufey ‘leafy isle’/Nal. Mother was thin: Nal means needle. Brothers are Byleist and Helbindi. Combination of parents name— friction to start fire?

Maybe fire god or demon.

Stole Brisinga-men ‘fire.’ Relation of Norse custom to Loki: “A Norse saying when the fire crackles is ‘Loki is beating his children’ and the skin of milk is thrown into the fire as a dole.” Little children toss baby teeth in fire “Lokke Lokke bring me a bone tooth: Here is a Gold tooth.”

Appearance and Disposition

Beautiful and comely but evil disposition and fickle. Tends to get the gods into trouble and save them later. Foulmouthed and slanderous— Lokasenna. Has shoes to run through air and over water.

Dwarf association

Conduct is elfish to the dwarves. Associated with making Menglod’s hall and forged Lævateinn sword in underworld.

Transforms a lot!

A mare A seal A fly A flea A milkmaid A woman A giantess A salmon Bird by Freyja’s feather dress.

Witty

Excelled in sleight and strategy. Evaded the gods paying the giant rebuilding Asgard. Brings goddess Idunn power by way of another giant Thjazi.

Silly and Mischevious

Causes Thjazi’s daughter Skadi to laugh and reconcile after the Æsir slated her father, who pursued Loki to Jötunheim to bring back Idunn as a nut. Cuts Sif’s hair out of mischief but promises Thor (who would have broken his bones) to get Black Elves to make Sif’s hair gold to grow like any other hair.

Thief

Thief of Brisinga-men and Idunn and her apples. Dislikes it when others are praised such as Fimafeng, who he slew, at Ægir’s banquet.

Chaos

Caused fight with Geirrod and daughters. Was starved in and tortured there at one point. Ransoms his life promising to bring Thor without hammer or girdle of strength. Gerriod was overtaken by Thor.

Children and Lovers

Sigyn

Nari or Narfi.

Birthed Sleipnir.

Told the giant artificer who rebuilt Asgard to demand Freyja, the moon and the sun. The gods demanded he avoid the command or be killed. Loki shifted into a mare and was chased by the giant’s stallion Svadifari, suspending the work on Asgard until it was done outside of the prearranged amount of time. Thor slays the giant and Loki gives birth.

Angrboda Jormundandr, Fenrir and Hel nourished in Jötunheim. Odin sent gods to bring them to him. Casts Jormungandr into the sea and lies about the land. Hel thrown into Niflheim. Fenrir was bound.

Woman of Embers Ate a cooked heart of a woman he found in embers. Milked cows for months. Became pregnant and gave birth to a monster. This regards him as subterranean fire (female). Cows he milks are warm springs

Thor

Visited Utgard-Loki and the giant Thyrm. Thrymskvitha- aids Thor in recovering the hammer from Thyrm.

Odin

Friend of Odin. Servingman of Odin. Staunch friend of Hœnir by Thjodolf of Hvin. Chosen as Odin’s wish-son.

Given heavy tasks by Odin and was spoken well of. Knew almost everything that happened and relayed it to Odin.

Joined with Odin and Hœnir; creating first pair (related to Andvari’s treasure) and the story of Idunn. Odin and Loki mixed their blood in blood-brotherhood. Odin promises to spill no blood unless it was for both.

Balder

Punishment of Loki His in mountains with a house with four doors so that he could see in all ways. Hid as a salmon during day in Franang’s waterfall. At night he made a net and abandons it when the Æsir were near. Odin saw where he was hiding from Hlidskjalf. Hid as a salmon once more but Ksavir realized it was a fishing net. Thor catches him. Bound in the bowels of his son Vali which turned to iron. His son Narfi was turned into a wolf. Skadi fastened a Snake over his face so that poison would drop on his face. Sigyn (a Asynjur) held a tiny shell under the poison to collect it but some would fall on his face when she pulled it away. Earthquakes caused by his struggling.

Ragnarok

There he waits for Ragnarok where he breaks free and stands at the helm of a ship with those in Hel. Loki, Hrym and frost giants fight with heroes of Hel against Heimdall and they slay one another.

Insults

A man bearing children as a woman and a man taking a woman’s form we’re not uncommon but considered the most deadly insults

Hreidmarr

Odin Hœnir and Loki brought into power after he slays his son in the form of an Otter. (Hreidmarr’s). Odin sends Loki to Svartalfheim to capture the dwarf Andvari (as a fish) and make him give up his treasure. Loki takes all of the things, ring included that the dwarf wanted to keep as a sole item. Given to Odin who covers it with a fur without the ring. The nose of the ring was uncovered and Hreidmarr insisted on it being covered. Odin gives up ring. Ring and treasure becomes a curse.

Fimafeng

Ægir invited elves and gods to a feast. Fimafeng was praised and Loki slew him. Gods shook their shields, howled and ran him out of the forest. Returns to the hall to ask Eldir what is going on. Weapons, war and no nice word for him. Loki goes in to mix venom with their ale and bring hatred. Asks for a drink after a long journey but gods are silently claiming there is no place for Loki there. Loki appeals to Odin in their brotherhood pact. Odin asks Vidar to find a place for him. Shit happens: Bragi is accused of being a coward. Idunn begs him to weigh Loki’s kinship with Odin but is turned on by Loki. Loki accuses her of having love with her brother’s killer. Idunn tried to calm Bragi. Gefjun calls Loki a slanderer and that he hates everyone. Loki accuses her this time of sexual misconduct with a boy who gave her a necklace. Odin tells him that he’s crazy to piss her off as she knows the destinies of man— and Loki turns on Odin accusing him of giving victory to those who don’t deserve it. Odin pops off that Loki has been milking cows as a woman and giving birth to children. Loki says that Odin made magic spells in the shape of a witch while in Samsey. Accuses Frigg of misconduct with Odin’s brothers Vili and Ve. Frigg says that Balder would kill him if he were alive. Loki boasts that he killed him. Freyja is accused of sharing favour with all the gods and being her brother’s loved. Njord taunts him by calling him a womanly god and asks why he is here. Loki taunts Njord with being only a hostage from the Vanir and having had a son (Frey) with his sister. Tyr claims Frey is the best of heroes. Loki tells him to shut up as he has lost his wolf by the Fenris-Wolf and Loki knocked up his wife AND didn’t have to pay a crime. Frey tells him that the wolf is bound until Ragnarok and he can be too. Loki says Frey bought Gerd with gold and sword, and now must await Muspell’s sons when they ride through Myrkwood. Byggvir (Frey’s servant) intervenes and says if he were like Frey, he would crush him to bone marrow. Loki calls him a coward. Heimdall: you drunk Loki go home. Skadi claims that they will bind Loki with his sons bowels Loki tells her he was among those who killed her father and reminds her of their love. Sid hasn’t done anything wrong! She pours his ale but is reminded of their history. Beyla claims Thor is coming by the shaking of the mountains. Thor was slaying trolls. Enter Thor. Thor threatens to close Loki’s mouth with his hammer. Loki claims he doesn’t need to threaten. He’ll be less fierce when he fights the Fenris-wolf. Three more times he is threatened and Loki taunts him with hiding in a giants glove and having trouble in opening Skrymir’s wallet. Finally he goes but warns Ægir to have no more parties because fire will consume here.

Source Credit

MacCulloch, John Arnott. The Mythology of All Races: Eddic. Vol. 2, Cooper Square Publ., 1964.

#sy's reference

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remindme2breathe · 4 years ago

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Inspired and alone

I just wrote a recent entry about how I made my money. In that I mentioned a patient who inspired me. It’s been a few hours since I posted that and could not stop thinking about this notorious patient... I gotta get it out... I gotta just tell it!

We will call him Amazon (it’s the first word I saw when I looked up, sorry, I’ll try and be more creative next time). Amazon was about 82 when he landed a spot in my unit of the hospital I worked for. I’ll admit that when I first met him I didn’t think he was any more special then the 60 year old in the next room, to me, a patient was just that: a patient! The hospital I worked at has a wing for the Wealthy, I didn’t work that wing, I worked the ER right next to it. While I saw the druggies, drunks, rape victims and stabbings (the list goes on), just on the other side of the wall lived a land where the patience laid on temperpedic mattresses, had one nurse for every two patients (while in ER you take on about 6-10 depending on who’s scheduled). Everything was different, it was like coming out of a high end store and walking right into the hood! Literally, that’s how different it was. While our waiting rooms had wait times of up to 3 to 4 hours, that wing had a special phone line for these wealthy members to call and announce their arrival, at which point the linens were placed, bed available (not shared), a fruit basket for their guest to enjoy while waiting in their own private living room. Their menu was ridiculous too, ‘ridiculous’ when you compare it to the soupy salt less mashed potatoes, stale graham crackers and watered down orange juice. That wing had dinner options for the guests (up to 2), salmon, some type of roast or something else. Their water came in bottles and water glasses. The patients had to survive on a better quality diet that it typically suggested by the attending Doctor. Their were several perks to being in that wing, one being the awesome accommodations, the second, YOU WAIT FOR NO ONE. There is a Doctor available. Can’t find yours? THEY WILL FIND HIM AND BRING HIM TO YOUR ROOM. On that floor, it was said, that when a Doctor has his patient in that wing, they do not leave (they stay in a designated resting suite) because they have 10 minutes to report. This comes with a hefty membership cost. Back then (2015) I believe I heard someone say it was upwards of a 150K ‘’donation’’. Today I KNOW FOR SURE THAT DONATION IS A LOT HIGHER.

I had a friend who worked in that wing, she always complained about how BOUJEE her patients are or how demanding their guests are, I just smiled and listened. I kinda knew the feeling but had no desire to fuel her opinions, we all had problems with patients, but this is what we signed up for! While I was standing in her nurses station I noticed how many nurses would go to lunch at the same time, I was shocked. The ER was permitted one at a time, if the day was slow (which hardly happened) you’d be lucky not to eat alone. While I stood there I was noticing other tiny differences. For instance, they don’t have crash carts near by, they don’t have many assistants, in fact I think they had way more records people on the floor then actual nursing staff. As luck would have it someone started Coding. Apparently this didn’t happen often as I looked at my friend and she looked lost, as though she had no clue what to do! I yelled at her to call ER for a crash cart and to call the MD on call. I bolted to the patience room and immediately started my ER shift. Thankfully the patient pulled through and this brought great attention to the response time. Can you believe that floors director had the gull to yell at me for responding! Because it wasn’t my floor! OMG, the nerve! Needless to say she was fired for that among other things, but that’s neither here nor there. Directly across the hall was patient by the name Prime, first name Amazon (I know, I know! Next time, I PROMISE I’LL TRY HARDER!) who would one day turn into my best friend.

A few days after that happened I was given an award via the hospital for my quick thinking and whatever else they wrote on it. With that came a gift basket and a sealed envelope. I thought it was quite amusing when they said the envelope is from a patient of the hospital and they were under strict orders not to open it. They suggested playfully for me to read it out loud, to which I kindly declined. On my lunch hour I sat in my car and opened the envelope. Inside was a $25.00 gift card to starbucks <3 and a short handwritten letter from the Prime Family. They said they watched the whole event and were incredibly impressed with my quick response and ability to help. They admitted that although they do not know the family of the man who Coded, that Mrs Prime took it upon herself to let them know who saved their family member. I’ve been told that Mrs. Prime also ripped the hospital a ‘new one’ for its lack of education for the staff- I never bothered to see how that turned out. They left their phone number and ask that I call it because they had some questions for me. Of course that struck a curiosity. What could these people possibly need to ask ME? I waited a few days (no one wants to seem desperate), and oddly enough when the day came, I felt nervous.

When I called it rang exactly 5 times when a cheerful voice answered ‘Hello, This is Mrs Prime’. WHO ANSWERS LIKE THAT!!! Important people I guess. I said something lame “Hi, I got a letter asking to call?” I had nothing clever to say! REALLY!!! She giggled and said ‘’I didn’t think you were going to call! I’m so glad you did! My husband and I would love to sit and talk to you about a potential position, if your interested”. At that time I was working at the hospital, I had a decent schedule, benefits, and was established, but where there is an opportunity to grow, I will always entertain the idea. She asked if I can come by their home the very next day. At first I was a little hesitant because these are complete strangers, what if they murder me? Or what if they try to get me to play some kinky game? Ewww. Anyway, I went.

