#also jo's commentary is gold | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carriagelamp · 3 years

Photo

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

#aardman animation #shaun the sheep #lumberjanes #kid paddle #asterix #the last firehawk #hunger pangs: true love bites #marian engel #bear #canadian literature #canlit #queer lit #book review #book reviews #chatter

297 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part twenty one) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5850 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty one: It’s Dean’s turn to make an entrance in the main arena. The rides lead to an interesting business proposal by a new client, but brings a lot of doubt too. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Watching From A Distance - David Ramirez (opening scene) Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @atc74, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Saturday morning has started early for the crew of the Gold Canyon Ranch. Before the crack of dawn Benny has mucked out the stables and fed the horses, making sure they had time to digest their pellets before the show starts. Together with Jo, Y/N has hand-walked the animals who are competing today, letting them stretch their legs and graze a bit. She took extra time for Meadow, who always seems to need a moment to adjust to new surroundings. The mare was fresh today, the brisk air only fueling her feisty temper. Her owner couldn’t help but snigger when she lifted her tail and started jogging next to her instead of just strolling along, showing off to anyone who would look at her.

It’s 8 AM when Dean puts his foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swinging his right leg over the back of the Bon Jovi, the light catching the fringe of his chaps. He pulls his hat a little tighter on his head once he’s seated, while the well-behaved stallion waits patiently for his rider to give him an aid, which he does, after adjusting the length of his reins.

With the sun only just peeking from behind the horizon, rays break through the leaves of the trees next to the warmup area, adding to the still peaceful surroundings. The commentator isn’t blaring through the speakers yet, the ring isn’t full of other riders trying to find a spot to train without running into each other. It’s the calm before the storm, a bit of peace and quiet both horse and human appreciate. No distractions, no sensory overload for the inexperienced stallion. It’s the perfect way to introduce him to the element of competition.

Y/N has just finished filling up the water buckets in the stables and rests her arms on the fence of the small arena. She watches Dean slowly start up the beautiful palomino, its coat seemingly made from gold in the morning light. Her boyfriend is wearing clean dark jeans and a navy button up, a black Stetson to match his show outfit. Never will she get tired of watching that man ride, but dressed like he is now, she can’t take her eyes off him. Y/N sighs deeply, swooning at the sight. She really did land the most handsome cowboy in Arizona, didn’t she?

The head wrangler seems composed as ever, not breaking a sweat over having to ride into the ring in thirty minutes, something that she admires and envies all at the same time. She wishes she could feel relaxed right before a test, instead of being the nervous wreck that she usually is. Meadow will not make her entry until later this evening and already Y/N dodged breakfast, well aware that she won’t be able to swallow a bite, stage fright blocking her throat. Just thinking about the premiere of her freestyle makes it slightly harder to breathe, but Dean takes that away when he rides past, breaking his concentration for a second and shooting her a wink and a soft smile. She chuckles as they keep a hold of each other’s gaze for a few seconds as his horse walks by. God, she wishes she has his confidence.

Other competitors join Dean and Bon Jovi in the warm up area, but the stallion only murmurs at a mare once, its rider gently yet strictly reminding him to keep his head in the game. Before they know it, the same voice that did the commentary on last night’s barrel race competition sounds from the amplifiers.

“Good mornin’, folks! It’s another beautiful day here at the Flagstaff Horsefair. We’re getting ready for the first class of the day, the Standlee Forage Reining Competition for four year olds. Highest overall score wins five bags of high quality horse food.”

The commentator continues to promote the sponsors of the event, Dean giving his horse a little scratch on the shoulder when he tenses slightly as the loud voice sounds from the speakers. Aware that it will soon be their turn, the rider allows himself to enjoy the atmosphere as he casts his gaze over the other competitors. He isn’t too worried about the fixture, confident in his own skills and those of his horse.

