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foxghost · 3 years

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Joyful Reunion, Chapter 112

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 3, Chapter 24 (Part 7)

Right there behind the stone statue at the top of the stairs is a wide platform, and behind the platform is a set of derelict buildings stacked out of bricks. It’s eerily quiet on top of the platform as it’s little frequented, and green creeper vines have climbed all the way up from the base of the foundations miles below. Nothing marks the years’ passing in the mountains, as though time itself is frozen here.

“Is this where you trained?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yes. This is White Tiger Hall,” Wu Du replies, climbing the steps with Duan Ling until they’re before the great hall. A plaque is barely hanging on high above them with three characters written in ancient seal script: White Tiger Hall.

“We’ll sleep here tonight. It may still be a bit cold in the mountains, but I think …”

“That’s quite alright,” Duan Ling replies, standing in front of the great hall, he stretches, facing the green hills beyond and their misty clouds. It reminds him of a line of poetry: my mind expands to take in this expanse of clouds; the sight of homecoming birds stretches the edge of my vision.2 From the moment they left Jiangzhou he’s enjoyed the first true days of leaving all his worries behind. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone coming to kill him, and neither does he have to worry about saying anything by accident that can get him killed. They can sleep soundly and let themselves relax.

He turns back to glance at Wu Du. Wu Du is inside the great hall, sweeping the stone paths clean. When he finds a bird’s nest on a chair, he picks up the nest and wipes down the chair before putting it back.

“Eh?” Duan Ling spies a small animal dodging behind a pillar and walks quickly over. It’s a squirrel. When it hears footsteps it stops, turns around, and hesitatingly stares at Duan Ling.

“Animals in the mountains aren’t afraid of people,” Wu Du explains.

“Are there other people here?”

“No. Even back then it was just me, my master, his wife, and Shijie.”

Recalling the Xunchun who lost her life in Shangjing, Duan Ling lets out a sigh.

Once Wu Du finishes cleaning he adds, “Duan Ling, come. Let’s go meet the White Tiger.”

Duan Ling walks to the centre of the main hall, and looks up at a white tiger carved out of white marble enshrined in the altar. Its eyes are sunken as if gems used to be set in them, but they’re long lost, presumably stolen by thieves. A mottled, dilapidated mural of “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”3 has been painted on the wall behind it, with seven Weiqi pieces carved out of marble inlaid into the mural.4

“I’m the seventeenth generation disciple, successor of the lineage of poison,” Wu Du says to the white tiger statue, “current leader of the White Tiger Hall, Wu Du. I’m here today with the crown prince of the central plains.”

Duan Ling cannot help but be awestruck, and his back straightens at Wu Du’s words. Wu Du stands tall in front of the statue, holding the index and middle fingers of his left hand to the back of his right hand to bow as a part of a special ritual on his pilgrimage to the White Tiger. "Lord White Tiger, please bless …

“What’re you called again?” Wu Du pauses to ask Duan Ling.

“What?”

“Your name.”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du speechlessly. Wu Du stares silently back.

“What kind of a sect leader are you?” Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to tell him.

Wu Du whines, “That day you shocked me right out of my head, so how was I supposed to remember anything? Say it already.”

“Li Ruo, here to pay my respects,” Duan Ling takes one step forward. He knows that the White Tiger constellation is the god of soldiers and warfare, in control of everything that has to do with slaughter. He bows. “I pray for Great Chen to triumph in every battle, to be victorious in every war.”

Wu Du cracks a grin, and turns to the statue. “I pray you’ll bless and protect the crown prince of Great Chen, Li Ruo, and to allow him a smooth return to the imperial court.”

They each finish talking to the White Tiger, and afterwards, they look up together in silence, staring at the statue with its missing eyes. A draft brushes them by, pouring from the back of the main hall and rushing out the entrance, setting the fringes of their robes fluttering — as if a fierce tiger has just crossed the forest, setting all the leaves in the trees rustling.

“Where did its eyes go?” Duan Ling asks Wu Du.

“No idea. It’s never had them as far as I can remember, so they must have been dug out long ago. Its eyes can’t see, but it can hear just fine.”

Duan Ling thinks, sounds like that’s true. Perhaps the breeze was its instruction.

Duan Ling has never had so much free time in his life before. That very afternoon, Wu Du takes the stairs down the mountain again to move the bedding and food from their boat to their lodgings. Duan Ling offers to help, but Wu Du just tells him to rest. As soon as he puts the stuff down on the platform he’s off again to the boat for more.

White Tiger Hall has a rear courtyard with a set of houses sectioned into east and west wings, while the main house was the place where Wu Du’s master and his wife used to live. Duan Ling spots an alchemy furnace, still filled with solidified cinnabar and some medicaments, a mixture of something now pitch black. The west wing is Xunchun’s room. Duan Ling opens the door and peers inside to find it filled with cobwebs and dust, devoid of anything else. The east wing is Wu Du’s room. It has one bed, two wooden shelves filled with old things, piled high with worn-eaten ancient tomes.

“What a pity,” Duan Ling says, “you had this many rare hand-copied books, but they got so damaged. Aren’t you worried that the knowledge will be lost?”

Wu Du has drawn water from a creek behind the main hall, and he’s cleaning the house with his sleeves rolled up. "Everyone’s gone. Whether the martial arts knowledge is passed on or lost, there’s no one left to care about that anymore.”

“What’s in here?”

“The elixirs master refined ages ago. He’d always wanted to live forever, follow the Dao and become an immortal. He used to be just fine, but after eating too much of that stuff he couldn’t even fight anymore. When the capital was under attack he took his wife with him and got off the mountain to reinforce the troops, and he should have been able to escape unscathed, but whatever blasted elixir he took stopped his qi from flowing when he needed it, and the Khitans shot him to death.”

“Where’s he buried? Should we go visit his grave?”

“The cenotaph is back there. After the capital was taken by Khitans, Shijie had someone bring back his clothes. We’ll go if we have time. There’s no hurry.”

Together, Duan Ling and Wu Du clean up the room. Wu Du says, “I don’t need any of that stuff. Just toss it all out.”

“No no, they’re too valuable.”

“I’m keeping it all in my head, you know. Don’t flip through them now, they’re dusty. If you do that you’ll sneeze.”

Duan Ling sneezes dramatically more than a dozen times before he manages to reorganise Wu Du’s books, putting them away nicely on the shelves. He plans to make a copy of everything when he has time, and that way it’ll help keep White Tiger Hall’s knowledge intact.

It’s getting closer to dusk. Wu Du has half finished cleaning the place. He gets a fire started then, and begins making dinner for Duan Ling.

Watching Wu Du busying himself, Duan Ling feels as though he’s back to being a little kid again. He recalls those words once said to him: there will always be people who disregard all else to be good to you, no matter who you are. If I’m not the crown prince of Southern Chen, would Wu Du still have brought me here?

Duan Ling ponders this, and comes to the conclusion that Wu Du probably would.

Spotting an antique, worn-out case under the shelves in the room, Duan Ling bends down to open the lock. Once it’s opened, he discovers that it’s filled with wooden puppets of horses and people, carved with a small knife. They must have been toys carved by Wu Du for himself when he was all alone as a little kid. Underneath the toys is a red cloth sack, and Duan Ling’s about to open it when Wu Du notices and says, “Um … Don’t touch that!”

Thinking that it’s some deadly poison, Duan Ling quickly puts it back, but Wu Du is hurrying into the room, a crimson blush in his cheeks as he puts the cloth sack back in the lowest level of the case.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” Wu Du looks a bit embarrassed, which only serves to make Duan Ling even more curious and to keep pestering him. Self-conscious, Wu Du leaves for the kitchen to get more water so he can start steaming the fish, but Duan Ling follows him around the whole time until he gives up under the badgering. “It’s a baby wrap.”

Duan Ling pauses for a moment before he breaks out in side-splitting laughter. Wu Du sounds a bit irritated. “Don’t laugh!”

A thought occurs to Duan Ling and he thinks he understands. “You wore it when you were little?”

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, “when the master’s wife found me, that cloth was the only thing on my person.”

“Was there a birth certificate? Your parents’ names?”

“No idea. Even if there was one, my master would have burned it.” Wu Du says without minding him, “Assassins can’t have mom and dad.”

“Doesn’t that mean you wouldn’t know when your birthday is?”

“Well let’s just treat … the day she found me as my birthday.”

Duan Ling only comes to that realisation then. “Which day is it?”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything, and Duan Ling seems about to press him, so Wu Du can but tell him, “I’ll tell you when it comes up.”

Duan Ling stretches out his pinkie, and so Wu Du gives it a little shake with his own. “Go wait for dinner, but don’t run off. Maybe no one is going to kill you here but getting lost in the mountains is no joke.”

Wu Du limits Duan Ling’s roaming range to the area between the stone steps and plank walkways, extending all the way to the platform, and he can wander through the buildings of White Tiger Hall as well, but he can’t go to the mountains behind the halls. Duan Ling walks to the edge of the platform to view the clouds, where they flow like an ocean in the mountains; the mist has risen, and in the mountains it’s as quiet as the land of the immortals.

The racket and prosperity of Jiangzhou, the strife between people — all of it can be left behind for now. They all feel like nothing more than a dream Duan Ling had during an afternoon nap.

If he can stay here for the rest of his life, maybe no one will ever be able to find them?

If he stays here for the rest of his life, maybe he won’t ever have to worry about anything else anymore.

An idea occurs to Duan Ling as he stares out at the cloud sea. If he’s able to accomplish all his goals and retire in comfort someday, this will be his final and only resting place. After experiencing so much, there’s nothing happier than to live the rest of his life in peace, with someone by his side … as he thinks this he turns to look back inside White Tiger Hall. Wu Du just happens to be banging some metal together to make a clanging noise, letting him know that it’s time for dinner.

“Scram! I’ll hit you!”

As Duan Ling heads inside, he sees Wu Du scaring off a monkey that’s come out of nowhere. The monkey wants to come closer and beg him for some food, but it doesn’t dare get too close. It stares at Wu Du with wide puppy eyes, then it turns them on Duan Ling. Duan Ling can’t help but laugh soundly, tossing it a bit of dry rations. The monkey immediately grabs it and runs off.

“There’s another one over there.” Duan Ling looks around and finds the big monkey rushing to give another, smaller monkey the food after it successfully begged for some.

“If you want food, eke out a living for yourself.” Wu Du jokes around. “If you want to be lord and master of the household, you’ve got to support your family.” Then Wu Du pushes against the great doors with his shoulder to close them.

During the evening, a solitary lamp swings back and forth in the mountain breeze, and beneath it the two of them have rice with plates of side dishes, along with the live fish they bought on the river. There’s even a couple of cups of wine to go with it.

After they finish drinking, Wu Du says to Duan Ling, “I’m going to take you somewhere. Let’s go.”

It happens to be a full moon tonight. Wu Du takes Duan Ling towards the mountains behind the halls, and they turn a corner through a narrow path, coming to the other side of the mountain where the sky seems to open up; the desolate wilderness of the mountains makes the moon look even brighter, and silvery light fills their vision.

Lit by moonlight, throughout the mountains, this is the only place planted full of peach trees; out in the mortal world peach blossom season has reached its end, but in the mountain temples they’re in full bloom. Amidst the mountain ranges the peach blossoms bloom in brilliant clusters, and the mountain breeze takes millions of petals off their branches to flutter beneath a bright moon.

“What do you think?” Wu Du asks with a smile.