They lived in a very expensive country club in our area. I couldn’t believe it. I fell in love with just the front of their house, as I sat in my car I prayed to be kept safe and to not fk up my words! I felt I took an eternity to walk to their front door, but the walk was nice. They had a tiny river running under the walk path, fruit trees on both sides, everything immaculate! I reached the 23 steps to get up to their front door. I knocked on the enormous steel double doors. A Hispanic woman opened the door with the biggest smile on her face. For a split second I thought of that movie GET OUT, I thought GIRL IS YOUR SMILE SUPPOSE TO GIVE ME THE SIGNAL? WHATS GOING ON! She asked me to come in. Standing in the entry way really made you feel tiny. There was beautiful artwork and busts on custom built cut outs, polished concrete floors- impeccable. I was at a loss for words. The woman walked me towards a grand living room (I bet my living room would fit in there maybe 5 times! No exaggeration). They had an over-sized ivory colored sectionals (ahh, the luxuries of not having small children in the home) with light grey and cream colored throw pillows surrounding a glass coffee table. They had a small marble cheese platter, so fancy these Prime people were! Mrs Prime immediately stood up and shook my hand, and on a recliner was the top of a balding head with a sea of white hairs. She cheerfully said “This is Dr Prime” he reached his old wrinkled hand out to shake my hand, a firm grip. He was not all smiles like his wife, he was more serious. He had CNN on the lowest volume. He was not for chit-chat, he immediately gave me a short background of himself. He said he has been a Doctor for over 45 years, he explained that he became handicapped because of a bad knee surgery that could not be reversed, hence keeping him from all his social activities. He walked at snail speed and used a walker, he was embarrassed and felt like a burden to his family, he didn’t say it directly but I heard him loud and clear. He said he appreciated my professional performance at the hospital and wanted to offer me a full time position in his home. To me this seemed like such a risk! I had kids to take care of! I can’t leave a solid stable job for something that can potentially go bad. I explained my circumstance and said I was flattered and appreciated his interest in hiring me but that I couldn’t risk not having money coming into my home in the event that he fired me for whatever reason. He laughed, the kind of laugh that almost says ‘don’t be silly’. I looked confused because these are moments I only watch on movies, these things don’t happen to me. He said he will have his lawyer draw up a contract and to let him know what I want (yes, this part was a little creepy, there’s millions of nurses who know as much as I do, WHY ME!). I joked and said ‘’Dont play with me Mr Prime! I’ll ask for everything, including your walker! Then what are you gonna do!” Everyone laughed, it was at that moment that I noticed a ‘CLICK’ between all of us. Humor was his way of facing everything, a shield I often used when I’m nervous. He said he noticed that he was putting me in a difficult situation then proceeded to ask me question, “what does the hospital offer you that you feel you can’t let go of?” I said “my insurance, my kids benefit from that”. Then he asked “what about the hours you work, do you like those?” I said ‘’not really but it’s responsibility”. He then said “I WANT TO HELP YOU, and I need you to help me, we both are taking risks, you ready?” The way he delivered his words locked me in, he seemed so absolute and confident. It took me a minute to answer when he said “this is what we will do, give me one week to have my lawyer draw up a contract that will make us both happy. You can then review it and decide at that point, what do you think?” To that I did agree.

Exactly a week later, his housekeeper... no, assistant? no... right hand woman to the Mrs? no... I still don’t know what to call her, it wouldn’t even matter, because I didn’t know then that I was eventually going to take her job. Anyhow, She (oh gosh, we need to name her guys! We will call her Rosa, truthfully, I think her name really was Rosaline, or Rosemary or something like that) called and said Dr Prime would like to see me this evening, I agreed. After my shift I went to his mini-mansion and found him, his wife, and two other men in suites sitting at a round cherry wood dining table. I felt so out of place! Here I am showing up in crocks and scrubs and these people look like their about to have some fancy dinner. The house smelled GREAT! Someone was cooking, I know it wasn’t Mrs. Prime. Anyway, I went and sat across them (talk about feeling like your in the Lion’s Den). One of the men in the suites introduced himself and said he is an Estate Lawyer for the Primes and that he will be reading my contract to me. I have that contract in my possession but its LONG! So I’ll highlight the benefits.

If I took this employment opportunity I will be required to travel with the family. Certain accommodations will be available for my family in the event that the trip is more then 2 days or out of the Country. I was to receive a Vehicle to be used only for trips that Dr Prime needs to be transported. I will be responsible for all medical equipment and prescriptions in accordance with his personal MD. I am to be available to the family 24 hours a day with no days off (I know, hold on, I’ll explain), If I get sick I am to schedule an assistant and visually be of assistance from my location to ensure safety and organization. I will have access to a Credit Card for any work-related expenses (Pay attention, this gets better). In case of personal family issues, arrangements will need to be made known to Dr and Mrs Prime as soon as possible. In taking this position I will be allotted $1,000.00 in uniforms including shoes a year. This position will require me to overlook a private chef who will prepare breakfast and lunch for Dr. Prime. On Occasion I will need to ready him for social events. In the contract it stated that in case something should happen to Dr. Prime that I will have a year’s pay. There’s more but this was the gist. I was overwhelmed, THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME!!!!! They covered everything! All my worries were spoken for. I looked at Dr Prime straight in the eye for what seemed like forever. I felt like he was saying IT’S GOING TO BE OK the whole time... I signed.

I turned in my immediate resignation at the hospital and quickly went to work. One the first day he said to get my car keys, there was a beautiful black Range Rover that was to be called my WORK vehicle. I asked how this was suppose to work? Am I suppose to leave it here? He said no, you take it home, your on the clock 24 hours a day, you need it. OMG!!!!!! Then he said there was fine print that was not included in the contract but that I needed to know about- awww shit! Here we go. He said “my wife and I are snow birds, we will be here 5 months out of the year and the other 7 months we spend it in Vermont. I CANT GO TO VERMONT FOR 7 MONTHS!!! He quickly came in and said “you are only on the clock until I am settled in out there, when the time comes for me to go back, you will pack up everything, ship it, fly with me, and hand over my records to my daughter who lives out there and has an assistant to help me” He informed me that it would be like a vacation and my kids are welcome to go as well since this process usually takes about 2 weeks. He said the car can still be used because I am still on the clock according to my contract.

Fast forward a few years. Him and I became the best of friends. He was a great debater, I enjoyed out conversations. He was to me what Tumblr is now... my personal therapist. He always had great advice and truly came to care for my family, and my family for his.

There’s a lot to say about him, and I will eventually. It still hurts to not have him around. Although I stayed fairly close to his children and wife, he is a massive existence that can never be replaced. He was my financial guide, he told me how to make money that can work for me. My job was easy with him, I think the emotional part was the most challenging. Aside from his physical ailment, he suffered with depression and has mentioned not wanting to be around anymore. As a matter of fact, at one point he took some pills he knew he wasn’t suppose to have, they were his wife’s. He was rushed to the hospital, as soon as he was himself again I dropped the bomb on his old ass! What a selfish move! And not that I struggle with my own anxieties, I can understand the feeling, I wish there was more I could have done to help him with that. Side note: no, he didn’t die of suicide, it was natural causes.

In the end, when God took him home, I was home. It was about 9:30 a.m. when I got the phone call from his house, and it was his daughter crying uncontrollably. I obviously got worried and said IM ON MY WAY, she said “No, It’s not that, my daddy passed away this morning” I dropped to my knees and cried. I remember because I was in my backyard doing yard work with my kids. I remember they hugged me, I was numb for weeks to come. About two weeks later his wife called me to help her with some things. When I showed up, her kids were there too. They all hugged me and cried quietly. Mrs Prime said she needed me to fly with his remains back to Vermont because no one else had the strength to do it. I agreed. Before I left Mrs. Prime said the lawyer was going to contact me in a few days, I cut her off and said “really, I don’t want anything, he was a great friend and you all have been so kind to me” she just smiled and said it again “the lawyer will call you okay”. About 3 weeks went by and a lawyer called to come to his office. When I went he said that Mr. Prime added me to his will and requested a few things for me. 1. My vehicle keys will be surrendered to lawyer for updated vehicle. 2. I will receive pay from the Family Trust for 3 years of the same amount discussed. 3. 2 College accounts have been started courtesy of the Family Trust for my two boys. 4. All bills for my household will be covered by the Family Trust for one year. 5. A letter.

I was as white as a ghost. I definitely didn’t deserve that! The lawyer handed me a manila folder with a single white envelope that read the following:

MY TRUEST FRIEND,

I WISH I COULD SAY THAT LIFE IS EASY KID, BUT WE BOTH KNOW IT’S ONLY EASY FOR THOSE WHO REALLY WANT IT THAT WAY. I’M WRITING THIS TO SIMPLY SAY THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR MANAGING TO MAKE ME SMILE AND FEEL ALIVE. FOR NOT TREATING ME LIKE A DYING MAN. THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME AND MY FAMILY ENTER YOUR HEART LIKE YOU ENTERED OURS. THANK YOU FOR NEVER LEAVING MY SIDE WHEN I WAS TOO SCARED TO ADMIT IT. I WISH YOUR BOYS SEE YOUR WORK ETHIC AND EMPATHY FOR PEOPLE AND ABSORB THAT. YOU ARE A GIFT! PLEASE TAKE CARE OF MRS PRIME, YOUR CONTRACT IS NOT OVER UNTIL SHE’S GONE. YOU WILL HAVE A FOREVER JOB HERE, AS LONG AS YOU WANT IT. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS KEEPING ME IN YOUR PRAYERS AND FOR SHOWING ME THAT HONESTY AND NOBILITY STILL LIVES. ILL SEE YA AROUND KID! I LOVE YA!

#BiggestBlessing thisdoesnthappentome #IMISSYOUdrprime #notsocrativewiththenames

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swanandapirate · 7 years ago

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Seatimes (1/2)

Happy (belated) birthday to @villains-happy-ending! You were my first fandom friend, Aimee, the first one to welcome me to this crazy nook of the internet and you were the one that introduced me to a lot of people people that are nowadays extremely big parts of my life too. So for all of that, and because you’re such an amazing person in general, I’ve written you a little (cough cough) birthday gift. (Prepare for a lot of nautical puns)

A Podcast AU (inspired by an actual podcast I came across a couple of days ago) where Emma gets obsessed with Killian’s maritime podcast Seatimes and of course life finds a way to make their paths cross

~4,600 words

ff.net

(The italic bits are little fragments of Killian’s podcast. Non-italics are Emma’s pov)

She stumbled upon Seatimes as she was researching a case. The skip was a selfish, misogynistic prick that wore Lacoste polos tied around his neck, a $200-dollar salmon-colored shirt, and a pair of shoes that was probably worth twice, if not thrice, the amount of money his shirt cost. He got thrown into holding for embezzlement of his own company’s funds, owned an actual boat and still ran away from every attempt made to make him settle up; he kept and kept on refusing to pay his bail. And so, Emma was brought into the picture.

Following his movements, both real life and online, like a hawk, Emma came to the conclusion that the rich, embezzling jackass was in search of someone to cheat on his wife with. He wasn’t even trying to be coy about his search for a mistress. Every picture on the account he had set up on some sleazy dating site were either of his precious boat or of him bare-chested and holding in his stomach on his precious boat.

Not a lot more backstory was needed to figure out the way to crack this case. Emma had to become the woman of all women to him. The one that, unlike all the rest of womankind according to him, had knowledge of boats and how currents worked, and all of that and not to forget a pretty face and nice figure. Luck would have it that Mother Nature and a lot of exercise had granted Emma the latter but the former… not so much.

She sadly– not very sadly if it meant staying clear of Mr. Douchebag– belonged to the general, uninteresting part of her gender, so she was forced to gain a life worth of knowledge in a short period of time. Three days to be more exact, because her skip had agreed to a date in four. Three days to become an expert.

“Welcome to Seatimes. I am Jones. Consider me your Captain to cross the wild and murky waters of naval and maritime knowledge. Each week will feature a guest as well as some must know things about the soaring seas and the ship sailing them. I hope that by the end of these podcasts, you will consider yourselves more of an expert on the subject.”

She tried it on her own in the beginning; her eyes skimmed the internet for reliable sources and when those turned out to be pure gibberish to her, she attempted to read every possible Wikipedia page. Emma read about ships and currents and flags and boats and every other thing that had to do with the sea. It was an overload; a tidal wave of content Emma’s brain hadn’t been able to thoroughly prepare for. The matter entered and seeped back out, only leaving behind small traces of its presence. The typed letters on her bright screen started to blur and all of the remaining information began to collide with each other, the internal battle creating, even more, chaos than resided before.

Emma needed to switch tactics, to come up with a different game plan for this case or her cover would come into deep waters. Her mouse clicked on tons of links and her cursor browsed various videos and articles, but none were to Emma’s liking. Either they treated her as a child, explaining everything in a sugary, condescending voice, or they click baited her into picking a video and then persisted to talk about something completely different. Frustration arose and she was this close to giving up until a link on page twelve of Google’s results caught her eye. The site was simply called Seatimes and the description talked about a maritime podcast. Perhaps this would manage to remind her which side was port and which one was starboard.