“Dean Winchester, two minutes!” A steward announces, looking down at his clipboard to double check the line up. The cowboy nods in acknowledgement, directing his gaze to Y/N as he waits for her to catch up. He watches as she puts down the grooming bag next to her on the sandy arena footing, attending to the bell boots that Bon Jovi is still wearing. She unbuckles the leather clasps, putting the leg protection away. “Would you like some water?” she offers. He shakes his head, casually, taking in the arena. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y/N looks up at him, trying to read what he is feeling. To her, it is strange how he doesn’t seem nervous. He’s relaxed, collected; reminding her of the still waters at Canyon Lake, where they swam together for the first time on the trail that changed everything. It is as if he can’t register the pressure that should be resting on his shoulders. Maybe he truly believed he is that good. “Break a leg,” she speaks, fondly. “Don’t wish that upon me, Yankee,” Dean chuckles. “Kinda need them to do my job.” She laughs and pats him lovingly on his denim clad thigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.” “Well, I have my good luck charm with me.” He lays his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “C’mere.” She steps closer to Bon Jovi, tiptoeing to reach up while Dean leans over to level with her. His lips brush over hers softly, his nose nuzzling hers in a sweet gesture. She smiles into the gentle kiss. “Go get’em, cowboy.”

The wrangler straightens himself in the saddle, while his girlfriend picks up the groom bag and steps back. He guides his horse into the tunnel under the bleachers towards the arena, concentrating on the gates in front of him, waiting for them to open. The reigns feel smooth between his fingers as he drowns out the noise around him. With his free hand, he encouragingly strokes the side of Bon Jovi’s neck, his pearly white manes contrasting beautifully against his flaxen coat. He has grown accustomed to these kinds of events, his nerves not bothering him anymore. He finds solace in his work, seeing it more as fun than as a chore. He enjoys the challenge the youngsters bring him, from the initial moment of putting on a halter, to getting in a saddle, to showing them all for the very first time. In less than a year, the horses go through such growth, and it’s always a pleasure to be a part of their journey.

“First competitor of the day is Dean Winchester, riding Bon Jovi, a stallion by Renegade. This horse is bred by Victor Hendriksen and owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch in Phoenix, Arizona.”

Y/N watches as the palomino calmly comes through the gate, not batting an eye at his new and impressive surroundings. Submissive and willing, the stallion responds to his rider’s aids when he’s asked to halt. To witness how trustful each and every horse is with the trainer, surfaces some kind of gratification inside of her. The way Dean schools the animals isn’t based on authority or rank, but much more about collaboration and respect. It’s something she admires about him from the get go.

Dean leads Bon Jovi through a precise pattern of figures, spins and stops. Reining is all about the athletic abilities of the horse, and the rider controlling every movement. The horse demonstrates attitude and willingness, while the signals given by the rider are nearly imperceptible. The run is evaluated by a panel of three judges, who mark each pattern individually. In this youngster class, speed isn’t key yet, but correctness is. Every stride must look effortless and relaxed, as if the animal and rider have become one. That’s exactly what is on display in the arena right now.

With a smile of adoration across her face, Y/N leans her forearms on the steel fence, watching the head wrangler. A small crowd that got up at the crack of dawn have occupied the first rows on the bleachers and by the fence, encouraging shouts and whistles rallying the first competitor on. The young horse is so fixed on his rider, that he doesn’t even pick up on the sounds. Bon Jovi isn’t fast in the spins yet, but that’s okay, because his footwork is close to perfect. After three well executed sliding stops, Dean gives the palomino the signal to back up, his spur not even touching the horse’s flank. Submissively, he reverses until his rider drops the reins and rewards the stallion, who blows out a purr through his nose, looking up at the stands curiously when they applaud the performance, much like the commentator.

“Well, if that ain’t setting the bar, I don’t know what is. What a solid ride from Dean Winchester and Bon Jovi!”

While Dean exits the arena, he searches the people along the fence and on the bleachers. He’s looking for Bobby, who he finds on the sidelines. His uncle holds his gaze and gives the head wrangler a nod, telling him so much without using actual words. They haven’t spoken about the elephant in the room yet, today’s pace being far too high to squeeze in the awkward conversation, and so both men have decided for themselves to let it rest. Besides, they might have sold a number of horses yesterday, that doesn’t mean they can lean back now.