Duan Ling is nearly unable to get any words out at all; he stares in a daze at the scenery before him.

“Only for about ten days every year,” Wu Du says, “do you get a view like this.”

“It’s too beautiful.”

Wu Du comes over to him, and they sit down on a rock together. He takes out his flute, and holds it to his lips. Music rings out, and in that instant, Joyful Reunion once more drags Duan Ling’s mind back into the faraway past.

When the song ends, Duan Ling and Wu Du quietly meet each other’s eyes.

Wu Du’s lips move imperceptibly, his breathing growing slightly urgent, and wearing nothing but an unlined robe and short pants, he’s sitting quite close to Duan Ling on the rock. Moonlight spills onto their snow white underclothes, and Duan Ling can vaguely make out the rugged and beautiful lines of Wu Du’s body.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says suddenly, “I … have something I want to say to you.”

Without knowing the reason for it at all, Duan Ling is starting to feel tense as well. “Wha—what?”

Wu Du looks down at him. They’re both quiet for at least several breaths, but then Wu Du is turning away to look towards the mountain streams, then up at the bright moon above, seemingly on edge.

“What did you want to say?” Duan Ling reaches out, his hand folding over the back of Wu Du’s hand, but Wu Du has turned his hand over to hold onto his.

“Do you …” Wu Du turns the thought over and over in his head before he appears to make up his mind and asks, “Do you like it here?”

Duan Ling smiles, and it’s like a million peach flowers blooming beneath the moonlight, how brilliant their blossoms.

“Earlier today I was just thinking,” Duan Ling tugs on Wu Du’s hand, “maybe someday I’ll just live here in the White Tiger Hall and never go back to the earthly world.”

“Oh no no,” Wu Du says immediately, “now that won’t do. I … you …”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling thinks about his duty, and that’s bound to be a heavy subject. He jests, “It’s just a thought.”

“No, that’s not …” Wu Du collects himself and says, “What I was thinking is that … aside from this place, I also want to take you … other places. And if you want … you can … take your time to pick, pick the place you love the most … anywhere is fine. The edge of the oceans, the ends of the earth, as long as you want to be there, I’ll be at your side.”

Duan Ling stares at him in startled silence.

“I … What I’m thinking is …” Wu Du doesn’t dare look at Duan Ling, and he can only stare off anywhere else, his handsome face turning crimson to his collarbones; even the skin under his tattoo is glowing red like he’s been drinking. His grip on Duan Ling’s hand grows tighter subconsciously and he stammers through his speech.

“Afterwards, I’ll also take you … to all those places you want to see. I’ll take you to Diannan, take you to … see the ocean. You … Shan’er, that day … when you called me ‘milord’, I know maybe you were just joking, but I’ve taken you here because I wanted to ask you … if you’re willing to … for the rest of our lives …”

By now Wu Du has already calmed down. The words have already left his mouth so he’s not going to be nervy anymore.

“In front of other people, you and I will be as we always were.” Wu Du doesn’t know where his courage is coming from, but he’s staring into Duan Ling’s eyes as he says solemnly to him, "Even if you’ve returned to the imperial court, I don’t need you to make me anything official. As long as you still think of me as you do in your heart today, I will find you the Zhenshanhe and guard you for the rest of your life, until the day I die.

“I know that in the future you’ll become the emperor. But I really … really … really want to be … with you …”

As he says this he’s getting nervous again. “I think … if you’re willing, I’ll definitely treat you well. Whenever we’re alone and there’s no one else around, I’ll … treat you … treat you as I would treat … my wife, and you’ll … yield to me as you would …”

Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, and Wu Du realises now that he’s still squeezing on Duan Ling’s hand and hurriedly lets it go. He reaches into a pocket in his robe and takes out a string of beads.

Wu Du unfolded his fingers, holding the beads in front of Duan Ling, and he moves his hand forward a little, as though he’s a mere humble human being presenting a tribute he made with all his heart, in a gesture more reverent than making an offering to the gods of their world.

The tribute is a bracelet strung with rosary peas.

Duan Ling’s cheeks turn scarlet in an instant as he comes to realise what Wu Du has left unsaid — to his surprise, Wu Du is wooing him. Even before this Duan Ling has had a vague feeling that this is the case, and the present moment is reminding him of that evening as the sun was setting, and Wu Du had taken his hand and told him all those things in the maple forest.

In a flash, the Duan estate’s dark woodshed, the snowstorm oppressive above the frozen Yellow River, those unfamiliar and gloomy days in Shangjing, a war that shook the earth beneath him, a night of panicked escape that feels like it happened yesterday, that harsh winter in Luoyang, his father’s death … in his mind these memories all shatter one by one.

They were each alone in the world as children, and now they’re beneath a sky filled with fluttering peach petals, silently facing each other.

In place of those memories are all those dreams once promised to him in that endless river of time, all those colourful, dazzling hopes, with the life he wants to lead.

Duan Ling seems able to see himself, and he’s able to see Wu Du as well — the Wu Du who grew up orphaned and alone is finally all grown up, and has made his way to him.

Wu Du’s hands have once solemnly taken hold of the sword that represents the last of the central plains martial artists; they have also blocked the sword that came at him with a force great enough to shatter the firmament itself outside Tongguan. But now they’re somehow overtaken by a slight but uncontrollable trembling.

“I …” Duan Ling takes a deep breath as he tries his best to restrain the excitement rushing about in his heart, but he notices that he’s unable to say anything at all. When he raises his eyes to meet Wu Du’s though, it seems Wu Du has come to a different conclusion. Noting that Duan Ling hasn’t taken the bracelet from him, his expression grows sad, and forcing a smile tinged with agony, he nods as though he already knew this would be the answer.

But to his surprise, instead of taking Wu Du’s bracelet, Duan Ling has thrown his arms around Wu Du’s neck, and closing his eyes, he leans in and presses his lips to Wu Du’s.

A mountain breeze blows by, sending a rustling through the leaves; flower petals scatter to fly through the air.

Wu Du’s eyes widen, and his entire body freezes as though he’s been struck by lightning. Not daring to move an inch, he holds the pose with their lips touching. When he comes to himself in the next moment, he stares at Duan Ling, his heart beating madly in his chest.

The two of them pull apart and Duan Ling takes Wu Du’s bracelet from him. He grips it between his fingers, breathing rapidly, wanting to say something but has no idea where to begin. They’re both red in the face, blood rushing through their ears, but Duan Ling is wearing a small, shy smile on his face.

And yet in the next moment, without a word at all, Wu Du gets up and runs into the forest of peach trees.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls him, but Wu Du isn’t stopping at all. In two shakes he’s run so far not even a shadow of him can be seen anymore.

Duan Ling stares into the dark speechlessly, no idea what’s happening, but when he chases over he finds Wu Du turning somersaults under a tree, following them with a sweeping kick and several punches, whipping up the leaves and flower petals so they flutter like a cloud around him.

Duan Ling laughs, and Wu Du suddenly turns around. When he realises that Duan Ling’s spotted him, he dodges behind a tree trunk.

Duan Ling puts on the bracelet. Meanwhile, Wu Du has closed his eyes with his back against a peach tree, revealing that slightly roguish yet captivating smile.

Duan Ling has no idea what he should say. It seems as though everything has changed through this one evening, and the scenery before him has taken on a special meaning. I actually kissed him earlier! Where did I find the courage to do that? Wu Du’s lips were scorching hot and soft, not at all the way he’d imagined them to be, and he’s still thinking about the sensation he had in the very instant he kissed him.

Wu Du turns his head to peer from behind the tree, and finds Duan Ling sitting on the rock, stock still, with his back to him, facing the mountain range and valleys beneath the moon.

Flute music begins again, but this time it’s an elated, cheerful melody. Duan Ling turns to look; Wu Du is standing beneath a tree, playing another tune that sounds like a folk song. A smile spreads over Duan Ling’s face.

“What song is that?”

When Wu Du finishes playing it, he puts the flute away and answers him with a smile, “Little Water Clock. I only ever heard the master’s wife play it once, so. I don’t even remember if that’s exactly how it goes.”5

Wu Du returns to his seat by Duan Ling’s side, and they look at each other, smiling without words.

Then, Wu Du turns a fraction, and reaches out to wrap his arm around Duan Ling’s waist. He puts his other hand over Duan Ling’s cheek, and with a slightest tilt of his head, he seals Duan Ling’s lips with a kiss.

Duan Ling touches Wu Du’s face; the bracelet is wrapped around that wrist.

This kiss lingers on and on, as though long suppressed emotions have finally breached the surface, and in the blink of an eye their feelings have transformed into a raging flood, thoroughly drowning them both.

Wu Du doesn’t want to let go of Duan Ling even for a moment; he has his arms wrapped around Duan Ling’s waist, and almost pressing him against the rock, licks into his mouth. Duan Ling feels his cheeks growing ever hotter under this assault, and as time drips by he’s more sure that Wu Du is growing more impertinent in his plunder.

Duan Ling really is getting way too nervous, and he can’t help but struggle. As he does, Wu Du loosens his hold on him and swallows, staring into his eyes as though he has also realised that he’s gone a bit overboard. He lets go of him at once and asks uneasily, “I didn’t … I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Duan Ling shakes his head. He’s not sure why, but the scene he spied in the Bouquet Pavilion is surfacing in his mind again and it really is too exciting. However, he can’t seem to accept something like that just yet.

“Let’s … head back.” Duan Ling thinks that if they’re going to kiss then they’d better kiss indoors — at least they’ll have a roof over their heads.

Wu Du has come to his senses as well and says, “It’s windy, you better not catch a cold. Let’s go.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du slot their fingers together, and holding hands they stroll leisurely through the mountain paths back to the house.

“Mi … lord.” Duan Ling suddenly remembers what he called him, and smiles at the thought.

Wu Du is finding that funny as well, and the corner of his mouth is turning up before he knows it. His gaze goes from Duan Ling to the path before them, a narrow path passing through a boundless cloud sea, shimmery with moonlight, cutting through towering mountains.

As they go to sleep at night, Duan Ling can’t help reaching out to touch Wu Du’s chest, and they’re wrapped in each other’s embrace again; Wu Du leans in and kiss him cautiously, their bodies rubbing against each other through two thin layers of cloth, both of them growing scorchingly hot. It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever done anything like this, and it just happens to be spring when brand new desires are starting to bloom, while Wu Du has been studying the martial arts for years, and with no avenue of release for his longing, his breath burns him, wishing he could hold on to Duan Ling and simply have his way with him.

They kiss and kiss again; Wu Du’s hand slides under Duan Ling’s waistband, but when it goes over the curve of his hip and reaches his ass, Duan Ling starts to gasp urgently, and Wu Du swallows.

“Do I have to … to … do that?” Without warning, Duan Ling suddenly feels a bit scared.

Sobering, Wu Du thinks about this for a moment. “It’ll hurt you a lot, so not right now. Let’s do that some other time.”

Duan Ling nods and relaxes somewhat. He holds onto Wu Du, studying his features. Wu Du gives him another kiss and whispers, “I can’t bear to hurt you.”

And so Duan Ling smiles again. They’re pressed up against each other, with that hard thing between their legs rubbing together through the thin cloth of their pants. Even if it’s behind a sheet of fabric Duan Ling can still feel how big and hard Wu Du is — so much bigger than his own. Duan Ling just thinks it feels so good to rub against him like this, and he’s getting wet down there as he does so.