“The confusion between port board and starboard is amusing, to say the least. I can’t tell you how many a tourist I’ve seen completely freeze and just stare at me with wide eyes when I mention one of them. I completely understand, however, that if the difference isn’t embedded into your head from a young age like left and right are, you get confused. I always remember the little mnemonic that my brother taught me when I was a little lad and that was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right, but being a star did. So, port board is left and starboard is right.”

Mr. Douchebag had completely fallen for her act, had stared at her with an amazed and slightly turned on gaze as Emma excitedly talked about coastal navigation and how using charts was better than using a GPS. The job had been smooth sailing; the perp overpowered and imprisoned in no time. It was one of the easiest ones she had ever had, her cover fitting her perfectly (like her dress), and a lot of that, if not all, could be attributed to Seatimes. It had taken Emma one day to listen to seventeen episodes and each one had her yearning for more. She was eager to learn, something that she hadn’t experienced for years. So, even though the case had been closed and sealed, Seatimes became a part of Emma’s weekly routine.

It even became the highlight of her week. Forty minutes a week were completely dedicated to Seatimes. No distractions; just Emma, a muted phone, her computer and a glass of wine.

The doorbell rang, and rang again since Emma decided to ignore the sound, preferring Jones’ British cadence over it. No interruptions. After a third ring, a familiar voice drifted through her door and into her apartment.

“Emma!” Emma sighed and forcefully pressed pause. “I know that you’re home; your Bug is out front.”

A groan escaped; there was no going back now. Mary Margaret was, as the relentless ringing had already betrayed, an adamant woman. Emma threw her head back, her locks flying around with the jolt. She loved her best friend dearly, but how did she not understand that if Emma wasn’t opening the door, there probably was an underlying reason. Like her sacred Seatimes times.

With hasty steps, she approached the door and swung it open. It revealed Mary Margaret, a small smile on her lips and hands folded over her protruding belly.

“What?” Emma greeted, her tone not welcoming at all and her word choice quite curt.

“You could be a bit more kind to a pregnant woman.” Her raven-haired friend raised an unamused eyebrow.

Emma supposed that Mary Margaret was right and that she could be more kind, or at least less pissed off.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret, please come on in.” Her hand gestured to her apartment as the guilt crept up on her.

“I was just joking,” Mary Margaret assured as she entered. “It’s totally alright. Sorry to barge in.”

Emma shrugged in response, showing that it was quite alright.

“What were you doing?” The curiosity filled the room as Mary Margaret peered around. She found it void of any other people or proof something suspicious was taking place and turned back to Emma.

“I was just listening to a podcast,” she answered. “Relaxing.”

Emma didn’t know if her friend had noticed the small jab in her answer.

“So nothing much,” was Mary Margaret’s conclusion. “Good. I’m here to ask you if you’d like to visit an art gallery a friend of mine is opening. She’s really talented and it’s supposed to be one of the most hyped events of the month,” she explained with excitement, bouncing on the ball of her feet.

Emma’s response came instantaneously; she didn’t need any time to think about it or consider going.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

Her friend clearly wasn’t expecting that answer as she looked confused.

“Emma.” Her brow creased and her mouth was set in a discontent scowl.

“I don’t feel like going out today,” she tried to reason. She usually didn’t feel like it, the coziness of her home beating any overtly loud and awkward socializing, but especially today (and every other Wednesday), it was out of the question.

“But there’s going to be free food and free drinks. If I can’t take advantage of free alcohol, you definitely should.”

Emma shook her head, already bracing herself for what would follow. She knew what this meant, declining one of her offers yet again. She would receive one of Mary Margaret’s ‘way too invested in your social life best friend’ speechesTM

“Emma,” she began speaking, her tone motherly and at the same time disciplining. “You should go out more. Meet new people. Start dating again.”

There was no use. Not since Walsh had completely destroyed her last remnant of hope towards love by cheating on her while they were engaged. Why keep putting herself out there, keep taking part in pleasantries that lead to nowhere? Why should she continue risking her heart if it never worked out?

“I’m not like you, Mary Margaret. I’m not social and bubbly and whatever else belongs to your characteristics,” Emma specified. “There’s no use in trying to get me to go places. I need a break of at least a year from life, because it’s frankly quite exhausting and I want to catch my breath. Everything’s fine how it is. I don’t need love.”

“My only love is the Sea, Eric.”

“Jones, don’t hold it against me that I’m married.”

“I’m not. I’m not. As some of you might know Eric’s wife is professional swimmer Ariel Andersen. I would imagine that she understands your dedication to the sea and your research.”

“She does. She is my biggest fan. I recently even named an algae I discovered after her.”

“Did she feel honored that there’s now, of everything in the very deep sea, an algae with her name floating around?”

“I wouldn’t call it particularly honored. Disgruntled is another word for it.”

“As I suspected.”

Weeks passed and she kept listening. At this point, Emma wasn’t fooling herself anymore. This wasn’t about the content of the show, hadn’t been about that for quite some time. Her attentive listening was because of Jones. His voice, the soothing melody, and his passion. Every word dripped of love for the subject, of pure enjoyment. That was what he transferred onto Emma. That was what made her tune in week after week.

Her curiosity got the best of her one day and the desire to know more about him as well. The man was an enigma, a mystery. The only thing she could derive from the podcasts was that, if his accent told her anything, he had to be UK based.

There were a lot of people that bore the name Jones across the pond and trying to find him among them would be an impossible endeavor. Emma had one last trick up her sleeve, one last asset she hadn’t utilized yet; her bail bonds knowledge. Though ��bail bonds knowledge” wasn’t anything specific or a program she could run, it was more being persistent and scrutinizing every nook and cranny of her resources.

She checked everything but there was nothing. Every possible connection to Jones was always carefully through Seatimes. The contact email address was just called Seatimes, the site was registered on that name, the Facebook didn’t have any personal mentions about the person managing the account. It was a dead end. At least she discovered that the page often posted little previews of episodes to come, so she liked it to be kept up to date.

“I know I’ve been quite secretive about who I am, where I live, what I do but that’s simply because I don’t think that would add anything to this podcast. A lot of listeners have sent me an email recently– which you can if you have any questions, the link is on the site– about the dangers of sailing. So, for the first time, I’m feeling inclined to share a very personal story.

“A couple of years ago, a younger, more carefree version of myself went out for a sail. I was boisterous back then, overconfident about my own capabilities as a sailor. A storm was predicted that day but I didn’t heed the forecast’s warning, I simply ignored it and continued with my plans. The storm was terrible; as terrible as the forecast had predicted it to be and I got into trouble. The boat I was on was completely wrecked and my left hand was completely crushed which lead to the stump I know have.

“This story isn’t to scare you away from touching or setting foot on a boat ever again, because I didn’t. It cost me blood, sweat, and tears but I am able to live without my hand now, am able to do what I love most which are sailing and making this podcast. There are dangers to sailing like to the rest of life, but a lot of them can be prevented. Be smart, listen to weather forecasts, check everything, double check everything before you leave, make sure that you are one hundred percent capable of sailing, and most importantly: be safe.”

“Happy birthday!” Mary Margaret beamed with joy, throwing her hands up in the air and welcoming Emma for a hug.

The loft that Mary Margaret shared with her husband David (and Emma’s other best friend) was adorned with little lights and balloons and filled with many familiar faces.

She smiled in return, letting the happy atmosphere of her friends and family in the room catch on. Emma normally wasn’t a fan of birthday parties; a small and quiet dinner usually sound far more alluring but she knew that, with turning thirty, a party would be inevitable. Surprise parties were even less enjoyable to Emma and Mary Margaret knew that, giving the birthday girl a much-appreciated heads up weeks in advance. Emma had embraced it, forced herself to not be a negative Nellie when the notorious day arrived and to actually enjoy herself.

Crossing the entire loft, she greeted everyone, thanked them for coming and flashed them brief smiles as a thank you for their birthday wishes.

Everyone was chatting, a drink in hand and some quiet music floating through the room. It was in that moment, the start of a new decade of her life that Emma decided to change, that she made a vow. To be more open again, to go out again, to stop locking herself in her apartment while she had so many people that loved her and wanted the best for her. She’d let the past control the present too much and this was the end of it.

“Alright,” David interrupted Emma’s thinking and the others’ small conversation. “It’s time for Emma to open her presents.”

The room erupted into cheering and Emma felt the blush creep onto her cheeks.

“David and I’ll go first,” Mary Margaret announced, approaching Emma with a small blue envelope in her hands.

The couple looked at her expectantly as Emma accepted the gift and slowly opened it. Her fingers revealed a card written in Mary Margaret’s swirly handwriting with only three words on it.

“The Sailing Brothers?” Her brow furrowed as she questioned the message. “What’s this?”

“Well,” Mary Margaret started timidly, turning the card in Emma’s hands to reveal the backside. There was more written there. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been quite interested in sailing and boats lately so I thought you might enjoy a small sailing trip.”

Staring at her friends, back at the blue card and back at her friends, Emma narrowed her eyes.

“How did you notice that?”

Before, Emma had been certain that her Seatimes obsession was something concealed, something locked between the four walls of her apartment.

“Facebook?” Her answer resembled more to a question. “You’ve been liking a lot of nautically themed posts. Was I wrong to assume you would like this? Because I can still change it if you want.”

“No, no!” she protested. “It’s amazing. You’re both amazing.”

“Oh good,” Mary Margaret sighed in relief. “Just let us know when you’d like to go and we’ll take care of everything. You should probably go as soon as possible, before winter truly sets and everything becomes cold. I doubt that a sail will be enjoyable when you’re freezing.”

“Honestly, I am not a winter person. There’s just something far more alluring about sailing in the summer when it’s warm, the sun is shining. Even though summer gets my preference, I don’t stop sailing during the winter. Only when the weather forces me, when it’s too cold or stormy. There’s just something about the cold wind racing and sweeping through your hair, coloring your cheeks that makes it worthwhile.

"As you might’ve guessed; today is all about how to prepare yourself and your boat for winter.”

The more she thought about it, the more Emma had been dreading this getaway sail. It meant being alone for several hours with a random person who was supposed to teach her how everything worked. And as one might’ve noticed, Emma and socializing didn’t usually go hand in hand.

There was her resolution, however, to be more open to new people and new things lingering in the back of her mind. Plus, she couldn’t let down Mary Margaret and David by letting their probably quite expensive gift go to waste. So, after a lot of pep talking herself, Emma had chosen a date, had sent it to M’s and had let her book it. This way, she’d be forced to go.

The day arrived and Emma rushed to her window, hoping the sky would be dark and gray, predicting a looming storm. The sky her eyes witnessed was anything but. It was sunny and only a few puffs of white decorated the blue background. Of course, today the weather gods decided to forget that November meant fall, not summer.

Slowly, she got dressed, ate a small breakfast and made her way to the docks. M’s had texted her the address and the Bug reached the destination fifteen minutes before her sail was scheduled. Emma stayed in the car for five additional minutes, fiddling with her fingers before deciding that she had waited long enough.

A large sign told Emma that this was indeed The Sailing Brothers and she pushed the door open, triggering a bell. A man a bit older than her thirty years walked towards her with a kind smile that made crinkles appear around his blue eyes.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Emma spoke. “My name is Emma Swan.”

The man nodded before Emma could continue explaining that it was Mary Margaret that had booked the sail for her.

“Very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan.” He offered his hand and Emma grabbed it, shortly shaking it. “My name is Liam. Welcome to The Sailing Brothers.”

Emma muttered a small thanks in return, but sensed that her dread towards the trip had lessened considerably by meeting Liam and getting a glimpse of his personality. He seemed like the kind of person that wouldn’t let the sail get awkward, something Emma would really appreciate.

“Mary Margaret told me this was a birthday gift.” His eyebrows rose slightly, checking the piece of information with Emma and dropped again as she let out a confirming hum.

“Happy birthday to you,” he congratulated before getting back to business. “The sail will take about three hours and includes an introduction to sailing, but seeing that Mary Margaret told me you’re quite interested in the sea, a lot of it will probably be repetition. There are complementary drinks and snacks on board, so no need to rein yourself in.” He threw her a fast wink.

Sounded like Mary Margaret to tell her entire life, her interests, and aspirations to a virtual stranger.

They had started moving, left the building and walked towards the ship Emma assumed was going to be the one they were going to use.

Suddenly, a figure appeared on the deck of the ship, carrying a rope and throwing it from one side to the other. The man was clearly preparing it to leave the docks.

Liam must’ve noticed Emma’s curious glance as he replied to a question that was only asked in Emma’s mind.

“That’s my brother Killian, the actual sailing brother.” He chuckled. “I take care of the business side and he gets all the fun.”

It was a bit disappointing to hear that Liam wasn’t going to be accompanying her on her sail. She’d just gotten used to him and was beginning to look forward to all of it.

A phone rang in the distance and it made Liam look up. His eyes moved between the small distance between the ship and Emma.

“I should probably go and get that. It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Swan. I hope you enjoy your sail.”

And with that Liam left her standing alone on the docks, running back to his office to answer the ringing phone. Emma closed the previous distance and halted right before the ship. She didn’t want to assume she had permission to come aboard, so she waited until she was noticed.

The wait gave her time to observe the man hastily working. His hair had the same shade as his brother’s but lacked the small curls. He was muscular, the movements in his shoulders and arms betrayed that, and younger than Liam. His very defined jaw was dusted with light scruff that changed color when the sun hit it.

Killian suddenly stopped moving, his eyes settling on her, and flashed her a grin while motioning her on board. Emma let out a small, preparing breath and stepped on the wooden plank.

His eyes were blue as well and absolutely took her breath away.

Crap. The guy she was stuck on a ship with for three hours was absolutely gorgeous.

“Emma Swan, I presume?”

“That’s me,” she replied.

It proved far too distracting to focus on his eyes so Emma chose to lower her gaze to the floorboards instead.

“Welcome aboard.”

He extended his hand and Emma tried to ignore the little jolt of electricity tha ran up her arm as their palms touched.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Killian Jones.”

Emma stilled.

That voice. How he pronounced Jones. It seemed awfully familiar. She softly shook her head, trying to get rid of her feeling. It was not because his last name was Jones and that he was British, that he was that British Jones.

But she had noticed something else. Killian’s left hand was missing. A metal attachment in the form of a hook replaced it. Missing a hand was a bit rarer than being called Jones and being British and the concurrence of those three was probably not very common.

“Don’t worry about it, lass,” Killian said, noticing her lingering eyes and holding the hook up. “I’m perfectly capable of steering the ship without it.”

“No it wasn’t-” Emma remonstrated. “I wasn’t doubting that.” She shook her head.

She should just ignore it, pretend it’s a very coincidental coincidence. That he was called Jones. And was British. And he loved sailing. And he didn’t have a left hand.

“Even though the weather is quite good today-” Killian continued, undeterred. “-there’s quite a lot of wind today, but don’t worry, wind isn’t always bad. Especially when it comes to sailing.” He bared his teeth in a grin. “To start your sail, I will need you to go to starboard and fetch a rope for me.”

The thought that this might be Jones was still haunting Emma’s mind, slowing down her reaction and making her seem confused about star- and port board. She knew which one was which, thanks to Seatimes.

“It’s confusing, isn’t it?” Killian said. “My brother taught me a mnemonic when I was small to remember and it was that drinking a lot of port never made you feel right-”

“But being a star did,” Emma intervened, familiar with the mnemonic and everything he was probably going to say on this sail.

It was him.

“Aye,” he said taken aback. “How did you know that?”

Emma wasn’t buying his act; he had to be perfectly aware of how she knew that.

“You’re him.” The corners of her lips curled but it was more in a grimace than in a smile.

All of this reeked of Mary Margaret meddling.

“Him?” A crease appeared in Killian's–Jones'– forehead. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not following.”

The confusion clouding her mind completely disappeared, Emma becoming bolder, straightening her back.

“Jones.” Her hand gestured towards him. “Seatimes. How did Mary Margaret put up you to this?”

Emma was getting angry now. How could they trick her like this? She already knew it was weird for her to be so obsessed with a stupid maritime podcast, but this only made her more aware of it, only made it more embarrassing. She would think Jones would have enough integrity not to do this to an unsuspecting woman.

“You listen to Seatimes?”

“Yeah,” Emma almost yelled in exasperation. “That’s why I’m here right? For some fangirl sail.”

“No, I’m pretty certain it’s just an ordinary sail or maybe the fangirl upgrade package didn’t get through to me.” Killian smirked. “But I am excited to meet my first official fan.”

“Oh.”

Emma’s face fell and her eyes widened. Shit. While she thought she was being embarrassed, she was actually embarrassing herself. The heat rose to her cheeks and Emma had an intense urge to run as fast as she could and sever all ties with Seatimes. No way in hell she could enjoy listening to it anymore. “I’m not doing this.” Turning around, she walked away from him and any further shameful situations.

“Swan,” he yelled and repeated as he caught her hand. “Swan. Don’t leave. Everything has been paid for and I’ve just completely prepared the Roger. You got her all excited to go out.”

He couldn’t make her feel bad about a ship. Things didn’t work like that, did they? She did feel a tinge of guilt but if it was because of the ship or him or her best friends, was up for debate.

“The Roger?” she questioned. “As in The Jolly Roger?”

“The one and only.” He smiled proudly. “So what do you say?” His head tilted as his blue eyes perused her face.

“Alright.”

Emma returned and went to starboard to grab the rope he needed. He sent her a thankful look as he continued to prepare the Roger.

There was not a lot of use for him to teach her things about sailing because she already knew them, so they just sat in silence next to each other when the Roger was well underway, neither of them knowing what to say.

“I thought you lived in England.” Emma looked at him.

“Moved here seven years ago with my brother.” He shrugged after explaining his accent.

The silence returned and the wind wisped around, sending Emma’s locks flying.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been listening to the podcast?” His expression was curious.

“About three months, more or less.” Emma’s hand tried to tame her locks, pushing them behind her ear. “I needed to do some research.”

Killian stood up and went to stand behind the helm.

“Are you writing a book?”

“Oh no,” Emma was quick to correct him. “I’m a bail bonds person and I had a target that loved sailing and women who were into it.”

“Ah.” He turned the helm, but only barely and its creaking was the only sound again. “Did you get him?”

“Huh?” Emma asked, attention focused on the openness of the sea and not on his words.

“Your target?” Killian clarified. “Did you catch him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Emma nodded, walking around and tracing her finger along the railing. “I did.”

“Good.”

Major thanks to Ruhi ( @ofshipsandswans ) and Selina ( I didn’t tag you, are you proud of me?) for their enthusiasm, encouraging me to write this and for editing this *smirk* Other people who occasionally like to be tagged in things I write: @shady-swan-jones @the-reason-to-sail-home @artandteaandstuff

#cs ff #captain swan #Aimee's birthday #cs au #cs crew #my words and sentences

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mariequitecontrarie · 8 years ago

Text

Mother Knows Best: Rumbelle 6x17 fix-it

Summary: Post 6x17 “Awake,” Rumple returns to the shop to tell Belle that the Black Fairy has Gideon’s heart, and Belle can’t keep silent any longer. Rating: T WC: 3294 A/N: Because I needed Rumple to talk to Belle about the Black Fairy having Gideon’s heart, and for Belle to confront the Black Fairy. Thanks to the wonderful @rowofstars for looking this over.

{On AO3}

This conversation wasn’t going to be easy.

Rumplestiltskin slowed his stride as he approached the front door of the shop, pulling out his pocket watch. It was nearly midnight, and he turned the key in the lock with a leaden heart. He wasn’t anxious to reveal what he had learned to Belle. The truth was, he’d been bluffing when he confronted his mother about holding Gideon in thrall. It had been a lucky guess based on magical intuition, and in her surprise, the witch had admitted her guilt.

He opened the door and hung his overcoat on the rack inside the door, pausing to light a few candles that dotted the tops of the display cases. Stop stalling, fool. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, then dragged his feet toward the back room. Belle would yet be poring over magical texts both light and dark, as she had been every night, until the wee hours.

It was one of several areas on which they’d come to a compromise. They would pursue any and all possible ways of bringing their son back to them; nothing was declared off limits so long as they agreed to it together.

His wife was stretched out on the cot when he pulled back the curtain leading to the workroom, her favorite place in the shop to conduct research. Now that the Blue Fairy was convalescing at the convent, the back room was much less crowded. Belle was lying on her stomach like a child, feet in the air and crossed at the ankles, a collection of heavy, dusty tomes strewn about the mattress and the floor. The one she was reading was propped up on her pillow, and she flipped the pages, scanning each one at a furious speed as she searched for a solution.

No, this wasn’t going to be easy. Not that any of their conversations were anymore. How he longed for those idyllic days when they planned picnics, spent afternoons in bed, or when the most difficult decision they made was what kind of cheese to order on their hamburgers at Granny’s. He snorted; he could count those perfect moments on one hand.

“Rumple, you’re back.” Belle looked up from her studies. She closed the book and offered him a tentative smile, then her eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head with a rueful smile. Earlier today, Gideon had called that woman his mother, yet Belle’s primary worry was his welfare. It was so like her—unselfish, caring, forgiving. Suffering in silence while she bled through on the inside. “I’m fine, Belle.”

Shadows flickered across the walls, creating deep hollows in her face, and it dawned on him how pale and gaunt she was. The circumstances of Gideon’s birth and the events in the days that followed had taken a terrible toll on all of them.

Hot tears stung his eyes as he regarded her, small, lost, and alone, and he staggered a bit, leaning against the doorjamb for support. How long had it been since Belle had smiled a true smile, one that lit up her entire face with joy? He supposed it was the day in the Underworld library, when he told her she was pregnant. Then he’d spoiled their happiness with his revelation about the dagger, crushing her faith in him once more.

Every good and beautiful rite of passage had been stolen from her; her youth, the joys of being a bride, a normal, healthy pregnancy. Now even motherhood itself had been stripped away. And he—the one who had sworn to love, honor, and protect her for the rest of his days—he was the thief.

He closed his eyes and made a rare plea to the gods. He needed strength, strength and the words to tell Belle about Gideon’s heart. All he wanted to do was curl up and sob until sleep finally came, just as he had done the evening he shed the Blue Fairy’s blood. That night, Belle had been the one to comfort him; now it was his turn to be strong. Besides, they had promised each other total honesty, no matter what. It was another one of their compromises.

“Belle, sweetheart, there’s-there’s something I need to tell you.” He pushed a few books aside and sank down on the cot next to her. He enveloped her small, cold hands in his and took a deep breath. “The Black Fairy has Gideon’s heart.”

“I know.” The reply was a whisper.

“You do?” He stared at her, astonished. He supposed it was the inexplicable bond between mother and child that told her something was wrong, but he wondered why she hadn’t shared her revelation with him. “How?”

Her lower lip wobbled and she leaned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I can’t explain it,” she said in a quivery voice. “Somehow, I’ve always known, but today when she came here and taunted you, that confirmed it. Those times when our son came to me in dreams, playing the part of Morpheus to twist my feelings, claiming you were going to tear us apart—it wasn’t Gideon or you. It was her. And I believed it. Every word. I didn’t even question it, didn’t ask for your thoughts or feelings. I’m so sorry, Rumple.”

She turned her face into his neck, and her cool mouth vibrated against his skin. “What have I done?”

When she pulled away, her face was crumpled in anguish. “Oh, Rumple. What have I done to our son?”

The demand was always the same, the same as it has been on that terrible night when they’d discovered that their newborn son had vanished without a trace. Had it really been only been a week ago? It seemed like he had lived another three lifetimes. Belle’s eyes brimmed with tears as she pleaded with him; for answers, for absolution, for hope.

He floundered, the right words eluding him; no response was good enough. No soothing phrase or sweetly crooned lullaby would make this nightmare go away. He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin, rocking and shushing her as she sobbed.

Betrayal—it marked a person for life. How many promises had he made and abandoned? How often had he chosen the selfish path, only to leave Belle standing alone among the ruins, paying the price? The scars of his betrayal had crept around her heart, squeezing out her hope, and this once joyful, vibrant woman had shattered under the weight of his sins.

If she was ever going to trust him again, he needed to fix this mess and pick up the pieces.

Feeling helpless, he fumbled for his pocket square and began to mop at her wet eyes with trembling hands. “Belle, sweetheart, this isn’t your fault.”

“Don’t do that,” she said on a hiccup, shaking her head.

Stung by the rejection, he stilled, then moved his hand away from her face. “What, the handkerchief?” He tucked the damp silk back into his breast pocket.

“No, that thing where you blame yourself for everything.” She snorted a humorless laugh. “I can tell, you know. I feel you retreating inside yourself. Rumple, you’re not responsible for sending our son away. I did this.”

“Let’s not queue up the band for my Hero Parade just yet, all right?” he said wryly. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone to such lengths…trapping you in that elevator, threatening to speed up your pregnancy. I’ve no excuse. If I’d given you any reason to trust me, I would have been there for his birth, holding your hand, guiding you through the delivery. You never would have needed to send him away or asked that gnat to play fairy godmother. We would be in our bed at home, and our son would be asleep in the nursery down the hall.” He choked on a sob.

She sighed. “We’ve both been absolute beasts, haven’t we? Now Gideon is paying the price.”

“Seems we all are.” He dropped to his knees beside the cot, cradling her hands once more. “But we will get Gideon’s heart back, Belle. I promise you that we’ll fix this. The Black Fairy will not destroy our family, I swear it.”