Wu Du’s breathing trembles, feeling so good he shivers all over, and soon enough he decides to simply turn them so that Duan Ling is beneath him, so that his weight is pressed down on Duan Ling as he kisses his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth.

After embracing each other for a while, they both somehow feel calmer, and neither of them say anything at all, just stare into each other’s eyes. Wu Du still can’t help smiling. “It’s like I’m dreaming.”

They’ve been kissing each other over and over yet Duan Ling isn’t prepared to do this or that … but he feels somewhat curious about it after all. “Does it really hurt a lot? Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t. Zheng Yan was the one who said that … yeah.”

“He’s tried it?”

Wu Du isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He reaches into Duan Ling’s shirt, touching him until it tickles. Duan Ling’s hands are behind Wu Du’s neck though, so he has no way of fighting back, and all he can do is beg for mercy repeatedly until Wu Du lets up. “He’s a ne’er do well who has a tendency to paw at pretty young men. I’ve been told that if you’re not careful it can hurt a lot. I don’t want you to develop a fear of it. When we get home I’ll get some … uh … at any rate I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Duan Ling understands now, and comes to think that is perhaps true. But he thinks that’s fine too — Wu Du’s tall figure pressing down against him gives him an overwhelming feeling of safety.

“I’ll take you home too, in the future,” Duan Ling whispers, his eyes roaming over Wu Du’s handsome features.

“You’ll go back some day.”

Wu Du thought Duan Ling was talking about the palace, but what Duan Ling meant was Xunyang. He’ll go there with Duan Ling at some point also. It’s springtime in Xunyang right now; the flowers must have already bloomed.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

From Du Fu’s poem, 望嶽 / “Mountain Gazing”. ↩︎

You can see the painting here. ↩︎

Also known as Go. ↩︎

The original here actually says Little Water Clock · Golden Hairpin, but the first part is the melody, while the second part is the lyrics. Golden Hairpin is a poem about love. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things #probably shouldn't read this chapter in public

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writtenjewels · 3 years

Text

Werelion part 1

The Moon Lion was said to be roaming tonight. Dorian heard about this strange beast and how no one could capture it. He wanted to see it for himself and spent a great deal of time researching rumored sightings and known territory of the beast. Most of the reputable claims had it mostly in Ferelden, favoring the Hinterlands due to the large open plains.

Among other things, the beast was said to be unusually large. So far no hunter could take it down, though whether that was due to the lion's size or its unpredictable nature remained unclear. Some managed to see it but sightings only seemed to occur during moonlit nights, thus earning the lion its name. In appearance, it would have been more accurate to call it the “Gold Lion”, as its mane was nearly blonde in color. Or so those who saw it claimed. They also claimed that it was large enough to swallow a man in a single bite; Dorian knew better than to buy into such fancy.

It was a reckless thing to do, but Dorian set off on his own and cast spells to trap the beast. He was no hunter but if he could take the thing and put it in some sort of menagerie, then it could be studied and admired. Dorian waited a safe distance away for his magical traps to spring. If his research was to be believed, the lion would take the bait he laid out for it.

It was nearly midnight when he felt his spells going off. Hoping that it wasn't a bear or some other more ordinary animal, Dorian hurried to see what was there. The beast prowling in the magical trap nearly took his breath away. The lion was indeed gigantic, rivaling a brown bear in size and weight, its mane just as blonde as the stories claimed. Dorian felt in equal parts awe and terror staring at the snarling thing. He drew a bit closer and the beast turned toward him. It bared its teeth and roared, clawing feebly at the magic holding it in place.

“You're all right,” Dorian soothed. “I only wanted to get a look at you, you gorgeous thing.” He would swear the beast was glaring at him. Its eyes were golden-brown and were fixed on him as he came right up to the magical trap. It growled deep in its throat, pacing restlessly back and forth.

Now that he had the beast, what was he to do with it? It was amazing and certainly should be protected from any hunters. But how was he to transport it anywhere? The container alone would have to be massive, and it would need many horses to pull. Dorian should have thought this through. As he thought it over the lion was growing more and more restless. It started pawing at the trap again, snarling and growling.

“I know, I know, you want to be set free. But you must understand, I want to protect you. A lovely thing like you is too good a prize for hunters to ignore.” The lion stopped pawing and stared at Dorian. “Hm, I would swear you actually understand me,” he mused. The lion's growl was a bit lower, almost like it was trying to make an assertive noise. “Do you?” Dorian wondered. “Do you understand me?” The lion sat back on its haunches and continued staring at him.

It did seem like those golden-brown eyes were watching him with measured intelligence. More than a typical animal's, anyway. All the more reason for Dorian to keep the beast safe from hunters. Time dragged on and the lion grew restless again. This time its noise sounded pleading as it pawed at the trap.

“If I let you go, I may never be able to capture you again,” Dorian pointed out. “Would you rather be killed?” The lion let out a low rumbling noise, ears flicking like it was thinking this over. Suddenly it turned around and raced to the opposite end of the trap. Dorian cried out as the huge thing rammed its body up against the magic caging it in. It let out a yowl of pain and collapsed. “Damn it all, can't you just be still?” Dorian complained, hurrying to where the beast dropped and casting a sleep spell. The lion let out one last feeble noise before finally settling.

There now, that was better. The only thing he could think to do was call in a favor to help bring the beast to some sort of menagerie in Orlais. That still meant days of travel and him without any sort of transport other than the single horse he rode to get here. Clearly he should have put in a lot more planning.

The first light of dawn was peeking over the horizon. The lion shifted, though that should have been impossible with the sleep spell. Dorian watched in growing confusion as the creature's body seemed to shrink and lose its fur. His mouth opened, jaw slowly dropping as the form continued to change in front of his eyes. When it finally stopped, Dorian found himself staring at a very naked, very human man.

“Maker's breath,” he awed in a whisper.

#dorian pavus #cullen rutherford #au #dragon age inquisition

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

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Terrible Two’s:

Trigger Warnings: Some Angst and Fluff, Light Humor, Slight Swearing.

Word Count: 1,404

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request: “Hello! can I request a Tommy x Reader with humor prompt list 15?I know it’s humor but it can be serious as well I guess. Thanks a lot!”

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I’m changing my format up a bit so this one is part of the new look. I also don’t know how this came to be. I kinda just had an idea and ran with it, but I hope ya like it!

Summary: Y/n takes care of Charlie as her husband Tommy is off for the day on business, making her question her sanity and their future as a family.

You rummaged through Charlies closet, trying to find something appropriate for him to wear to this evenings dinner. Thomas had left early that morning on business leaving you to care for his son who was in the late stages of his “terrible-two’s.”

Frantic sayings such as, “Hey! Don’t touch that” “Don’t put that in your mouth!” “No biting!” and “Oh please be chocolate, please be chocolate...” coming out of your mouth more times than you can count.

You sighed with him in your arms while you looked at three outfits spread across the table.

“Which one would you like to wear sweetheart? You have to dress all fancy like your daddy.” You said, watching as he pulled against you and towards one of the dark gray outfits, much like a baby suit with a small bowtie.

“Oh that’s a good one. Let’s put it on.” You said gently setting him down as he waddled away from you as fast as his little legs would carry him.

You looked up at the coffered ceiling and sighed, knowing it would be a long few hours until Thomas got home.

“Charlie-boy c’mon. Daddy wants you ready for the party before he gets home.” You yelled lightly down the hall, peeking in various rooms as he was probably playing hide and seek.

“Charlie...where are you?” You asked, turning the corner into Tommy’s office. You saw his small silhouette behind one of the curtains in front of the window, overlooking the acres of land that was your all's backyard. You smiled and folded your arms over taking a couple steps towards him.

‘I wonder where on earth he could be?” you said getting closer.

“I bet he’s right......here!” You yell out, tickling him through the curtains as he giggled.

Once he was freed from the fabric, he reached out for you to hold him and so you did. Smiling as his small giggles filled your ears. Your heart ached as you thought about how Grace must feel, watching from above as someone else cared for her child. As you stood there in thought, you glanced at the ring on your finger and the memories you’ve been lucky to have with Tommy these last few years. You wanted to try for kids, seeing how you were great at caring for Charlie, and how well you got along with everyone, but your heart still ached knowing it would probably be a long time until Tommy even had a moment to think about the both of you, let alone another baby due to recent blinder business.

After a while of playing with Charlie, you were finally able to bribe him into putting on his outfit with a cookie. You sat on the floor with him as you watched him playing with a toy horse, trying to decide when to get ready.

Charlie lifted his finger up to you, murmuring as he looked at you with his fathers blue eyes.

“What’d you say baby?” You asked softly.

“Mama!” He said excitedly. Your eyes widened, panic and an odd feeling of happiness overtaking you as you heard him speak a word that wasn’t toddler babbling or saying “hat” “dada” and “horse.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just smiled and nodded, tears forming in your eyes as you glanced at Grace’s painting down the hall.

When you saw Charlie getting tired, you put him in his crib, turning the light out as a soft midday glow came in through the windows of his bedroom, and without hesitation you went to your bedroom to get dressed, getting as far as putting on your dress and plain makeup before hearing him wailing.

You rushed out, not worrying about any finishing touches as you opened his door, his face flushed red and tears in his eyes as he screamed bloody murder.

You scooped him up, rocking him back and forth gently as he hiccupped and screamed again, surely making you go deaf.

“What is it my love? What’s wrong?” You asked, walking with him down the hall as you bounced him in your arms.

“Did you have a bad dream?” You asked as his tears subsided. He looked at you and pouted, his eyes about to fill with tears again as he buried his head in your neck.

You checked to see if he was warm, but he didn’t seem ill, just startled. As he calmed down you realized your silk dress was now tear stained, making it hard to dry before Tommy got home so you carried him into your all’s bedroom and sat him on the bed gave him one of Tommy’s non-razored caps to play with. You sighed as you looked at the expanse of dresses, knowing years ago you’d pass-out at the sight of even the price tag, let alone the intricate detailing and fabrics. You decided on a pastel blue dress almost aqua in color, as you turned to Charlie with approval. He smiled when you turned around and clapped his hands together as he watched you looking at it in your hands. After slipping it on, you heard Tommy come through the front door, with loud footsteps bounding towards his office.

You sighed, knowing he had a bad day, which given his line of work, it wasn’t surprising. If he had a fairly decent day, you knew something was suspicious most of the time.

You picked Charlie up to keep him from running amuck, and headed towards his office. Your heels clicking on the wooden floors as you hesitantly walked in.

He was nursing a glass of whiskey and smoking while looking out the window.

“Rough day?” You asked from the doorway. He turned slowly to you, his cold stare softening as he looked you up and down and saw Charlie in your arms.

“Yeah. Arthur got into some trouble. I had to go help out and keep him from killing someone at the ring.” He said putting his cigarette out in the ash tray on his desk.

“Oh lovely.” You said rolling your eyes and smirking.

“What about you aye? What did my little one get into today?” He said making his way over to you and Charlie.

“Well...he tried to take your watch, tried to put it in his mouth actually...bit my finger when I tried to take it from his mouth, oh and he left a small present on his bedroom floor because he wanted to roam the house in the nude. I prayed it was chocolate, but...no.” You said laughing and shaking your head.

“Fucking hell...” He said.

“Well if that’s all the complaints for the day, I think it’s time we get going aye?” He said with small smirk.

You scoffed and walked away from him. “Oh I’ll give you something to complain about.” You said as you took Charlie to the car.

You sat there silently as he drove, his free hand finding his way to yours that was resting on your lap.