“I know,” she said, cupping his cheek. “I know because I believe in you.”

He tilted his head to lean into her touch, allowing his eyes to drift closed. He felt the brush of her lips against his, the sensation no more than a whisper, and he blinked in surprise. Her blue eyes were huge and uncertain in her pale face. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb, then he leaned forward, sealing her mouth with his, the taste of her salty and wet with tears. It was a kiss born of mutual comfort, not passion, or so he told himself, but his breath was ragged when he raised his head. “Belle?”

“Yes?”

He wiped the remaining tears tracking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Don’t doubt in the dark what you know to be true in the light. You’re a hero, sweetheart, and our son wants to be a hero because of your example. Never forget that.”

xoxo

Belle lay in bed, worrying her empty ring finger as the grandfather clock in the parlor beneath the floorboards of their bedroom tolled three o’clock. Her fingers moved to the chain around her neck, the metal and stone of her wedding band a comforting weight against her heart. Rumple’s arms were wrapped around her waist, his warm, even breath caressing the back of her neck.

Since the night Rumple had darkened his soul to keep Gideon from harming the Blue Fairy, they had begun sharing a bed again. Not to make love—they were too raw yet for that—but to offer hope and comfort. Falling asleep and waking up beside Rumple was a constant that helped her believe better days were ahead, that they could get their boy back and be a family again.

They’d clung to each other and cried that night, clawing and trembling in their anguish, unable to let go. Rumple had magicked Blue to the convent to recover, and they’d collapsed together on the cot and slept until sunlight streamed through the blinds. After that, it seemed natural for her to move back into the old salmon Victorian they had once called their home, and Belle transferred her things from Granny’s that day. She’d volunteered to claim one of the guest rooms, but they decided against the idea. Why clutch at straws after all they’d been through?

Sending Gideon away had choked out her bravery until there was nothing left. It felt like her own heart had been torn from her ribcage, and she was wary, snappish, questioning everything she had ever known to be true. But Rumple had been her strength and her hope. He still had faith in their happy ending. The trust they were rebuilding together was like spun sugar, fragile and beautiful. It was a delicate gift, a reminder to love one another better this time.

Though she was safe tonight in Rumple’s embrace, Belle couldn’t close her eyes. Each time she did, the waking nightmare returned. She saw her precious Gideon, cold and alone without his parents to hold him tight. Disturbing images of their boy being imprisoned, starved, and beaten, tortured her mind in a continuous reel. If it wasn’t Gideon’s face tormenting her, it was Rumple’s. Yet another lost boy, abandoned again and again, even by her—the one who had promised to love him even in the darkness.

Belle shifted onto her side to smooth the hair at Rumple’s temples, grateful that he slept peacefully. Deep grooves had settled around his mouth and eyes, and he’d looked bone-weary when he returned from confronting the Black Fairy tonight. When the Black Fairy had come to the shop to announce her arrival in Storybrooke, Belle had listened to her twisted promises and saccharine speech about a happy family with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

Talk about the mother-in-law from hell.

Carefully, she unwound Rumple’s arms from her middle and eased out of his embrace. Feeling her way in the dark, she slipped out of her nightgown and put on her clothes. She cast a wary look at the bed where Rumple slept undisturbed and rifled through his nightstand for paper and a pen. She dashed off a note and padded downstairs. If he awoke to find her gone with no explanation, he would fret and come looking. He might in any case when he knew where she was headed.

Restlessness beat in her breast like a drum, beckoning her to the woods north of town. She had words for that conniving witch, things that needed to be said tonight.

Brambles cracked and popped beneath the tread of her boots as she wound her way through the maze of trees. She stopped when she reached the valley where the Black Fairy had killed the field of pixie flowers. But in an act of defiance, their Gideon had kept one bloom alive. There was still hope.

“I know you’re here!” Her breath was a white burst in the frigid air. “Show yourself!”

The Black Fairy appeared in a swirl of black smoke, a cruel smile stretching her face. “Belle, darling, how sweet of you to pay me a visit.” She clasped her hands. “I was so hoping we would have a chance to chat and get to know each other.”

“I didn’t come for tea,” Belle said, fisting her hands at her sides. “I’m here with a warning.”

She stared back, and for a moment Belle was mesmerized by those haunted brown eyes. How could those eyes be so like Rumple’s and yet so different? His were filled with light and love; love for her and his children. Hers were dark and cruel, a barren wasteland.

“A motherly tête-à-tête?” Her smile was sly. “I’m touched.”

Belle trembled from head to toe, but she squeezed her knees together to still their knocking. Now that she was here, she was terrified, but she would never show it. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “You’re not a mother. You’re vile, depraved, and barely human. I feel sorry for you.”

“You, sorry for me?” She pursed deep red lips. “You’re nothing but a vessel for the child of the Dark One, dearest. I’ve waited centuries for Gideon to be born. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been some other unsuspecting chit. Anyone could have done what you’ve done. Pushing out a baby doesn’t make you special.”

“What you did to Rumplestiltskin haunts you, doesn’t it?” Belle crossed her arms. “That’s why you’re demanding this sick, Oedipal version of a happy family now. You gave him away for the same reason you stole our son. Because of your lust for power. And you regret it every day.”

She cackled, the sound harsh and ugly in the still night air. “I regret nothing. Power is life—it’s all that truly matters. Life with Rumplestiltskin should have taught you as much. That same darkness that you claim to loathe in me rules your husband’s heart. You cannot have it both ways, dear. Dark or light. There is no in-between.”

Belle shook her head hard. “You’re wrong. If there’s anything I have learned, it’s the folly of seeing the world in black and white. There are gray areas. My husband uses dark magic, yes, but he uses it for good. Rumplestiltskin is a strong, courageous man. He has beaten back the darkness and chosen love while you’ve embraced hatred.”

“How sweet,” she simpered. “You’ve fooled yourself into believing that he loves you more than his precious dagger and he’s clever enough to make you fall for his lies over and over.” She cocked her head. “Like mother like son, perhaps.”

“No, he’s a good man with a loving heart and you can’t take that from him. No matter how hard you work to destroy him, you will never rip the love out of his heart. He’s nothing like you. He is good and kind and honorable and he loves his children with everything he is. Anything he’s done wrong he has done to protect us.” Belle inhaled the sharp, cold air. “Stay away from my family…or else.”

The Black Fairy laughed. “Or else what? You have no magic. You are nothing but a pretty face and a big brain filled with clever words. You’re a foolish girl who was tricked into giving away your baby, and now he’s mine. And soon, Rumplestiltskin will choose me, too. Then you’ll have nothing.”

Belle smirked, displaying a confidence she didn’t feel. Do the brave thing. “I might not have spells and potions and smoke and mirrors, but I have something more powerful and rare, something you’ll never have. True Love. And from what my husband has taught me, there’s no more powerful magic in all the world.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll get Gideon back and bring him home to us for good. And nothing you do will stop us from being a family.”

“Threats…from a hero?”

“You see, that’s just it.” Belle gave her a nasty smile and took a step forward. “I’ve never been very good at being a hero. Give me back my child’s heart. Now.”

“Mother!” In an instant, Gideon was standing between her and the Black Fairy, his eyes wild and dangerous. Belle didn’t know if the title referred to her or to the Black Fairy. “You shouldn’t be here,” he told her, his voice low and urgent.

Before she could speak, Gideon whisked her away, and deposited her on the front porch of the Victorian. Dizzy from the unexpected trip, she pitched forward, catching her hip on the porch banister.

She regained her balance and smoothed her hands over her belly, looking at her son. “You protected me,” she said softly.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said. “A hero’s duty, just like your book taught me.”

Belle reached for him, but he ducked away. His jaw was set in a hard line, but the twitch of his nose gave him away. She saw herself in the dungeon of a castle in another world, its master determined to send her away. Because of love. Because of fear. And a mission she couldn’t yet understand. Belle bit back a sob. Oh, Rumple. Our boy is so much like you.

“Gideon…” Belle swallowed. “We—”

“Mother, listen to me.” He settled a hand on her shoulder, his gaze warm and loving. “Do not come at the Black Fairy again. Please…I don’t want to see you hurt. I can live with anything but that.” He was shaking, his dark eyes wary as they darted toward the second story of the house. “I won’t say anything to Father about this.”

“It’s all right if you do, son.” She smiled sadly, then lifted her chin. “We don’t keep secrets from one another. Not anymore.”

He looked as if he wanted to ask what she meant, but then he stiffened, his face a hardening into an impenetrable mask. “Fine.”

Belle knew he would say no, knew there was no use in asking so long as the Black Fairy held his heart, but she could no more stop herself from speaking to her child than she could stop the tide from crashing against the beach. With or without his heart, she had to let him know he was wanted, needed, that there was a place for him, with her and with Rumple, whenever he chose. Always.

Belle moved toward the door and opened it wide, then stretched out her hand, meeting Gideon's now cold gaze. “Come home?”

###

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fix it #rumplestiltskin x belle #the gold family #the black fairy #gideon gold #mqc writes #mother knows best

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mattprivettwrites · 4 years ago

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Jewels amidst dung: The heights and depths of a flyover chapter, Genesis 38

Author’s Note: This post was originally written on January 27, 2017, and posted at my original web site, The MATTrix. As I transition away from that web site, I’m re-posting some things here along the way.

_______________________________________

The thirty-eighth chapter of Genesis is one of those which, if you’re on a “read the Bible in a year” plan, you’re probably tempted to skip, or at least read in fast-forward. It’s a chapter in which the word God is not found, and the name of God is mentioned only twice (both times in terms of stark judgment), and contains such vile behavior the reader might even question why it’s in the Bible and/or what kind of spiritual or practical benefit it might have.

Such treatment of any passage of Scripture, though, betrays a conviction the Bible is inspired, inerrant, authoritative, and sufficient for everything pertaining to life and godliness. It contradicts anyone who believes Paul was right and truthful when He said “all Scripture is God-breathed” (2 Tim 3:16). The task of the pastor-teacher and the student of Scripture (which should be everyone) should be to mine the depths of any passage to find the precious jewels, trusting that the Lord would not have spoken it in His word in vain.

Just what are the jewels, then, from a chapter like Genesis 38? Well, they are found in the midst of much dung, much sin. But just as 1 Corinthians 10:6 teaches us that episodes of the Old Testament happened, in part, as examples for us, “so that we would not crave evil things as they [Israel] also craved,” we find in Genesis 38 some bad examples to avoid.

Beware the sin of Er

Er was the firstborn son of Judah, who took a Canaanite woman, the daughter of a man named Shua, for a wife. That the wife is not named may indicate she did not share the faith of Judah; that is, although Judah was by no means perfect, she didn’t even have nominal fear of YHWH.

The time came for Er, probably in his late teens, to marry, so Judah took a wife for him, Tamar. But then, all of the sudden we are told in Genesis 38:7, “But Er, Judah’s firstborn, was evil in the sight of YHWH, so YHWH took his life.” That it says he was evil and not simply that he did evil may indicate a lifelong pattern of depravity, for as long as the Lord allowed him to live. In any event, he was so evil God took him out, took his life.

Er was obviously a man who did not love God at all. He was an unbeliever, and apparently a vile unbeliever at that. We are told nothing of his specific sins but what we do have is communicated in such a way as to indicate outlandish rebellion against the God of his father, Judah. The lesson, then, is that rebellion against God will get you judgment from God.

The short report on Er’s life and death stands as a warning to all who read it: rebel against God, do evil in the sight of YHWH, at your own peril — because there will be peril.

Beware the sin of Onan

Er’s death left his wife, Tamar, a childless widow, and this became a problem because as the wife of Judah’s firstborn she had a right to be the mother of the heir. In the Law of Moses which would come later we see the remedy to this type of situation codified by levirate marriage, which comes into play in the book of Ruth, where Boaz acts as her kinsman redeemer.

Clearly, the culture Judah lived in also demanded some form of levirate marriage. We know there were other near eastern codes, such as Hammurabi, in existence. It’s also possible God had instructed the family of Jacob in this way, and it’s just not revealed in Scripture. Nevertheless, it wasn’t questioned why Judah gave Tamar to his second son, Onan. He had a duty to raise up offspring for his brother, so levirate marriage was in place even before Moses.

Except Onan, when he went in to Tamar, “wasted his seed on the ground in order not to give offspring to his brother” (Gen 38:9). Without going into analysis about the action itself, Onan was willing to get the sexual gratification out of such an arrangement, without fulfilling his familial responsibility, not unlike the plethora of deadbeat dads and women who seek abortions today.

Onan was willing to use what was essentially a religious exercise to gratify his fleshly desires, and many people do the same today. Under the guise of faith and faithfulness they use religious practices to please themselves (in many other ways than sexual). The end result, of course, is that this was “displeasing in the sight of YHWH; so He took his life also” (Gen 38:10); therefore, we are warned not to use religion, not use the church, to satisfy our own fleshly/worldly desires.

Beware the sin of Tamar

While Tamar is not criticized in Scripture, it’s clear she isn’t blameless in her behavior. To be clear, she is treated unfairly by Judah. After the death of Onan, Judah does not give her to his third son, Shelah. He says it’s because he is too young, which he may have been at the time, but the real reason is that he doesn’t want Shelah to die like his brothers (Gen 38:11). Thus, Judah sends Tamar back to her father’s house to wait for Shelah to grow up.

Except he grows up and…. nothing. So “after a considerable time,” when Tamar realizes Judah isn’t going to give her to Shelah, she hears Judah is going to Timnah, so she takes off her widow’s garments and adorns herself with a veil to pose as a temple prostitute, and well, Judah goes in to her, and Tamar conceives.

Tamar uses deception willingly and engages in sexual immorality with her father-in-law willingly. Yes, it is to fulfill her right to be mother of an heir within the covenant family, which she no doubt had learned about from Judah and/or Er. Nevertheless, while Scripture doesn’t condemn her and this is clearly a case of God using evil for His good purposes, her behavior isn’t to be celebrated nor emulated. Those in Christ today should not sin or excuse sin in order to bring about what might be thought of as a good result, but we should obey Jesus in all respects and leave what happens up to the sovereign hand of God.

Beware the sin of Judah

Judah is really guilty of multiple sins in chapter 38, but they are summed up in the opening verse where we are told he “departed from his brothers.” Considering his brothers were no wonderful men this may not seem like a big thing, but the reality is he was departing from the household of his father, as if in the aftermath of selling his brother into slavery he went through a spiritual crisis which led to many other sins.

First, Judah takes a Canaanite wife who apparently has no use for his God and apparently had more spiritual influence over his sons than he did.

Second, as just noted, it’s obvious he didn’t lead his sons to become men who feared and worshiped YHWH.

Third, his abandonment of Tamar led her to a point of desperation at which point she resorted to sin.

Fourth, he went in to Tamar thinking she was a temple prostitute. No matter how it turned out, that sexual immorality cannot be excused.

Fifth and finally, his quickness to put her to death for her sexual immorality made him a hypocrite.

However, it can be said that when pregnant Tamar revealed the seal, the cord, and the staff to Judah, he was quick to recognize they were his seal, his cord, his staff, and his child. He did not take Tamar as a wife but clearly set out to care for her and the child to come. His statement, “She is more righteous than I” is his Nathan-to-David “You are the man” moment (Gen 38:26; c.f. 2 Sam 12:7), and like David about 800 or so years later, here Judah is humbled and repentant, and this really does seem to be a turning point in his life, as he assumes a mantle of leadership among his brothers after the previous failures of Reuben, Simeon, and Levi. And of course, through Judah would come Jesus.

Pointing us to Christ

Speaking of Jesus, it can hardly be argued through New Testament eyes that one of the reasons the Holy Spirit ordained this sordid episode to be recorded in His word in the first place is that it has to do with the line through which the Messiah would come.

Tamar gave birth to twins, and one Perez would go to have Hezron, who had Ram, who had Amminidab, who had Nahshon, who had Salmon, who had… Boaz. So the end result of the Tamar’s failed levirate marriage God used for good to bring about the levirate marriage of Boaz and Ruth, whose son was Obed, who was the father of Jesse, who was the father of David (Ruth 4:18–22).

Jesus, of course, was the Son of David, a descendant of the king, of the tribe of Judah. Genesis 38, then, is a chapter full of dung. But if we take the time to read it and dig our way through it, we find that even in a chapter like this there are precious jewels, both theological and practical, to mine — pointing us to the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.

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dougmeet · 6 years ago

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she went out to look for the Dog's Meat Man But she couldn t find the Dog's Meat Man Some friends gave her for to understan He da wife and seven children had this Dog's Meat Man So she went home in grief and tears All her hopes transformed to fears And her hungry cat to mew began As much as to say Where s the Dog's Meat Man She couldn t help thinking of that Dog's Meat Man That cheating good looking Dog's Meat Man So you see in one day's short span She lost her heart her five pound note and the Dog's Meat Man Emilius Ralph Norman

http://books.google.com/books?id=dfzfAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA456&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&sig=ACfU3U0ihlz9o9fLNfMGBMHgPTn8Pcs9eg&ci=558%2C100%2C404%2C251&edge=0 http://books.google.com/books?id=dfzfAAAAMAAJ&dq=dog%20meat&pg=PA456So

This sentence is taken word for word from Burton's introduction, see p. 4. But the instances are too many. Alas, many of Sterne's beauties are Burton's!

"'Tis an inevitable chance-the first statute in Magna Charta-it is an everlasting Act of Parliament, my dear brotlier-all must die."-Tristram Shandy, vol. v. chap. iii.

(Every word of this except the italics is Burton's, ^■upusry, in verses prefixed as an epigraph, in the face of Ferriar's first chapter, he asserts that this plagiarism does not detract-nor does it as to the creation of character-from Sterne's originality. As Mr. Forde and your readers may like to see them, I copy them :-

"Sterne, for whose sake I plod through miry ways Of antic wit, and quibbling mazes drear, Let not thy shade malignant censures fear Though aught of borrow'd mirth my search betrays; Lon^ slept that mirth in dust of ancient days (Krewhile to Guise or wanton Valois dear) Till, wak'd by thee in nkel ton's joyous pile, She flung on Tristram her capricious rays. But the quick tear, that checks our wond'ring smile, In sudden pause, or unexpected story, Owns thy true mast'ry: and Le Fevre's woes, Maria's wand'rings, and the Pris'ner's throes. Fix thee conspicuous on the shrine of glory."

J. Hain Friswell.

Lowndes says of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy:-

sight astern.

sessions lipid in the present reign, inquired for by W. M. M., I believe they were-First, Archbishop Trench of Tuam, Bishop Knox of Limerick, Bishop Saurin of Droinore, and BtsKui Leslie of Elphin : second, Archbi.-diop L'.eresford btSArjnagh, Bishop Mount of Down, Bishop Fowler of Oligorv, and Bishop Kyle of Cork. H^

The spectacle was fearfully grand; but the voyagers breathed freer when they had worked their way into the eddy. Then they hugged the shore carefully, and so made gradual progress. At length the tide changed and bore them with it.

wind

"Faugh!"

What a realm of novelty was before the idventurers when they looked out into the snnligh;on the following day! The air was balmy and summer-like. It was the warmest day of the season, the thermometer marking 80° in the shade. Each of the fourteen buildings belonging to the post, comprising houses for the officers and servants, store-houses for furs and other -;oods, a sale shop, coopers' shop, oil-house, fishhousc, ing him. ction, although the ordinary rise of tide is but six feet.

In a sparkling rivulet (Rigolette) Half

ing tide.

This is now the liveliest portion of the year at the Company's post. Long days of actinadian voyayeur, with his best dog-driver on the Bay. He has driven from Rigolette to Norwest River and back, 120 miles, in eighteen hours, changing dogs but once.

What is the jingle of sleigh-bells and a 2.40 nag in comparison with a dog-sledge ride over the smooth frozen crust, in the gleaming light of the aurora boreafis! frosty air-" Coii! coh! rnh.'" and in an instant the eager crew come dashing helter-skelter, scattering the snow-flakes as they run. With practiced dexterity he quickly adjusts each leathern collar, and fastens each dog to its long seal-skin trace, while they sit fidgeting on their haunches, or strain upon the leashes, whining their impatience. Now all is ready. Scarce time has h<to bestow himself in his ample robes and seize his whip, before the eager team dash away pellmell, now to the right, now to the left, crossing traces, and mingling in utter confusion. But a sharp "st-vt" and a flourish of the whip, which brings a yelp at every crack, soon disciplines them to order, and away they seurry, eightabreast, spread out like a fan-the driver halfreclining, with the whip over his shoulder trailing behind, five fathoms long! "Twet! twet!" on! on !-" ouk! ouk.'" to the right!-" urrah! urrah!" to the left! Trees and shrubs whirl past with dizzy speed, the crisp snow sparkles as it flies from the bone-shod runners, and the lambent flames of the aurora borealis dance to the music of pattering feet. What winter sport so exhilarating as dog-driving! But there are difficulties by the way. Perchance the sledge encounters some sudden obstruction-a hidden stone or icy hummock-which checks its impetuous career; driver and sledge at once assert the laws of centrifugal force and rotate rapidly, while the dogs pitch into each other indiscriminately, as if to punish the supposed offender for the mishap. Then the fight can only be stopped by a vigorous application of the whip; and this must be quickly done, otherwise the battle would rage until the stronger triumphed; and that dog which first succumbed would at once receive the vengeance of all the rest, and speedily end his "day."

The sledge-adventures related by Oliver excited the ardor of his listeners. The Doctor could not restrain his desire. There were dogs and kommetiks in abundance-why should he not have a sledge-ride? Truly, the ground was barren of snow, but the dogs were strong, and spoiling from lack of work. Oliver was prevailed upon to harness a team; the Doctor was instructed, and with whip in hand forthwith embarked upon his oxperimental trip. The dogs started at the word, but from lack of recent training dashed away in great disorder. Stones

steps.

At that"

Those were pleasant days at Rigolette. But the visit of the tourists approached its close, and the holiday season of the natives waned rapidly. Festivities are now redoubled. There are varied out-of-door sports, and feasting on seal-meat, young dog-meat, and salmon, smoked, boiled, baked, and roasted. At night, in the servants' room, are uncouth dances and strange music- dances by the dim light of burning seal-oil and deer's tallow candles, energetic and fantastic-a strange commingling of dusky shadows that flit athwart the walls and ceiling and through the veiling smoke-a ceaseless thump and twirl, a Babel of tongues, and a suffocating permeation of perspiration and combined nameless stenches. There are no invitations to dance. Each one pulls his partner to the floor, willy nilly, vi et armis; but Smidt innocently begs to be introduced, bows, offers his arm, and-all grin horribly! Not at all abashed, he "switches off," takes the floor, and improvises an inimitable pas seul, with pigeon-wings, double shuffles, and grape-vine twists without stint, that win for him the applause of all. When he yields, the dance progresses according to native programme; and thus the night is made merry.

Pans.

A Papal Bull (5th S. vi. 329.)-No doubt the fcull which your correspondent inquires about was ■that of Pope Pius V. fulminated against Queen Elizabeth in the year 1569. The original is given by Bishop Burnet in his Collection of Records, -and numbered thirteen, vol. ii., in the folio edition of his works published 1715. The whole document is too long to give in extenso, but if the editor will afford me sufficient space for the concluding paragraph (the only part really bearing upon the query), with Jeremy Collier's translation into English, I think perhaps he may be doing a service to many of his readers to whom such documents are not accessible. After a fierce tirade Against the Queen for her many and grave sins and misdemeanours against the "Holy See," the Pope then proceeds to judgment:-

i.e. George II. In Noorthouck's History of London, published in 1773, this church is described ; and, a3 part of the description, we are told (p. 742) that "on a round pedestal at the top of a pyramid is placed a colossal statue of the late king" (George II.).

In the History and (Surrey of London and Westminster, published by Thornton in 1785, it is stated that on the top of this church "is a statue of his late Majesty, King George II." (p. 463).

The author of the Jacobite poem, The Devil o'er Lincoln, evidently believed that the statue represented the king then reigning (George II.), for George I. was then dead, and he says :-

"Since you make me such bishops, George, you may reign on."

Now the writer of this poem and Ralph were both living when the church was built, and must be supposed to know what king the statue was intended to represent.

I have only to add that I was a curate of the adjoining parish, St. Giles'-in-the-Fields, thirty years ago, and that the tradition then existing assigned the statue to George II. J. D.

Belsize Square.

Smith, in his Antiquarian Ramble in the Streets of London, edited by Mackay, 1846, a work on which reliance may be placed, states positively that the statue is that of George I. He says (vol. i. p. 141), "When Bloomsbury Church was finished, the figure of King George I. surmounting the steeple excited much criticism." He adds an epigram to which it gave rise, printed in a sixpenny book for children about 1756. Noble, in his continuation of Granger, states that the statue was erected by William Hucks, M.P. for Abingdon, and afterwards for Wallingford, who was Brewer to the Household, and who appears, he says, to have been "a very honest and a very loyal man: that he might make the latter appear most conspicuous, he placed the statue of the king,

George I., upon Bloomsbury steeple." Noble adds a satirical epigram on the statue, made by a wag at the time of its erection. It is probably to one of the epigrams mentioned that a writer in the Penny Cyclopa:dia refers under the article "Hawksmoor," the architect of Bloomsbury Church. After quoting Walpolc's dictum, that the steeple is a "masterstroke of absurdity," he proceeds to defend the architect, and adds that the statue "gave rise to a paltry epigram, that had perhaps quite as much influence in exciting a prejudice against the structure as Walpole's dictum." This writer repeats the common mistake that the statue is that of George II. Assuming Noble's statement with regard to the donor of the statue to be correct, it is rather remarkable that Hucks should thus have honoured the deceased, instead of the reigning sovereign, unless on the accession of George II. he had been deprived of the office of Brewer to the Household. H. P. D.