“I’m not too good with jokes sometimes. I’m sorry Y/n.” He said squeezing your hand.

“Oh I know.” You said smirking.

“Were there any good moments today?” He asked. You swallowed hard and decided to tell him.

“Well while we were playing he uh...called me “mama.” You said.

“Mama!” Charlie yelled, giggling from the back.

“I didn’t know what to say Thomas...I just smiled and nodded. I hope that’s okay.” You said. He smiled and glanced at you as he went to park the car.

“Well...in a sense you are now. Without you I don’t think we could’ve managed.” He said, kissing your hand.

You smiled as he helped you out, him picking up Charlie out of the backseat.

You thought for a moment before walking towards Polly’s house, daring to ask him the question that’s plagued your mind the whole day.

“Hey Tommy?” You asked, causing him to stop near the front steps.

“Yeah?” He said.

“How would you feel about another child? Obviously not now because I know everything’s busy, but that all just got me thinking...” You said trailing off nervously.

“I’d love that. But first, we have to get through this fucking party.” He said smirking. You sighed in relief and nodded as you followed him inside, music and the murmurs of everyone filling the room.

“That we do...” You said quietly to him as you both walked towards the family, bracing yourself for the onslaught of hugs, whiskey, and not-so-kid-friendly conversations.

Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma @xxbeckybeexx-blog

Want to be added to the Thomas Shelby Tag List? Just shoot me an ask! :)

#katiesanons #peakyprompts #peakypromptslist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #katiesWIPlist

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ireddeadredemption2pc-blog · 4 years

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Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Red Dead Redemption2 PC

The old west feels brand new again.

Oh Jesus Christ, what have you done? “Thomaschen 978 wants to know why a dozen carcasses and a couple of horse corpses are placed on rail tracks bordering the early industrial city and are the New Orleans stand-in St. Denis.” You killed half. village.” PC Games For Free

We are on round two of the recurring corpse pile. My poses got the idea to jump in front of the train after a few rounds of Lose Your Friends and Toss Them in the Sea in the Couple Friendly Strangers. Like GTA 5, Red Dead Redemption 2 has its own bowling minima, we explain to Chen in a roundabout way that provokes his fear. Die in the shared open world of Red Dead Redemption 2 and you’ll react fast enough to move your corpse around. Best RPGs games pc

The boy is in line with us. We should make it bigger. As the train comes around again, another pose tries to take us out. The chain defends us but does not bring it back to the tracks. He goes away screaming. Death of a true warrior.

Red Dead Redemption 2 could be the biggest, most humble videogame ball pit for an annoying story about impulsive children, the forced disintegration of the community, or simply a quiet and reflective hiking simulator. It’s just about what you need it to be, and it’s good at it.

Just hours before the corpse-bowling, I was alone through the icy forests, stepping into the long shadow cast across the snow by the rising moon. I heard a gunshot from a distance. The tracks of some wolves marked snow in the same direction. I saw them who won. Anytime I pay attention and look closely, RDR2 is the result of my curiosity. Best Racing games on pc

The mind-numbing expanse that makes up the vast world of RDR2 speaks to the creative force of a development team with an intense, obsessive dedication to realism (and all the money and time needed to do so). Like how my friends’ characters flare up when I fire a gun at them, how animal carcasses disintegrate over time, how NPCs react according to a sloppy or bloody outfit, how to stir through a doorway. Scares everyone everywhere.

It is hard to believe that RDR2 is so deep and wide and is also a harmonious, playable thing. I was already playing it for days worth the console version. This is why I am particularly disappointed that it ended up on the PC to some extent.

For every non-taught multiplayer adventure, disconnect or crash on the desktop, desktop. The rock star’s best storyline and character so far has been filmed through Frame Hutches’ slideshow and addressed over the launch weekend.

RDR2, one of the best Western games and one of the best open-world games I have ever released with enough stability issues, is recommended for the hard way until everything is completely smooth.

Morgan trail

EVERY PRETTY VISTA IS SOMETHING TO LOSE THROUGH ARTHUR’S EYES.

The story genre of Red Dead Redemption 2 follows the dying days of the Wild West. The sprawling industrial world faced the bandits and social downtrodden of Arthur Morgan’s small band, an imperfect but loyal, loving and self-reliant community.

Capitalism is reducing its value as resources to humans. Indigenous USA America is driven from the plains to make way for ‘civilization’ and commerce. The forests are brought down for timber, the hills are cut down for coal, and Morgan’s chosen family is caught in the middle, forced to flee, assimilate, or respond with violent protests is done. They do all three.

This is Rockstar’s most serious drama, and it’s really, really long. If you are running, the story ends after 40 to 50 hours and then continues for 10 to 15. The main story missions of Red Dead 2 feature distinctly rockstar fare: ride to a destination that is talking to everyone, tightly scripting though, entertaining things, riding, and chatting to the final destination.

Missions are often thrilling action sequences or artificially mundane pictures of wrench labor and trade, full of long-winded Bespoke animations, and outstanding performances. They are only hopelessly harsh, to the point where it feels like I am following the stage directions rather than playing the role of a vagabond in the Old West.

Step out of line in these campaigns and this is a failed situation. As opposed to Red Dead Online, there are very few of them that encourage players to think for themselves, each designed to advance the story. The RDR2 show is at least a spectacle of the slow pace of life in the Old West.

This is not the death and theatricality of a lifetime; My favorite missions include shoveling, drinking wine with a friend, proposing an old romance and riding a hot air balloon. Working through a greater rut, stricter tasks are considered meaningful in the end anyway, inspired by extraordinary, ambient world-building and characterization.

Side missions, minigames, small activities, and random world events — whether they hunt great guns, capture a play, or stumble upon a woman trapped under a horse — all set Arthur’s character and setting in subtle, rich ways. Please inform.

Nested in the third act of a fully animated and voice theatrical performance, something like 10 minutes, it is possible that the response button is pressed after an artist has included a telephone. Arthur would shout, “Hell with the telephone!” It is an optional activity, a long one, and an option is to react in that short window. I think most players will remember this, but this is Canad Response 1 through 3 because this is something Arthur would say, a rageless goofy set his way in the right way.

He would write complete, real diary entries about the 50-hour campaign, sketching memorable scenes and depicting the state of affairs of his chosen family, which people once knew changed their fortunes between hope and despair. It is meant to be a completely alternative reading, but a refreshingly intimate take on a masculine figure that unsettles many doubts and hopes as to the next person.

He sings himself on a lonely ride and lowers his old body in the mirror. He will have an exciting conversation with the horseshoe woman as he gives her a ride into town, both commenting on the troubles of working for wealthy, ungrateful men as a growing necessity. I feel it all. Best horror games on pc free

Hillbillies can capture him after making the camp, a couple may try to rob him after inviting him to dinner, a man with snakebite can come out of the forest by stumbling and tell him to suck venom is. These haphazard encounters portray brutal life on the fading frontier, as nature pushes back against inner poppers who want to change it. Arthur is the perfect vessel to see it

This is because Arthur Morgan is one of the darkest human characters I have played during a great turning point in American history, playing a playful, cruel and compassionate role according to differing theories.

The game world, beautiful as it is, is made more beautiful and tragic by how it is ready to play it on every occasion. Every beautiful vista has something to lose through Arthur’s eyes, power lines and train tracks, cut through the skies, and the rest of his life is slowly filling with factory smoke. Just about everyone sees a sad end in RDR2, too. This is a story that I might not sustain every moment, but I will not forget its brutal arc or the man in the middle of it all. God damn is it sad? An apocalypse that led to this.

Ren Der Reflection

Assuming that you are able to run it at high settings, the biggest strength of RDR2 is how it exquisitely renders the Old West setting on PC, drawing more attention to the nuanced details that make it. This is one of the best looking games I’ve seen and a rare experience that justifies a new GPU or CPU.

Better draw distance and a greater range of vegetation detail were added, making some vistas look photographic. Long shadows vary from walking or roaming between places to rides, to cute nature tours. Due to animal attacks, bullet holes, rain, mud, or rapid flow of blood, the markings on the clothes are caused by very high-resolution textures, which tell a very little story about your friends.

A new photo mode makes it easy to share those moments of amazement. The way the player rides on RDR2 for just sightseeing and sounds is an important feature. I am desperately trying to get an artistic portrait of my horse’s silhouette to sit against the moon, yet another self-proclaimed goal was tolerated by this ridiculously large complex game.

With 2080, i9-9900K and 32GB of RAM, I can run RDR2 mostly on ultra settings with some resource-intensive settings completely off or switched off. But some hardware combinations are proving troublesome for RDR2, leading to random crashes in some APIs and, more recently, to a hotfix, leading to hitching problems for some 4-core CPUs.

During the first weekend, I couldn’t spend more than an hour without crashing on the desktop, though Vulcan switched from DX12 (which gives me better framerates) back to static stuff. Sometimes the UI malfunctions and I cannot select a select or purchase option, the map fails to appear, or I get paged unexpectedly from game servers.

The graphics settings are almost too much as well, and probably confusing. In our test, only a handful of settings affected performance by more than 1-2 percent. Large residuals, the mapping between MSAA, volumetric lighting, and parallax occlusion, affect performance by 5 to 25 percent. Most of them don’t make a big visual difference anyway and are best left out.

The way the settings are presented is made to feel underdeveloped: a huge list with unclear presets that require tinkering to make RDR2 run in a satisfactory framerate. It is hard. The PC should be the best place to play, not the best place to play, after all, after a few patches. It’s a shame for a game to look good. upcoming pc games

Cowboy poetry Red Dead Redemption 2 PC

Like in singleplayer mode, in Red Dead Online I can make my goals reasonable and watch them. The problem is, it is basically hamstrung by a frustrating multiplayer leveling system that locks basic equipment and cosmetics behind long XP requirements that can meet hours, perhaps days,

The option is spending gold, premium currency, items and clothing to unlock them immediately. A fishing pole is not available until level 14. A damn fishing pole in an outdoor recreation game. This is not spectacular and is a terrible way to invest players.

out a basic suite of tools (fishing rod, bow, varmint rifle, nice hat, etc.), Red Dead Online opened up widely. I have largely ignored traditional matchmaking modes such as gunfights and horse races, cheap thrills, I will play much better versions in different games, to have fun. It led to the most inventive, serene, real, and sometimes buzzing echo I’ve ever had.

I once walked into the middle of a fire in Blackwater and took the player corpses one by one to the church cemetery. Some were captured and participated in the ‘burial’ of their friends. A corpse thanked me for the gesture. Later, in an extended streak of criminal activity, my pose and I caught another player and instead of killing them on the spot, we rode into the swamp and threw them into the garter infected waters. I got the idea to act like a friend. Best pc games 2017

On a less absurd note, I set myself a constant goal of earning strictly enough money from hunting to buy cool-weather gear and a fine rifle. I am going to hike in the mountains and find the best way to hide there, a wild mountain man adorned with animal skins, which almost touches the floor.

In the meantime, I’m stopping gunmen across the city by running through the streets and calling for a parley. I am participating in an eight-player ballroom. I am living the life of a normal cowboy in the best shepherd game. I hope it clears up soon.

RDR2 PC System Requirements

OS : Windows 7 SP1 64bit

Graphics Nvidia GeForce GTX 770 2GB / AMD Radeon R9 280

Processor: Intel Core i5-2500K / AMD FX-6300

Memory: 8 GB RAM

DirectX: Version 11 Or 12 Support

Storage: 150 GB

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colorofmymindposts · 5 years

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The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter One

Chapter Title: A Most Troubling Domestic

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete, will be updated on weekly/biweekly basis Word Count: 1520 Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets

Story:

The signees of Spring and her benefactors were much appreciative of this day. The breeze was finally light and welcome, the sun did not deceive in her promise of warmth, and the creatures of Providence could once again roam the streets and fields without difficulty, a stride in their steps that did not exist a mere fortnight ago. Of course, with the synergy of ardour and envy, succeeded by keyed up tempers, it was the season of renewed energy towards crime of all kinds. If Sherlock Holmes were to leave his flat sometime within the next two days, he would most assuredly be met with the dastardly, delicious aftermath of criminal underworld antics. The case he was to be met with though was unlike any he would have anticipated.

Nanny had ceased in providing him breakfasts in the morning as she had grown accustomed to his years’ absence when he was presumed dead after his nearly fatal confrontation with Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls. Still, Holmes considered himself fortunate that she had decided not to let out the rooms of 221B to anyone else in that time. He liked to imagine that his memory had haunted the flat from any prospective renters. It was more likely that she had felt his experiments had irrevocably made the place unlivable for anyone else, which suited his purposes just as well. In the time since his return, they had stopped seeing each other altogether except for the instances in which the woman needed to collect the rent or occasionally checked to see he was still alive. Her tread on the steps and tentative opening of the door in this instance did not seem to indicate either of those options however. “A visitor is here to see you, Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson announced without a greeting. Holmes stood facing the window. The scuttling of children playing in the street could faintly be heard through the glass though he preferred their prattling to Mrs. Hudson’s. “I don’t receive visitors, only clients and Watson, so which one is it?” “Both, I’m afraid.” Thoroughly startled, Holmes spun around ungracefully. Mrs. Watson stood in the doorframe of 221B, and he realized in that exact moment she had never once stepped foot in this flat. The woman had barely put up her hair, her face did not glow with her usual choice of cosmetics, and the azure dress she wore was plain, one she normally kept in the back of her armoire. Lines shown clearly under her eyes spoke of little sleep, and her mouth was set in an expression of grim unhappiness. “You are punishing yourself,” Holmes declared, though he was still attempting to parse out the reason. Mrs. Watson stood resolute. They’d engaged in battle for far too many years now to allow some remark like that crack through her facade. “I came here for your help, Mr. Holmes, and if you won’t give it to me I’ll be forced to go to Scotland Yard.” Mrs. Hudson looked positively alarmed at the always reserved Mrs. Watson. All Holmes had to do was bark “Out, Nanny!” and the flustered woman fled faster out of his rooms and past Mrs. Watson than an abominable horse free-ranging in the countryside. He had the almost irresistible urge to pick up his pipe and light it, knowing it would offend the woman’s sensibilities. Instead, Holmes’ temper simmered in an inexplicable instance at seeing the distress evident on her features, and so he treated her with the politeness customary for a client. “Would you care to enter my humble abode, madam?” She obliged him in this regard, stepping forward several paces until reaching the center of the room. Holmes idly picked up the bow to his violin, gesturing towards the client chair. “I’d prefer to stand, thank you,” she replied primly. Holmes smirked as he set the bow down. “Is this a consultation or a confrontation?” There was a sigh of exasperation not heard but felt. “Please, Mr. Holmes, I am well aware we do not see eye to eye on many matters, all excepting one.” He pointedly avoided her gaze. “I know of none.” She entreated once more. “My husband and your friend.”

Holmes huffed indignantly. “That is the very matter that divides us, you understand.”

Mrs. Watson took a sharp inhale of breath, and he admittedly felt a certain delight at trying her patience. Although he already knew of her irritation and exhaustion, he did not expect the woman to begin to weep openly in front of him.

“Please you have to find him!” She exclaimed desperately. “I’ve no idea where he is or what state he could be in. I’ll never forgive myself if something has happened to him.”

The distraught woman broke into further hysterics, clasping her face between her hands, muffling the strangled noises she emitted with terrible frequency. Holmes gently guided her into the client chair, an action to which she gave little protest, and offered her a handkerchief stained with the least number of chemical burns. Upon taking a seat in his own armchair, he rested his chin upon steepled fingers. Panic and alarm first gripped him once he processed her claim—how long had Watson been gone, where did he go and was this action voluntary, was he in any sort of danger, or was it...Heaven forbid, too late to take action. This performance of hers wouldn’t do, not if something had befallen his dear Watson.

“Mrs. Watson, take a moment to collect yourself. I’ll never be able to find your husband through that nonsensical blubbering if that’s all you have to provide me,” he snapped. His hands trembled, and so he sought the comfort of tobacco since he could not sink into the bliss of cocaine in that moment.

She sobered a little at his clipped and irritated tone, her cries subsiding into petite sniffles. At one time, when he was more vindictive, Holmes would have likely been most amused at the pathetic picture.

Her voice still wobbled over her words. “He left yesterday evening, and there’s been no word from him since.”

“What time?” He asked as he lit his pipe.

“Around eight thirty.”

“Did he give a reason for his...sudden departure? I am certain his going was not planned.” Holmes discerned there had been a reason, but the veracity of his suspicions was crucial to his work, or at least that was the most convenient excuse.

“He was...upset,” she finally confessed after a few seconds too long.

“As I suspected. Trouble in paradise, Mrs. Watson? These domestics do tend to sort themselves out from what I’m told,” he said derisively as he took a pull from the pipe and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the room.

She shook her head vehemently. “You don’t understand, and I am sure that smoking your pipe is not helping to clear your mind either.”

Holmes was stuck between laughing and ordering the woman out of his rooms. Since his return, he never knew how to behave around the woman Watson chose. Instead he idly turned the pipe over in his hands and emptied its contents onto the floor, dragging his foot against it for good measure.

“I thought—”

Brusquely, he cut her off, though this was not the sensible thing to do. “What?”

“I thought he might have...come here, to Baker Street.”

Holmes stiffened in his chair. Of course, that’s what Watson should have done, what Holmes would have wanted him to do. It came as a surprise to him that Mrs. Watson would concur.

“As you can see, madam, he has not retreated from domesticity within these rooms.”

“But you’ll find him nonetheless,” she insisted, certain already.

“I’ve already a few ideas where the old boy has gotten off to,” he reassured her as he disposed of his tattered dressing gown in favor of a jacket. “Watson is a great many things but being creative while inebriated is not one of them.”

Mrs. Watson rebutted him firmly. “John is not a drunk.”

“But any man can indulge himself too much when upset,” he contested, using her words. “I hope for both your sakes’ he has warned you he’s a reckless gambler when he drinks. Do you have his cheque book?

The woman looked down in lieu of a response.

“I see,” he said, unimpressed. The first time Watson had willingly lost his portion of the rent to complete strangers around a table, Holmes had begun hiding the man’s money (Watson had agreed begrudgingly when provided the clear evidence that this was the only way to ensure his half of the rent was paid) and would distribute it when he knew Watson would not blow it on the lure of dice and cards. At the very least, Watson was sensible enough not to bet on the horses.

“A man’s money is not supposed to be his wife’s business,” she replied in a resigned manner.

“How utterly absurd.” With that, Holmes leapt from his chair and started in a rush towards his door, calling out behind him, “I’ll tell him that myself!”

#holmes x watson #consulting husbands #sherlock holmes #john watson #rdj holmes #sherlock holmes movies #my writing #fanfiction

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fanonorcanon · 5 years

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Sebastian & F!Hawke (Past Handers)

Una Hawke stood frozen staring at the statue of what had once been Knight-Commander Meredith. How someone could be so tyrannical, so careless of others lives she didn't know. A part of her wanted to take her staff in hand and see if the statue would shatter. But the thought of red lyrium in shards and pieces possibly being picked up, perhaps even being smuggled away was enough to stop her.

“Is everything alright, lass?”

“Oh, Sebastian. Yes, everything is fine,” Una lied easily.

“You forced her hand and made her kill her lover. I doubt that 'everything is fine’” Fenris growled.

“You of all people wanted him alive? After what he'd done?” Sebastian argued.

“All he did was kill your precious Grand Cleric. Someone would have done it eventually. How can you see the other parts of Kirkwall, all the suffering people and say that the Chantry is justified in keeping that absurd amount of wealth to themselves? I disagree with his methods certainly but something did need to change,” Fenris said.

Una wished they wouldn't argue. It'd been hard enough to just get through the day.

“That's enough now, boys,” Isabela said in a honeyed tone.

“Can't you people leave her alone?” Varric sighed. “Head on home, Hawke. We'll deal with this,” he said, waving her off.

“Thank you, Varric,” Una murmured. She gripped her staff tighter and made her way back to the estate.

The loss of Anders still stung. It had been months ago and Una had done her best; going through the motions, putting on a happy face. It seemed to satisfy most people, save for Sebastian. He'd accused her more than once of 'simply paying lip service’ when the subject of Anders’ betrayal came up. As it often did if Sebastian had anything to say about it.

Una lay back in the bath. The water had long gone cold, any bubbles dissolved. None of it bothered her. She heard a commotion downstairs but was certain that it was just Sandal having fun.

“Messere, please. The Lady does not wish to be disturbed!” Bodhan said.

Una sighed.

“Sod it, if I want to see my sister, I'm going to,” Carver spat.

Una hustled out of the bath and wrapped herself in her favorite robe. She sat at her vanity and tried to look busy, she was reaching for her hairbrush when Carver burst in.

“Brother. A pleasure as always,” Una plastered on a smile.

“Stop making that face. It's weird. You don't have to pretend, you know. Not with me.”

Una let her face relax, the frown coming easily. “Thank you, Carver,” she murmured.

“So whose head do I need to knock around?”

“No one,” Una huffed.

“Yet,” Carver said with a smirk. “That stuffy Prince still bothering you? Seems no matter how many times people argue with him he won't see reason. Bet he thinks of old Elthina when he’s wanking off.”

“Carver Aristide Hawke!” Una groaned.

“What? I wouldn't put it past him,” Carver chuckled.

“He is strangely obsessed with her.”

“You're smiling,” Carver said smugly. “All it took was insulting Starkhaven's royalty. When is he gonna fuck off right back there?”

“Not soon enough for you, clearly,” Una snorted.

“I don't like him. It wasn't right what he made you do.”

“He didn't make me do anything, Carver,” Una sighed.

“I don't believe that for a second.” Carver rolled his eyes.

“Anders forced my hand just as much as Sebastian.”

Carver passed Una his handkerchief before she even realized that she was crying. She thanked him and dried her eyes.

“Go on and blow your snotty nose with it. I know you're just dying to,” Carver teased.

Una blew her nose loudly, taking pleasure in Carver's noises of disgust.

...

Una was slumped back in her chair nursing a bottle of wine from Fenris when a visitor arrived.

“Shall I send them away, Messere?” Bodahn whispered.

“Depends, who is it?”

“His Highness of Starkhaven, my lady.”

Una polished off the rest of the bottle while Bodahn waited patiently for her answer.

“Send him in. Along with a bottle of whiskey, please. I daresay I'll need it.”

“As you say, Messere,” Bodahn nodded.

Sebastian entered the study and stood by the fire. His posture was rigid and he held his hands behind his back. If Sebastian had noticed her shabby appearance, he chose not to mention it. From the lines on her face, to the dark circles under her eyes, it spoke much to what Una Hawke had endured. After several false starts where he opened his mouth only to close it and shake his head Bodahn entered with a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses that he set down onto the side table.