Chess Among The Malays (5lh S. vi. 346.)- The invention of chess in India, regarding which Mr. Galton appears to be uncertain, is a fact completely demonstrated by my late esteemed friend and brother chess-player, Prof. Duncan Forbes, of King's College, London, in the early chapters of his History of Chess. From India as a centre, the game of chess has been diffused over a great portion of the world. Westward of Hindostan, it was brought to Persia in the sixth century of our era. There it became known to the Arabs, who took it with them, and planted it in the sacred cities of Mecca and Medina. From thence it passed to Syria and the Byzantines of the lower empire, who received it in the seventh century. From Constantinople it was, by various channels, gradually spread over Europe, and carried by the Varangians, the disbanded body guards of "the Byzantine emperors, to Scandinavia, and the peoples of the North. From the land of its birth, chess found its way eastward to Burmah, Tibet, Siam, China, and Japan ; south-eastward to Malacca, Sumatra, Java, and Borneo. One proof of the Indian origin of Malayan chess, I may mention, is its nomenclature.

"The terms giijah, chatur, raja, and mantrl," writes Prof. Forbes, ■' are Sanskrit. Knda, horse, and TVr, a chariot, are Tamul. B'idah, laidah, or beidak, together with mCtt and tammat, are pure Arabic. The only Persian word in the whole list is tah (for Shiih), and that happens to be the word always used by the Arabs to denote the ' Chess King,' and the term ' check.' " *

The intercourse established of late years between Japan and the outer world has made us acquainted with the mode of playing chess in that country, which differs materially from other varieties of this ancient pastime. The game is there called Shogi, and the board consists of eighty-one squares,

* History of Chest, p. 271.

instead of our sixty-four. It is a faTourite recreation with all classes, holding much the same position as draughts in Great Britain. The pieces occupy three lines on either side, in place of the ordinary two. Those on the first line are Yari. or spear; JCeima, or horse, identical with the knight; Gin, silver; Kin, gold; and Ou, king, in all respects the same as our potentate. On the second line are only two pieces, Hisha, a chariot, which moves similarly to a rook, and Kaku, a corner or angle, which traverses the hoard diagonally, like our bishop. The Fu, or pawns, nine in number, are stationed on the third line.* From their proximity to China it appears to me extremely probable that the Japanese, by some means or other, obtained chess from the Celestials, who lave been from time immemorial ardent cultivators of it. I am the more inclined to this opinion on account of some points of resemblance which exist between the Chinese game and that of Japan. It is allied, for instance, by the Japanese " a game of mimic warfare," and, as Capt. Hiram Cox states in his interesting paper on chess in Burmah and China, in the Asiatic Researches,f the Chinese designate chess Cholce-choo-hong-ki, literally, "the play of the science of war."

Hugh A. Kennedy. Junior United Service Club.

"Pedacii Dioscorid.e Anazarbei De Medica Materia. . . Colonne, opera et impensa Joannis Soteris, anno M.d.xxix. mense augusto, fol." (5th S. vL 347), is a very rare book, but I do not think it to be valued at a high price. It must have fourteen preliminary leaves and 753 pages. Very often " Hermolai Barbari . . . in Dioscoridem corollarioru libri quinque . . ., Colonia?, ap. Joan. Soterem, 1530," fol., of seventy-eight leaves and a frontispiece, is bound with it. The first edition of Pedacii Dioscorides was published (Gr;ece) in 1499, Venetiis, apud Alduin Manutium, fol., along with Nicandri Theriaca et Alexipharmaca. Another edition, in Greek also, cur. Fr. Asulani, appeared in 1518, Venetiis, in redibus Aldi, small 4to. The best modern edition has been given by C. Sprengel, Leipzig, 1829-30, 2 vols., 8vo. There is a French translation by Martin MatWe (Matthseus), Lyon, Thibault Payan, 1559, 4to., plates. Matthiolus (P. A.) was the author of Commentarii in sex libros Pedacii Dioscoridis Anazarbei de medica materia. The best editions of this commentary, once famous, are Venetiis, ex. off. valgrisiana, 1565, fol., plates; Venetiis, 1583, fol. ; Basileie, 1598, fol. It was translated into French by J. Desmoulins, Lyon, 1579, fol., and by Ant. du Pinet, Lyon. 1680, fol.

It is thought that the books vi., vii., and viii.

* Vide Japanese Chea, by Mr. W. B. Mason, Watminster Papers, vol. viii. p. 68. VeL vii. p. 489.

of Medica Materia, which treat of poisons, are not really the work of this Greek physician, who lived in the first century of the Christian era, and has left also a treatise on botany, which for a long time enjoyed a very high reputation.

Henri Gausseron. Ayr Academy.

This edition, says Brunet (Manuel, ii. 734), is more rare than recherchie, and, though sold for twenty-three francs at Jussieu's sale, produced only four francs at Huzard's. In itself it would not seem worth much, unless the MS. notes should give this copy some additional value.

W. E. Buckley.

"lawless Court" (5th S. vi. 409.)-The answer respecting the old manorial court held at Rochford, in Essex, is best given by referring to that curious book, Cowel's Law Dictionary; or, Interpreter of Words and Terms used, either in the Common or Statute Lavs of Great Britain, and in Tenures and Jocular Customs, of which the first edition was printed at Cambridge in 1607. Under the title " Lawless Court," Cowel has:-

"On Kingshill, at Rochford, in Essex, on Wednesday morning next after Michaelmas Day, at cock-crowing, is held a court, vulgarly called Lawless Court. They whisper, and have no candle, nor any pen and ink but a coal ILe. a piece of charcoal to write with); and he that owes suit or service, and appears not, forfeits double his rent for every hour that he is missing. This cour belongs to the honour of Raleigh and to the Earl of Warwick, and is denominated Lawless because held at unlawful or lawless hours. The title of it in the Court Rolls runs thus:-

Curia de Domino Rege

Dicta sine lege,

Tenta est ibidem

Per ejusdem consuetudinem,

Ante ortum solis

Luceat nisi polus,

Senescallus solus

Nil scribit nisi colis,

Toties voluerit

Gallus ut cantaverit,

Per cujus soli sonitus

Curia est summonita:

Clamat clam pro rege

In curia sine lege,

Et nisi cito venerint

Citius pcenituerint,

Et nisi clam accedant,

Curia nrai attendat,

Qui venerit cum lumine

Errat in regimine,

Et dum sunt sine lumine,

Capti sunt in crimine,

Curia sine curfi,

Jurati de injuria. A piece of Latin doggerel, which has been freely turned into this English jingle:-

This court of our Lord the King Held without law, or anything But custom old, before Bunrise And while the stars are in the skies: No pen and ink the steward uses But rather ends of charcoal chooses. The court is summoned by cock-crow, No other summoning they know. He whispers all the king's demands Upon their persons and their lands, And unless they soon appear, Soon they find they have much to fear, And unless they quickly sneak in, They will find the court up breaking. Whoever comes and brings a candle This court's rules don't understand well; But while they sit in darkness blinking. The dues are paid with money chinking; Cureless court, and ill-used suitors Paying in this way their pewters."

An account of this court is also to be found in Blunt's Jocular Tenures, the best authority on such matters, of which a new edition has recently been published by Mr. Hazlitt. V. F. P.

Mr. Cooke will find a very full and particular account of everything connected with this court, and of its being held on October 13-14, 1868, in the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of London, vol. iv., Second Series, pp. 172-182, by the late eminent antiquarian, W. H. Black, Esq., F.S.A. Samuel Shaw.

Andover.

"the Dog's Meat Man," Tune "white Cockade" (5th S. vi. 410.)-

"In Gray's Inn Lane not long ago An old maid lived a life of woe; She was fifty-three, with a faco like tan, When she fell in love with the Dog's Meat Man. She very much liked this Dog's Meat Man, He was a good-looking Dog's Meat Man; Her roses and lilies were turned to tan When she fell in love with the Dog's Meat Man.

Every morning he went by, "Whether the weather was wet or dry; And right opposite to her door did stan', And cried ' Dog's meat,' did the Dog's Meat Man. Then her cat would run out to the Dog's Meat Man, And rub against the legs of the Dog's Meat Man; Then ho took up his barrow, and away ho ran, And cried ' Dog's meat,' did the Dog's Meat Man.

One day she kept him at her door

A-talking half an hour or more,

For you must know this was her plan

To get a good look at the Dog's Meat Man.

'If I M a five pound note,' snid the Dog's Meat Man,

'I \1 setup a tripe shop,' said the Dog's Meat Man,

'And I 'd marry you to-morrow'; she admired the

plan, And Biic lent a five pound note to the Dog's Meat Man.

The very next morning he was seen

In coat and breeches of velveteen,

To Bagnigge Wells she went in a bran

New gown, and she walked with the Dog's Meat Man.

She had hiscakes (tic) and ale with the Dog's Meat Man,

And she walked arm in arm with the Dog's Meat Man,

And all the people that round did stan'

Said,' My eye, what a dandy is the Dog's Meat Man!'

Next morn she at her door did stan'

To keep a look out for the Dog's Meat Man;

But he never corned, and she then began

To think that she was diddled by the Dog's Meat Man.

So she went out to look for the Dog's Meat Man, But she couldn't find the Dog's Meat Man; Some friends gave her for to understan' He 'd a wife and seven children had this Dog's Meat Man.

So she went home in grief and tears, All her hopes transformed to fears, And her hungry cat to mew began, As much as to say,' Where's the Dog's Meat Man?' She couldn't help thinking of that Dog's Meat Man, That cheating, good-looking Dog's Meat Man. So you see in one day's short span She lost her heart, her five pound note, and the Dog's Meat Man."

Emilius Ralph Norman. Melton Mowbray.

Fleur-de-lis will find " The Dog's Meat Man" in the second vol. of The British Minstrel, published by Sherwood & Co., Paternoster Bow, 1827.

H. H.

"Herb John" (5"1 S. vi. 328.)-Does not this refer to the goat-weed (genus JEgopodium, from the supposed resemblance of the leaves to the foot of the goat), which was known as Herb Gerarde, from John Gerarde, the old botanist? If so, the allusion of Charles II. is clear, viz., that Lord. Hereford was cloven footed, otherwise the d-1, and not to be trusted. W. Phillips.

Euripides (5th S. vi. 325.)-But Ainsworth and Lord Brougham were not so completely wrong after all. There is ancient authority for the long i in Euripides. Forcellini has :-

"Psenultima fere corripitur. Producitur a Sidon. Cam. xxiii. v. 127: 'Cessissent Sophocles et Euripides.' Adde Carm. ix. v. 235."

Ed. Marshall.

In my Ainsworth, also edited by Thomas Morell, new edition, 1773, Euripides has both the r's short. It is easy to see how the second i came to be marked long; the accent being on the penult, it is pronounced as if long. A Greek would pronounce the name Euripides, or rather Evripides. All Greek names ending in ides are accentuated on the penult.

E. Leaton Blenkinsopp.

Feathers (5th S. vi. 347.)-The allusion to feathers at the above reference reminds the undersigned of an epigram read some forty-three years or so ago, but where has vanished from the tablets of memory. It was something as follows :- "' Wit is a feather,' Pope has said, And females never doubt it; For those who 've least within their (the) head Display the most without it"

K. & -.

The "Illooisms" Of The French Language (5tt S. vi. 360.)-Your list of "illogisms" of the French language is a very good and curious collection. You will probably have noticed that in a

This sentence is taken word for word from Burton's introduction, see p. 4. But the instances are too many. Alas, many of Sterne's beauties are Burton's!

"'Tis an inevitable chance-the first statute in Magna Charta-it is an everlasting Act of Parliament, my dear brotlier-all must die."-Tristram Shandy, vol. v. chap. iii.

J. Hain Friswell.

Lowndes says of Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy:-

sight astern.

wind

"Faugh!"

In a sparkling rivulet (Rigolette) Half

ing tide.

steps.

At that"

Pans.

In the History and (Surrey of London and Westminster, published by Thornton in 1785, it is stated that on the top of this church "is a statue of his late Majesty, King George II." (p. 463).

The author of the Jacobite poem, The Devil o'er Lincoln, evidently believed that the statue represented the king then reigning (George II.), for George I. was then dead, and he says :-

"Since you make me such bishops, George, you may reign on."

Now the writer of this poem and Ralph were both living when the church was built, and must be supposed to know what king the statue was intended to represent.

I have only to add that I was a curate of the adjoining parish, St. Giles'-in-the-Fields, thirty years ago, and that the tradition then existing assigned the statue to George II. J. D.

Belsize Square.

* History of Chest, p. 271.

Hugh A. Kennedy. Junior United Service Club.

It is thought that the books vi., vii., and viii.

* Vide Japanese Chea, by Mr. W. B. Mason, Watminster Papers, vol. viii. p. 68. VeL vii. p. 489.

Henri Gausseron. Ayr Academy.

W. E. Buckley.

Curia de Domino Rege

Dicta sine lege,

Tenta est ibidem

Per ejusdem consuetudinem,

Ante ortum solis

Luceat nisi polus,

Senescallus solus

Nil scribit nisi colis,

Toties voluerit

Gallus ut cantaverit,

Per cujus soli sonitus

Curia est summonita:

Clamat clam pro rege

In curia sine lege,

Et nisi cito venerint

Citius pcenituerint,

Et nisi clam accedant,

Curia nrai attendat,

Qui venerit cum lumine

Errat in regimine,

Et dum sunt sine lumine,

Capti sunt in crimine,

Curia sine curfi,

Jurati de injuria. A piece of Latin doggerel, which has been freely turned into this English jingle:-

An account of this court is also to be found in Blunt's Jocular Tenures, the best authority on such matters, of which a new edition has recently been published by Mr. Hazlitt. V. F. P.

Andover.

"the Dog's Meat n

November 20, 2011 at 4:51

meeting Doug, I'll sleep now J. Nettles Oak-Land

All the same - # 227 Snap | Snap Off

Most of us go through life doing our own thing. We are trained to be independent, need people . But one day you realize the people around you at random, the foreign, you are just too busy to give a second glance, they are actually on your team. Snap Judgement On the next ... All in this together ...

November 20, 2011 at 3:29

two people like this

Boyfriend the night Nettles J. Oak-Land. "

November 20, 2011 at 3:31

Meet Doug "iamsorryforallofthis"

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Meet Doug Facebook Today "iamsorryforallofthis"

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November 20, 2011 at 3:11

Meet Doug Facebook Today "iamsorryforallofthis"

Today Facebook "iamsorryforallofthis"

Posted yesterday Angie O Genesis shared a link: fuck awareness week 11:48 p.m. Damie Donkasaurus love your message in the Newbook. 11:19 p.m. Steven Truesdale posted in Newbook. Genesis 11:18 p.m. Angie O updated their status "Everything is so dystopian that I am ..." 11:12 p.m. Angie O Genesis also comment ...

November 20, 2011 at 3:11

Doug Perfect American DIY 7"

American DIY 7"

07.12.2005 The Perfect American DIY 7 "Our Favorite Band! S / t 7 "(Praxis, 1982) Here's another, I bought blind. I'm in a thrift store for battered women, rummaging through the files and check the chicks (no no no no no give me a break god damn. He was just too horrible for a joke to pa ...

November 20, 2011 at 2:59

Meet Doug 12/07/2005 Perfect American DIY 7" Our favorite band! s / t 7" (Praxis, 1982) Here is another that I bought blind. I'm in a thrift store for battered women, rummaging through the files and check the chicks (no no no no no give me a break god damn. It was just too horrible for a joke to pass up). I find this little thing in a tattered blanket. Watch coverage and see two guys sitting in a car. Look at the back, two guys are still sitting in a car and have slightly long hair, and there is a small state of Louisiana circled below. Label says 1982. Record is beaten shit. Awww what the hell. At worst it will be a bad move from a male. I walk to the counter, put my dollar down and say the girl, "There's more where that came from ..." and crawl out the door. I go home and slap this puppy on the stage. my god! distorted guitar and lift the bass, no drums and is a first, development of smoking rockabilly worthy of Cramps / Hasil worship. Second song is a slow and damn if it could not be the Gibson Brothers. Look at the label again. 1982. Damn, this pre-Gibs five or six years. Turn it off-ramp and strangeness of the groove. Some Kinda reverb drenched, bell soaked creepiness on the Atlanta child murders oozes from speakers! Now I'm really excited. Really really excited. And the EP ends with some fans a little modern meets the Only Ones meets Alex "Flies on Sherbert" popper Power Chilton. Baton Rouge is our favorite band! is the perfect American DIY 7 "! It is not a god damn thing wrong with that and the only reason it is an unknown because of the heavy Killed by means of death among collectors of punk, which is doubly stupid because one these guys were in toxin III! # Posted by Scott Soriano: 19:21 can I be the first to say it's pretty fucking great? and thank you? and thank you remind me that I need this disk toxin III? # Posted by Anonymous bronkulator: 02:43 Excellent! # Posted by Anonymous Scott: 8:33 Listened to these last night. We loved "Pink Cadillac" and "Inside of me". Good stuff. # Posted by Blogger Todd Lucas: 09:38 Fascinating and wonderful! # Posted by Anonymous Stanlet: 03:24 thank you for the great review, Scott. Don and I really enjoyed reading it. hope you can find album on the big time after. although not as eccentric, always a little weird that way craunchy. Maury # Posted by Blogger THE PERFECT AMERICAN: 00:23

November 20, 2011 at 2:56

Meet Doug http://whatgetsmehot.posterous.com/perfect-american-diy-7

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Doug Meet Share this status This has been successfully shared Newbook.

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Meet Doug http://crudcrud.blogspot.com/2005/07/perfect-american-diy-7.html

November 20, 2011 at 3:01

Doug Meet So there is this girl. Shes beautiful, funny, has a great personality and guess what? It reads this right now. (> Ω <*) / hugs: * I love you friend - Send this to your 10 best five sisters so nice to You are loved and pretty! (^ O ^) / ♥ - You are one of my 15 favorite girls. If I do not get this back, I'm obviously not a good friend, sniff. Now I have a game for you. This game has been played since 1977. Once you read this, you must copy and send it to 15 of your favorite girls in five days. On the 5th day the male of your choice, or ask you out, or say I love you. Please send your 15 favorite girls . He has worked for years ♥

November 20, 2011 at 2:13

since Rachel McCartney met Doug Wall is the strangest place ever

November 20, 2011 at 2:15

Doug Meet YOULIKEANYTHINGTHATISACOCKANDGOESINTHESHOWER YOUSHOULDMAYBEGETALOOFAHIMPLANTINYOURCLEAVAGE

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Doug Meet وداع نيللي

وداع نيللي 'n Blom mooi bald Sie die Treppe hinunter ella y lucha por su vida όπως έβαλε στο παλτό της כשהיא להילחם על החיים שלה ברכבת वह बारिश देखो Глядя на чужую любовь, but no one knows HAVE planned my death since the age of fifteen years do not protected me from that winter, I like Mon gra ...

November 19, 2011 at 10:39 p.m.

Doug Meet Angie found the best service in the world

Leonard Cohen - This Hour Has Seven Days

Leonard Cohen - This Hour Has Seven Days - 05/01/66

November 19, 2011 at 22:35

Doug Meet THISISTHEWORSTSECRETLANGUAGEEVER

November 19, 2011 at 9:42 p.m.

Doug Meeting

error or Blondie? THISISTHEWORSTSECRETLANGUAGEEVER

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Meet Doug board: alltherestaredonkeys

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Doug Meet wait kiss I'm not telling people's minds about this dangerous

Blondie - Denis - Live on the Mike Douglas Show

_Denis_ Blondie live on the Mike Douglas Show

November 19, 2011 at 7:57 p.m.

Meet Doug ok, ALL OF U.S. are going to follow me to find the first TV appearance Blondie and c ' is repost later by Marc Campbell of Dangerous Minds. It's going to be so long and not so drawn and sweeter than a peach

November 19, 2011 at 21:45

Meet Doug www.dailymotion.com

Leonard Cohen - This Hour Has Seven Days

Leonard Cohen - This Hour Has Seven Days - 05/01/66

November 19, 2011 at 7:54 p.m.

Meet Doug this is a good year for the blind boyz @ dangerousmindsblog of Interview fly "genius" by Bob Dylan http://post.ly/wflW via @ mrjyn

"genius" of Bob Dylan Interview

Interview "genius" by Bob Dylan, we received a complaint from author (s) regarding material you posted, as follows: from the Web Sheriff about Bob Dylan Genius (Interview in French) - YouWeirdTube Video ID: a1YteEijfIM delete any videos to which you do not have the rights, and refrain from downloading add ...

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Meet Doug THIS TOTALLY rocks and Web Sheriff he took down the Yukon before it reaches 200, OOO

"genius" of Bob Dylan Interview

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Doug Meeting

Bob Dylan: Genius geinus! Pulled from YouTube by WebSheriff!

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"Engineering" Doug Meet Bob Dylan Interview

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Meet Doug if they fucked

Leonard Cohen - 1966 - This Hour Has Seven Days (flv video)

Dogmeat the Producer Sings Dogmeat

the Blogger's Official First Half-Music Video created by Dogmeat the Director and Sung by Dogmeat the Singer duetting with Linda Gail Lewis the sister (Jerry Lee Lewis) in a song written and originally performed by Buddy Holly the Rock 'n' Roller!

DEAR DAVID HAMILTON, MS. LAI, PATTI D'ARBAVILLE, I HOPE YOU GET TO SEE YOUR SOFT-FOCUS MASTERPIECE AGAIN ON YT AND BITE INTO IT'S SWEET LITTLE GREEN APPLECORE.

ESPECIALLY YOU, D.H., WHAT WITH THE TROUBLES AT HOME OVER SILLY PUBLIC OFFICIALS WEARING WIGS AND BEING NOSY. YOU SHOULD SAY, "EXCUSE ME GOVERNOR, BUT ARE YOU AWARE THAT YOU ARE QUESTIONING THE MORALS AND ARTISTIC FREEDOMS OF ONE WHO INVENTED THE OUEVRE OF SOFT-FOCUS PHOTOGRAPHY, EXACTLY, SIR, SO THAT ONE SUCHLIKE YOURSELF WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO MAKE OUT MY FUZZY FURLESS FOLDS OF FECUND FEMININITY, FULLY...PERHAPS TOO FEW IN YEARS FROM WHAT "A" SOCIETY SAYS IS ART, BUT ART , MY KIND SIR, IT IS; AND FOR IT SO WOULD I RATHER BURN CLUTCHING ITS PINKNESS IN A PREMATURE PYRE, PETTING ITS PEELING PORTFOLIO, BLURRED AT THE STAKE LIKE JOAN, THAN LET YOU OR ANY MEMBER OF YOUR TRIBUNAL CAST A DOUBTING AYE TO ITS POSSIBLE POTENTIALLY PROBLEMATIC POR MOI, PERVERSITY . IT IS THE PURITY OF MY ADOLESCENT CHRONICLES WHICH YOU WANT TO POP, IS IT NOT? SO LIGHT THE FIRE, OR TAKE OUT YOUR PIN, SIR, IF YOU WISH, SIR, BUT YOU'LL GAIN NO ENTRANCE INTO MY HOME OR OF THAT WHICH MY HOME HOLDS HOLY--TREASURES."

SOME SNAKE SOON SHALL SEND YOU OUT OF THIS SCENIC EDEN SOON. SO...

BONJOUR, BON SOIR, BOLITIS...THANKS FOR THE SPECIAL MOOD YOU PUT--SOMEWHERE BETWEEN OPIUM AND LAUGHING GAS PROBABLY AROUND 2:30, WHEN THE CHINESE MAN GOES TO THE DENTIST. AND LAI LADY, LAI; LAI ACROSS MY BIG BRASS BED AND MAKE US CRY WITH YOUR ACADEMY AWARD WINNING THEME FROM LOVE STORY--IT WAS TRULY BATHETIQUE MAXIMUM TRES BON. AND I DEDICATE THIS TO MY SPECIAL MUSE WHOM IT WAS THAT WE FIRST DID WATCH ITS PRETTY PLAYING AND DID LAUGH AND LISTEN TO DULCET TONES AND VIEW FRIENDS TOWELING FRIENDS. [TO THE HORROR OF AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF PHOTOGRAPHERS AFTER WILLIAM EGGLESTON, BUT TO THE DELIGHT OF MILLIONS OF 1970s LADIES WHO RECEIVED HALLMARK VALENTINES WITH BEADS OF DEW AS THE ONLY DISTINGUISHABLE PART OF THE PHOTOGRAPH, AS IF A MAN WITH A CATARH OF BOTH EYES WERE WALKING IN WINDSOR AND BENT TO INHALE A FRAGRANT BLUR AND WEPT A TEAR AT ITS BEAUTY FOR HE HAD SEEN THE WORLD THROUGH DAVID HAMILTON-FOCUSED GLASSES] NICHOP

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