“Thank you, Bodahn. Feel free to retire for the evening, you deserve some rest,” Una said.

“Thank you, Messere,” Bodahn replied, shooting Sebastian a glare on his way out.

“I don't think he likes me very much,” Sebastian said haltingly.

“Not many people do,” Una snorted.

Sebastian's cheeks went red. “I came to apologize, Hawke.”

“Whatever for?” She asked as she filled two glasses with whiskey. Una sipped from one and handed the other to Sebastian.

“I shouldn't,” he protested.

Una pressed the glass to his chest.

“Drink.” Her voice stern and brooked no argument.

He threw back a mouthful and made an expression Una couldn't quite name.

“That's Starkhaven whiskey,” he murmured.

“Is it?”

“I'm getting off track, I came to apologize. About Anders. After everything that happened, I was still so blind in my need for vengeance. I thought I'd put that behind me after the people responsible for my family's murder had paid with their lives. You deserved better than to… I have prayed on it ever since that day and though I hadn't meant to, it was manipulative. That position I put you in. I can't apologize enough, and I know that words from a foolish man mean little when you've lost a loved one-”

“Drink,” she repeated, just as sternly as before.

Sebastian gulped and nodded. He took small sips, savoring the taste that reminded him of home.

“I'm tired of thinking about it,” Una said wearily and sat back in her chair. “I've put him out of my mind. Just another chapter in 'The Tale of the Champion’, ended.”

“You can't mean that!” He yelled.

“You're not making this any easier, Sebastian. Just leave it alone. I don't want to have this conversation anymore with anyone. If that's all you came to say, you've said it and now you can leave.”

“I know better than most what burying your feelings does to a person,” Sebastian said quietly. He finished his glass and set it back on the side table. “Thank you for the whiskey. Be well, Hawke.”

She had fled the city at the behest of Varric. Under cover of darkness on a draft horse. ‘Best to hide in plain sight’ Varric had said; a wise plan. As to where she'd go, she had not decided. She felt a lot freer than she'd been in years. No obligations, no responsibilities other than the welfare of herself and the horse.

“You need a name don't you?” Una murmured to herself as she ran her fingers through the horses mane. “Suppose I do as well. How about Ruby?” The horse nuzzled into her hand. “Ruby it is. Audra for me, I believe.”

...

She'd begun traveling years ago and had wandered the furthest reaches of Thedas; beyond the uncharted lands south of the Wilds, beyond the lands north of the Anderfels. Life was simpler as ‘Audra'. She was free to roam, beholden to no one, no longer duty bound to a city beyond saving. She found herself wandering back to the Free Marches. Perhaps she missed the only family she'd had left. The friends she'd been to hell and back with. Varric was easy to find and he was able to point her towards her former companions. Her heart somehow led her to Starkhaven.

The city had a splendor Kirkwall could never hope to match; buildings crafted of marble and granite, shops were clean and bustling with lively people.

Audra settled on the outskirts of the city and found herself falling into familiar habits, albeit not her own. It started with selling potions to get by. Then it was making remedies by request. The progression to healing the sick or injured seemed natural; perhaps too natural. She dreamt of Anders every night now. His resigned and mournful expression when she'd killed him. How his fingers brushed her cheek and he thanked her even as she sunk the knife into his chest. Audra thought she'd run out of tears only to be mistaken the nights she jolted awake thinking she could undo what she'd done. A life of service seemed an inadequate penance but she would set herself on that path all the same.

Several months after settling into her clinic a member of the city guard arrived at her door, his head bloodied and eyes unfocused. She healed the man and thought that was the end of it but before the week's end she had the city magistrate knocking on her door.

"Is there something I can help you with serrah?" She tried to keep her tone polite and even, though in her heart she was stricken with panic.

"You're the healer?" He asked with a frown.

"Yes, I am," she said slowly. "Are you in need of aid?"

"Not myself, no. There's an illness in the castle. And it's spreading. If you're half as good as my son says then you'll be able to sort it out."

"Your son?"

"He's a city guard," the magistrate replied proudly. "He said you healed him. Not just his head but his leg as well. It was an old wound. He'd thought it would never be the same, but he's got a spring in his step thanks to you."

She blushed and nodded. After she gathered a few things they were off. The magistrate brought her to the servants living quarters first. They were wracked with fever, chills, coughs and sores. After thoroughly healing five of the ill servants, Audra was growing weary.

"Magistrate, serrah, I need rest," she said. 'Or lyrium' her mind supplied, though she knew better. The people of Starkhaven were distrustful of magic and very superstitious. It was enough that they had accepted her aid. There was no need to remind them of her 'abnormality' by downing potion after potion just to finish the task at hand.

"I'll alert the seneschal and he will find a room for the night. We cannot afford for the illness to spread further."

"The Prince," she found herself saying, "is he well?"

"Quite. I'll return shortly."

Audra breathed a sigh of relief. Though she and Sebastian had not parted on the best of terms she did not wish him ill. The seneschal greeted her kindly but she could see his distress.

"Are you alright, seneschal?"

"It's my wife. She's with child but she's ill like the others. The magistrate said you need rest. But as soon as you're able, please heal her. I can't bear to lose her."

His desperation was plain to see. Audra couldn't help but think of Anders; how often he had pushed himself to heal just one more person.

"Will you take me to her?" The words left her without a second thought.

"I'd greatly appreciate that. Even just assessing the condition is more than I'd hoped at this time," the seneschal said and wiped his eyes.

…

His wife's condition was worse than she'd feared. The illness was robbing the mother of the capability to nurture the growing life inside her. Audra felt sweat gather on her brow as she poured her magic into the woman. Even as she felt the room sway, she pressed on. When Audra finished the mother had color back in her complexion and the baby wriggled energetically once more. The seneschal wept and thanked her profusely.

"Do you mind if I sit down a moment?" Audra tried to even out her breathing.

"Of course, anything you need." The seneschal gestured to the divan by the wall.

Audra made it four steps before she collapsed in a heap on the floor. The seneschal hadn't even had time to catch her.

…

Prince Sebastian walked past his chambers, only a single bodyguard- Ainsley- in tow, and onto the seneschal's chambers. The seneschal's wife was unwell and though Sebastian himself could do little to help, he wished to extend the man any and all services in his employ.

He knocked on the seneschal's chamber door and waited. Graham rarely left his quarters this time of night, opting instead to be by his wife's side as much as he could. Sebastian waited several more minutes before he tried the knob.

"Seneschal Graham?" Sebastian asked. He heard a scuffle of feet and let Ainsley enter the room first.

"Did this woman harm you, seneschal?" Ainsley asked, his hand ready to draw his sword.

"Absolutely not!" The seneschal seemed cross at the simple implication. "She healed my wife but she collapsed shortly after. I haven't been able to rouse her and she's heavier than she looks."

Sebastian stepped closer to the woman. Much of her figure was obscured by the dark billowing fabric that could only generously be referred to as a dress. Sebastian tore his gaze from her attire and onto her face. If it wasn't for the woman's long mass of golden ringlets, Sebastian could have sworn the woman was Una Hawke. She was softer in the face, more scars, even a burn along the side of her neck.

"Her name, Graham?" Sebastian asked.

"Audra I believe, your majesty."

Sebastian picked up the woman and carried her to one of the guest quarters. She was at least twice as heavy as Una -or at least the Una he remembered- had been, but he'd no trouble carrying her. He sat by her bedside until he grew tired, vowing to return in the morning before his princely duties.

…

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that the woman was Una. Sebastian had wheedled the information of her whereabouts the last time he met Varric after he'd become the Viscount of Kirkwall. All the dwarf had said was that she'd returned to the Free Marches.

He'd instructed a maidservant to watch over her and to send a runner to him if the woman woke. He'd gotten no news of Una waking throughout the day and decided to take her lyrium potions.

He dismissed the maidservant and left Ainsley by the door. As Sebastian sat at her bedside he gazed at her body. She was as beautiful as he'd remembered. He'd never told her of his infatuation; it seemed inappropriate since she had been with Anders then. The regret he still carried over his hand in Anders' fate had faded over time but looking at Hawke now it stung anew. He wanted to tell her how sorry he still was. He didn't dare hope that she'd forgive him, or even attempt to rekindle the easy friendship they'd once had. As Sebastian watched her chest rise and fall he longed to reach for her hand but resisted. He doubted she'd even want him touching her so familiarly. Instead he laced his own fingers together and waited on in silence.

Hawke began stirring in her sleep some time after midnight. She thrashed against the covers murmuring apologies. Sebastian's heart ached to see her so unsettled. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Hawke, rest easy," he murmured.

Her eyes opened and they had a wild look about them. "Sebastian?" Hawke asked breathlessly.

"It's nice to see you awake, Hawke. Gave us quite a fright passing out like that."

"I'd hoped we wouldn't cross paths," she admitted slowly. "Not because I didn't want to, it seems silly now. I didn't want you to see me looking this way."

Sebastian frowned. "Collapsed from healing people? How could you have known you would?"

"I'm not as fit as I used to be is all," she mumbled.

"Hawke, I hold you in high esteem regardless of your shape."

"Oh," she replied blankly.

"I um, I've brought lyrium potions. And an additional offer if you've a mind. I would do well to have a healer at court. Especially one of your talents. Would you consider coming to work at the palace?"

Hawke's eyebrows shot up.

"The lyrium potions do not hinge on your acceptance of the position!" Sebastian added hastily. "You've done a great service for my people. And not just yesterday if the rumors are true."

"Healing people… For quite some time now I've considered it a calling," she said softly.

Anders, his mind reminded him. It should have come as no surprise that the mage had had such a profound effect on her. They'd been lovers, and nearly more. Varric had sought to twist the knife in him deeper and told him that Anders had meant to wed Hawke.

And in a single-minded fit of rage Sebastian had taken it all from her. The more he'd prayed on it the more he did everything he could to invite her rage. He deserved no less. She hadn't lashed out at all and that had been so much worse. Even now he still sought penance. Though as he stood at her bedside his traitorous thoughts ran wild with the hope that maybe after all this time she'd finally forgive him.

"Sebastian?" Hawke asked.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? You seem… unfocused."

"As you can imagine, I often have much on my mind. Starkhaven needs a deft hand to rule it," he chuckled.

"Apologies your majesty," she murmured. "I should finish healing the ill here. If they are willing."

"Why would they be unwilling?" Sebastian frowned.

"Aren't Starkhaveners distrustful of magic?"

"Who told you that?" He asked, seeming somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

"That little bastard," she huffed.

"I beg pardon?"

"Varric. He's always told me that they abhorred magic!"

"I think he may have been trying to keep you in Kirkwall, Hawke."

"Well, I really showed him, didn't I?" She smiled gently.

#sebastian vael #female hawke #knight commander meredith #dragon age #da2 #dragon age 2 #fanon writes fic

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

each person is personally held responsible at turning away from the past (tense)

to be reborn.

(inside, Anew)

and the words we have conserved in the Scriptures point to this spiritual truth:

Jesus: I do not claim ownership of My words; they are a gift from the One who sent Me. If anyone is willing to act according to His purposes and is open to hearing truth, he will know the source of My teaching. Does it come from God or from Me? If a man speaks his own words, constantly quoting himself, he is after adulation. But I chase only after glory for the One who sent Me. My intention is authentic and true. You’ll find no wrong motives in Me.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 7th chapter of the book of John:

After these events, it was time for Jesus to move on. He began a long walk through the Galilean countryside. He was purposefully avoiding Judea because of the violent threats made against Him by the Jews there who wanted to kill Him. It was fall, the time of year when the Jews celebrated the Festival of Booths.

Brothers of Jesus (to Jesus): Let’s get out of here and go south to Judea so You can show Your disciples there what You are capable of doing. No one who seeks the public eye is content to work in secret. If You want to perform these signs, then step forward on the world’s stage; don’t hide up here in the hills, Jesus.

Jesus’ own brothers were speaking contemptuously; they did not yet believe in Him, just as the people in His hometown did not see Him as anything more than Joseph’s son.

Jesus: My time has not yet arrived; but for you My brothers, by all means, it is always the right time. You have nothing to worry about because the world doesn’t hate you, but it despises Me because I am always exposing the dark evil in its works. Go on to the feast without Me; I am not going right now because My time is not yet at hand.

This conversation came to an abrupt end, and Jesus stayed in Galilee until His brothers were gone. Then He, too, went up to Jerusalem. But He traveled in secret to avoid drawing any public attention. Some Jewish leaders were searching for Him at the feast and asking the crowds where they could find Him. The crowds would talk in groups: some favored Jesus and thought He was a good man; others disliked Him and thought He was leading people astray. All of these conversations took place in whispers. No one was willing to speak openly about Jesus for fear of the religious leaders.

In the middle of the festival, Jesus marched directly into the temple and started to teach. Some of the Jews who heard Him were amazed at Jesus’ ability, and people questioned repeatedly:

Jews: How can this man be so wise about the Hebrew Scriptures? He has never had a formal education.

Moses gave you the law, didn’t he? Then how can you blatantly ignore the law and look for an opportunity to murder Me?

Crowd: You must be possessed with a demon! Who is trying to kill You?

Jesus: Listen, all it took was for Me to do one thing, heal a crippled man, and you all were astonished. Don’t you remember how Moses passed down circumcision as a tradition of our ancestors? When you pick up a knife to circumcise on the Sabbath, isn’t that work? If a male is circumcised on the Sabbath to keep the law of Moses intact, how can making one man whole on the Sabbath be a cause for your violent rage? You should not judge by outward appearance. When you judge, search for what is right and just.

Some People of Jerusalem: There is the man they are seeking to kill; surely He must be the one. But here He is, speaking out in the open to the crowd, while they have not spoken a word to stop or challenge Him. Do these leaders now believe He is the Anointed One? But He can’t be; we know where this man comes from, but the true origin of the Anointed will be a mystery to all of us.

Jesus (speaking aloud as He teaches on the temple’s porch): You think you know Me and where I have come from, but I have not come here on My own. I have been sent by the One who embodies truth. You do not know Him. I know Him because I came from Him. He has sent Me.

Some were trying to seize Him because of His words, but no one laid as much as a finger on Him—His time had not yet arrived. In the crowd, there were many in whom faith was taking hold.

Believers in the Crowd: When the Anointed arrives, will He perform any more signs than this man has done?

Some Pharisees were hanging back in the crowd, overhearing the gossip about Him. The temple authorities and the Pharisees took action and sent officers to arrest Jesus.

Jesus: I am going to be with you for a little while longer; then I will return to the One who sent Me. You will look for Me, but you will not be able to find Me. Where I am, you are unable to come.

Some Jews in the Crowd (to each other): Where could He possibly go that we could not find Him? You don’t think He’s about to go into the Dispersion and teach our people scattered among the Greeks, do you? What do you think He means, “You will look for Me, but you will not be able to find Me,” and, “Where I am, you are unable to come”?

On the last day, the biggest day of the festival, Jesus stood again and spoke aloud.

Jesus: If any of you is thirsty, come to Me and drink. If you believe in Me, the Hebrew Scriptures say that rivers of living water will flow from within you.

Jesus was referring to the realities of life in the Spirit made available to everyone who believes in Him. But the Spirit had not yet arrived because Jesus had not been glorified.

Some of the Crowd: This man is definitely the Prophet.

Others: This is God’s Anointed, the Liberating King!

Still Others: Is it possible for the Anointed to come from Galilee? Don’t the Hebrew Scriptures say that He will come from Bethlehem, King David’s village, and be a descendant of King David?

Rumors and opinions about the true identity of Jesus divided the crowd. Some wanted to arrest Him, but no one dared to touch Him.

The officers who had been sent by the chief priests and Pharisees to take Jesus into custody returned empty-handed, and they faced some hard questions.

Chief Priest and Pharisees: Where is Jesus? Why didn’t you capture Him?

Officers: We listened to Him. Never has a man spoken like this man.

Pharisees: So you have also been led astray? Can you find one leader or educated Pharisee who believes this man? Of course not. This crowd is plagued by ignorance about the teachings of the law; that is why they will listen to Him. That is also why they are under God’s curse.

Nicodemus, the Pharisee who approached Jesus under the cloak of darkness, was present when the officers returned empty-handed. He addressed the leaders.

Nicodemus: Does our law condemn someone without first giving him a fair hearing and learning something about him?

Pharisees (ignoring Nicodemus’s legal point): Are you from Galilee too? Look it up for yourself; no real prophet is supposed to come from Galilee.

[The time came for everyone to go home.

The Book of John, Chapter 7 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 39th chapter of the book of Job where God continues addressing Job with questions:

“Do you know the month when mountain goats give birth?

Have you ever watched a doe bear her fawn?

Do you know how many months she is pregnant?

Do you know the season of her delivery,

when she crouches down and drops her offspring?

Her young ones flourish and are soon on their own;

they leave and don’t come back.

“Who do you think set the wild donkey free,

opened the corral gates and let him go?

I gave him the whole wilderness to roam in,

the rolling plains and wide-open places.

He laughs at his city cousins, who are harnessed and harried.

He’s oblivious to the cries of teamsters.

He grazes freely through the hills,

nibbling anything that’s green.

“Will the wild buffalo condescend to serve you,

volunteer to spend the night in your barn?

Can you imagine hitching your plow to a buffalo

and getting him to till your fields?

He’s hugely strong, yes, but could you trust him,

would you dare turn the job over to him?

You wouldn’t for a minute depend on him, would you,

to do what you said when you said it?

“The ostrich flaps her wings futilely—

all those beautiful feathers, but useless!

She lays her eggs on the hard ground,

leaves them there in the dirt, exposed to the weather,

Not caring that they might get stepped on and cracked

or trampled by some wild animal.

She’s negligent with her young, as if they weren’t even hers.

She cares nothing about anything.

She wasn’t created very smart, that’s for sure,

wasn’t given her share of good sense.

But when she runs, oh, how she runs,

laughing, leaving horse and rider in the dust.

“Are you the one who gave the horse his prowess

and adorned him with a shimmering mane?

Did you create him to prance proudly

and strike terror with his royal snorts?

He paws the ground fiercely, eager and spirited,

then charges into the fray.

He laughs at danger, fearless,

doesn’t shy away from the sword.

The banging and clanging

of quiver and lance don’t faze him.

He quivers with excitement, and at the trumpet blast

races off at a gallop.

At the sound of the trumpet he neighs mightily,

smelling the excitement of battle from a long way off,

catching the rolling thunder of the war cries.

“Was it through your know-how that the hawk learned to fly,

soaring effortlessly on thermal updrafts?

Did you command the eagle’s flight,

and teach her to build her nest in the heights,

Perfectly at home on the high cliff face,

invulnerable on pinnacle and crag?

From her perch she searches for prey,

spies it at a great distance.

Her young gorge themselves on carrion;

wherever there’s a roadkill, you’ll see her circling.”

The Book of Job, Chapter 39 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, may 16 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A set of posts by John Parsons about Shavuot and inner Light:

After making kiddush and eating the holiday meal on the evening of Shavuot, it is a Jewish tradition to stay up all night reciting various selections from Torah until sunrise. This custom is called tikkun leil ha’shavu’ot: תיקון ליל השבועות, the "Rectification for Shavuot Night," and the vigil was instituted by the sages as a “remedy” for Israel’s failure to be awake on the morning of the revelation (the midrash rebukes those who overslept on the morning of the revelation for needing to be roused to salute the King). Philosophically considered, the theme of “wakefulness” (עֵרוּת) is central to revelation, for without it we lose our consciousness as God’s people. We must understand our history to order our lives according to the truth. The God of our Salvation, the Redeemer of our people, the LORD YHVH, must be distinguished from the gods of the nations; the covenant we have with God must retain its sanctity; there is a real testimony and direction to our lives. Salvation does not mean being “absorbed” into some sort of nirvana or unconsciousness, but instead focuses on concreteness, historical events, our heritage, our future, and the story of our lives...

Shavuot is about mattan Torah, the “giving of the Torah,” and therefore it reminds us of our duty to “stay awake” to receive its message. Torah, as of course you know, does not mean “law” but rather “direction” or “teaching,” and studying Torah therefore involves personal response, commitment, and intense focus. Because it is rooted in the history of God’s redemption, Torah study further implies a complex dialog or discourse ranging over the centuries, stretching back to the time of Moses (and through him, to Adam), through the establishment of the network of judges (Exod. 18:13-26), through the words of the prophets of Israel, all leading to the life of Yeshua the Messiah and the message he gave to his disciples... Our faith, then, is rooted and bound up with history, with the fathers and mothers who went before us, with the lives of scribes, the sages, the prophets, the apostles, including the ongoing dialog of the people of God over the millennia.

The holiday of Shavuot has no specific ritual observance for us today other than to be awake to revelation, consciously remembering the truth of our heritage and holding steadfast to the promises of our ultimate healing. The very first commandment of the Ten Commandments begins: anochi Adonai Elohekha (אָנכִי יְהוָה אֱלהֶיךָ), “I am the LORD your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt” (Exod. 20:2). The very first commandment, then, is faith in the message of God’s love and blessing. Torah study (understood in its broadest sense) is therefore of primary importance, because faith in its truth is the precondition of all that follows. The basic commandment of Shavuot, then, is the mitzvah that precedes all the other mitzvot, namely, to wake up and believe the miracle of God is for you....

In light of this, ask yourself whether you need to understand before you will believe... The Midrash Rabbah says that God offered the Torah to each of the 70 nations, but each nation first asked to understand what was required of them, and then rejected the offer... Finally God approached Israel and asked: "Will you accept my Torah?" And they replied, kol asher dibber Adonai na'aseh (כל אשׁר־דבר יהוה נעשׂה), "all that the LORD has spoken we will do" (Exod. 19:8). In other words, Israel was willing to accept the Torah even before they understood what was required of them. Later they reaffirmed their simplicity of heart by saying na'aseh ve'nishma (נעשה ונשמע) "We will do and then we will understand" (Exod. 24:7). Praise the LORD God of Israel: You don't have to work to receive the divine light - it comes to you through simple willingness to receive it... The LORD is the inner radiance of reality; by his light we are able to see light (1 John 1:5; Psalm 36:9). [Hebrew for Christians]

5.14.21 • Facebook

The great Name of the LORD is "I-WILL-BE-WITH-YOU-ALWAYS" (אני אהיה עמך תמיד), which implies that we always live within God’s Presence and care (Deut. 31:8, Josh. 1:9, Isa 41:10, Matt. 28:20; etc.). The Name YHVH (יהוה) signifies God’s indomitable love and unfailing compassion. The LORD says to the trusting heart, hen al kapayim hachotikh: "Behold I have engraved you on the palms of my hands" (הֵן עַל־כַּפַּיִם חַקּתִיךְ; Isa. 49:16). Remember the One who stretched out his hands and died for your healing; remember that he said, "Don't be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Again, “do not be anxious for any reason, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God (שלום יהוה), which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Yeshua the Messiah” (Phil. 4:6-7). God keeps in perfect peace (lit. “the peace of peace”) those whose lean on Him (Isa. 26:3). Shabbat Shalom and Chag Shavuot Same'ach, chaverim! [Hebrew for Christians]

5.14.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 16, 2021

Our Weekly Day of Rest and Worship

“And remember that thou wast a servant in the land of Egypt, and that the LORD thy God brought thee out thence through a mighty hand and by a stretched out arm: therefore the LORD thy God commanded thee to keep the sabbath day.” (Deuteronomy 5:15)

It is significant that God’s Ten Commandments are found twice in the Bible (Exodus 20:3-17 and Deuteronomy 5:6-21). In fact, “Deuteronomy” means “the Second Law.” The two are worded identically, with a few exceptions.

The most significant of these changes is in connection with the reason given for obeying the Fourth Commandment, to “keep the sabbath day.” In Exodus, the reason given is “For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day” (Exodus 20:11). Here in “the second law,” the reason given is that God saved Israel out of bondage in Egypt and now was about to enter the Promised Land. In other words, when the Israelites observed each Sabbath day in rest and worship, they were acknowledging God as both their Creator and their Redeemer.

Christians also, as they devote every seventh day as a day of rest and worship, should be remembering God for His finished creation (“the heavens and the earth were finished,” Genesis 2:1) and His finished redemption (“It is finished” was Christ’s victory cry on the cross, John 19:30).

The word Sabbath means “rest,” of course—not “Friday” or “Saturday” or even “seventh” (the word for seventh in Hebrew is similar but distinctly different from that for sabbath). Most Christians now believe it is appropriate to honor the Lord Jesus (who is both their Creator and Redeemer) to take their seventh day of rest and worship on the first day of each week, thereby recognizing both His finished work of redemption and also His finished work of creation. HMM

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ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[FN] Rain Dance

The world was closing in on Frederick Cross. The irony of his mental state was not lost on him while he roamed the plains and deserts of the West, out of the jurisdiction of the United States, and only his aging horse as companion.

Cross wasn't an ordinary man. It wasn't that he was an educated Yankee that was transplanted into the vast territory of the Louisiana Purchase, there were plenty of them setting out to fulfil the nation's manifest destiny. Free land was an excellent magnet to pull people into the unknown. No, Cross wasn't traveling through deserts and plateaus of this country out of a desire for wealth or a new beginning; Cross was stalking the lands hunting for creatures that most believe to only exist in their nightmares.

Frederick Cross was a wizard of the American Arcanic Council.

Except, he wasn't any more. Less than a decade ago it had floundered and failed -dissolved with all its rules and agreements established with the supernatural world. Unlike its various counterparts in Europe, Asia, and Africa the American society for the magically gifted did not have a solid foundation in the New World and was doomed to falter, turning North America into a lawless haven where both monsters and wizards alike could do as they pleased. Cross, once a magical lawman for the American Council was suddenly out of a job.

Packing his bags, Cross set out West where the worst had gone. The monsters had found easy prey with the settlers moving out of the jurisdictions of the more powerful wizards that had a reputation for protecting their territories with both guns and wands. Cross turned himself in Justice, a protector for those that couldn’t protect themselves and in doing so it wasn’t long before he had a reputation as a sheriff killer; the supernatural had a knack of occupying places of authority within human society.

Cross walked in front of his horse, Ghost, reins held tight in his hand, as they navigated a tight corridor between two mesas that jutted out of the Earth. The sweat that had soaked the collar and pits of his dark clothing under his sun-bleached duster was beginning to dry, his body having already expelled all its excess water. The region was hot, but it normally wasn't this hot. Months had passed since a raindrop had sunk into the dry soil and evidence of this fact was abundant as the prairies were more dust than grass, the streams reduced to cracked clay. If the drought didn't break soon Oklahoma would only be inhabited by the dead.

The wizard took a leather pouch off Ghost and lifted it to his face only to be disappointed that it was as dry as his cracked lips.

"Shit," he mumbled before hanging it back on Ghost's saddle.

Cross sympathetically stroked the coarse fur that vaguely resembled a human skull on the otherwise brown stallion's face, "Just a while more. I hear there should be a spring on the other side of this mesa."

The horse didn't respond.

An hour later the ragtag companions exited the stone corridor to find themselves standing on a ledge of a red crack in the earth. Cross knelt down and pushed his fingers into the crimson soil, pulling them back crusted in mud. "Shit," he said in his exhale. It wasn't enough, so he screamed it into the scorching atmosphere, "Shit!" The spring had dried up.

"Missed it by a day," came a masculine voice to Cross's left. The wizard jumped and grabbed for the six-shooter hanging on his hip. Even with his sight impaired on that side by an eye patch Cross knew that it was the heat and thirst that hindered his preparedness. No one should have ever been able to sneak up on him like that.

"Put that away, Sheriff Killer," said the Indian who stood there nonchalantly, his accent so thick that it took Cross a moment to decipher, "I'm not here to fight."

Cross didn't put the revolver back into its holster but he also didn't keep it aimed at the copper-skinned man who raised hands up in peace. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Wohali. I am a medicine man of the Cherokee," he answered, "and you are a wizard."

Cross blinked at the shaman refusing to let any surprise show on his face, "What makes you say that?"

"The way you fight without a gun. The fact that you target asginas, evil spirits. And..." Wohali trailed off as he pointed towards Cross's hip opposite of his holster where five small clear vials hung.

In each vial floated one or two glowing orbs of color; gnats, motes from Allodasos, the magical realm of the fae. Drawn to earth by magical energy, the gnats fluttered between the worlds but, as many wizards have discovered, could be trapped in small vials made of carved diamond. Few humans can perform magic – only those that can see the gnats are able to utilize the creatures, harnessing their energy to create magic themselves. Without gnats, a wizard is just as powerless as any other person.

Cross looked up from the vials and nodded at the Cherokee, "What do you need?"

Wohali looked up into the sky and motioned with his arms to indicate the world around him, "We suffer. This drought is not natural."

"How so?"

"For two moons we’ve performed the rain dance, but no clouds have been summoned. An unnatural magic is stopping our rituals,” Wohali explained.

Cross removed a vial from his belt and pulling out the crystal stopper. "Let's see if that's true or not..."

Cross looked up the steep sides of the red plateau his heart beating hard and his breath becoming labored. The sun's radiance beat down upon his skin, high noon taking pleasure in his agony.

"Almost there," the wizard mumbled to himself. He didn't bother to look behind him - he knew that far below he'd see Ghost tethered, sweltering in the heat. He did, however, look towards the second path leading up to the apex – steeper than the one he was currently climbing. He supposed he’d made the right decision.

The wizard cracked his neck, stretched his legs, and resumed his slow journey upwards. With each step the heat somehow grew more unbearable and Cross could feel a tension headache building in his brow. His footfalls became heavier with each descent onto the stone path. By the time Cross came to the flat top of the plateau he was seriously reconsidering meeting up with whatever creature or person it was that had a grudge against the Cherokee. There was indeed something doing it and that something just had to be up on this gnat-forsaken mountain.

Standing firm on plateau bare save for the occasional dried-up shrub, Cross scanned the mesa and immediately saw what it was he was looking for. Situated directly in the center of the plateau was a small stone hut with a thatched roof. In front of its open door was a blazing, smokeless bonfire that rose up towards the heavens.

"Ho! Whoever’s in that cottage, douse the fire immediately," Cross yelled, his voice echoing over the stone and remarkably not cracking from a lack of water.

For a moment the wizard thought that there was nothing there, the lack of response was so complete. As Cross was about to make his way towards the giant fire a small furry creature came out of the hut, barely even three feet in height. Its entire body was covered in deep black fur and it stood on one leg while a single arm protruded from its chest. Its shaggy face consisted of a single eye in the center and a wide mouth with large tongue lopped out between its yellow teeth.

"A hiderigami. I can't say I expected that. You're a long way from Japan, aren't you, Yōkai?" asked Cross, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he examined the monster that he'd only ever read about. His headache, muscle pains, and thirst momentarily forgotten.

"I came with the migrants," spat the demon, "how did you find me?"

"The Cherokee are suffering from the drought and their rain dance isn't working. I'm here to assist them."

"You think your magic can work against me even though their ceremonies had no effect? You amuse me, wizard." the Yōkai barked out a guttural laugh.

Cross shrugged, "You misjudge me, hiderigami, I have my own rain dance."

"Try it," with the taunt, the hiderigami charged Cross, its singular leg moving faster than the wizard could have anticipated. The small demon crashed into Cross just after its fist plowed into his stomach.

Cross fell to the ground, doubled over.

The Yōkai didn't waste his opportunity and started striking the wizard with all his might. His clawed foot and hand scraped what little skin and flesh were exposed and tearing the wizard’s brown duster. Energized by the sudden sight of human blood, the demon didn't even notice that Cross had drawn his wand, a red stick not natural to Earth, from its holster next to the six-shooter.

Violence has a power to it, that's why so many religions utilize blood sacrifices. As the small creature assaulted the wizard a natural energy blossomed in the world bringing with it gnats from Allodasos that were attracted to the energy. Wand in hand, Cross sought to harness those gnats. Exerting his will in the same way he moved a muscle, the motes were pulled forward into the red stick giving it a faint glow. Ammunition loaded, the wizard then released it at the unsuspecting hiderigami.

Cross grew up living in New England and snow predominated his earliest memories. A wizard could only do what they fundamentally knew and he knew about the harshness of winter. A blast of arctic air as frigid as the worst nor'easter interlaced with hale slammed into the drought-bringer's small body and threw him back towards the hut.

The Yōkai rolled and raised his arms. The bonfire next to Cross erupted, melting away the snow and chill that the wizard had summoned.

More gnats fluttered in the wind, summoned by the blasts of freezing and scorching magics but no matter how many gnats Cross pulled into his wand, he simply wasn't powerful enough to defeat the hiderigami.

"You fail, wizard."

"Your drought was too strong. I knew I couldn't win," admitted Cross.

"Fool!" said the small demon, raising his hands and expanding the fire, "Die!"

Nothing happened. To the astonishment of the Yōkai, the bonfire remained in place, refusing to make the killing blow against the wizard. It was at about this time that a deep chanting echoed across the stone field, bringing both his and Cross's attention to the trailhead of the second path that led up the mesa.

Wohali stood with his eyes closed, chanting, feet and arms moving rhythmically shaking a rattle of rattlesnake tails.

"What?" cried the fiend, singular eye bulging in shock.

"The Cherokee rain dance doesn't only create rain. It also expunges evil spirits from the Earth. They just have to be close enough to focus on them," explained Cross with a smirk.

The Japanese demon snarled at the wizard and Cherokee as its veins began to bulge noticeably under its thick black fur. No matter how much effort it strained, it simply wasn't enough and the hiderigami remained stuck.

"Last I checked, a Yōkai was an evil spirit," Cross said just as the demon roared in agony.

Patches of black fur fell off the creature and licks of fire sprouting from his wounds until all that was left in his spot was a singular flame that quickly extinguished, leaving behind a heap of coal. With the hiderigami's demise the bonfire that he tended flickered and died as well.

Wohali stopped his chanting. In the distance there was a crack of thunder.

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