The cowboy leads his horse back to the warm up ring, meeting his girlfriend half way. “Good run!” she compliments, taking Bon Jovi’s reins after Dean swings his right leg over the saddle and dismounts. She shoves the water bottle in his hand this time, knowing if she had asked, he would have declined anyway. “I had a little wobble in the second roll back, but yeah, the rest was good.” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, thirstier than he likes to admit.

Since Dean is competing two separate horses in the same class, he’s both first and last to enter the main arena. It’s going to be a race against the clock, and he looks around the warm-up area in search for his next four-legged dance partner. “Where’s Jo? Ringo is up in thirty minutes.” “Better get off your high horse, Mister, otherwise this is the last time I’ll tack up for you,” his cousin replies snappily, appearing from behind with a bay gelding named Ringo Starr in tow. Dean is about to counter her, but he bites his tongue, knowing she’s not kidding and will never do him a favor again if he gives her attitude. And so he mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath when he takes the Quarterhorse from her.

As swiftly as he got down from Bon Jovi, he now mounts Ringo, the next four year old for him to compete. As he does so, his score is announced over the speakers, but he can’t quite make out the numbers. When he glances at the scoreboard, he’s pleasantly surprised. “218.5 points!” Y/N cries out, delighted. “That’s fantastic!” With a content smirk adorning his features, Dean nods satisfied; that is indeed a good score. Good enough to put Bon Jovi on the podium. Good enough to ask a high price when the buyers come calling. He doesn’t have time to settle on a high cloud, though; he needs to ready Ringo for his run.

Y/N hoists the groombag on her shoulder and takes the kind palomino stallion to exit the warm-up arena. This is her job after all, she might be dating her supervisor, she’s still the intern. They made a deal when she arrived at the ranch that Dean would not treat her differently, so she intends to do the work she’s come here to do. Jo, however, seems to have a different idea, and nudges her. “I’ll take Jovi. You go cheer on your John Wayne.” The blonde cowgirl winks at her friend, taking over the load.

She chuckles, handing the petite blonde the horse. Grateful to be able to see more of Dean’s horsemanship in action, she finds a spot by the fence. The sun steadily rises, casting out what was left of the night’s coolness, the light radiating down on her much warmer and brighter. Wishing she had brought a hat, the cowgirl takes off her jacket and puts it away in the groombag. She watches her boyfriend warm up Ringo, who seems a little bit more nervous, now that the ring is more crowded. His rider does a good job reassuring the young animal, though, giving the bay gelding some light exercises to keep his mind of the commotion around him, rewarding the Quarter every time he shows a sign of relaxation.

“Beautiful day to be buying horses, isn’t it, darling?” Y/N startles at the sudden gruff voice, snapping her head to where the sound came from. The supposedly kind words to start conversation are pronounced with a English accent, by a stranger dressed in black. The rather short man who she guesses would be somewhere in his fifties leans on the steel rail, his fingers laced together while he watches riders in the arena.

“Y - yeah, I suppose so,” Y/N stammers, unsure how to respond. “My apologies, where are my manners.” The man turns to her and offers his hand. “The name is Fergus. Fergus MacLeod.” The cowgirl frowns at his introduction. She has heard of him, but has never met the owner of the MacLeod Studfarms in person. “Y/N Y/L/N,” she returns, slightly hesitant. “Oh, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work. You’re quite the talent,” the Englishman admits. “That run at the State Championships was spectacular.”

Slightly creeped out, but not trusting her instincts entirely, she stays quiet for a moment. This is a man of great influence in the business, so she does want to hear what he has to say. “You saw me ride?” she replies. He nods, an amused smirk resting on his thin lips. “I did indeed, love. Talking about talent, that horse is something else as well. Meadowsweet, is her name, isn’t it?” “Yeah...” Y/N returns, somewhat suspicious. “Tell me; are you the owner of that lovely mare? Or are there parents and sponsors involved?”

Her stance becomes a bit more defensive, not just because of the rapid questions that are fired at her, no matter how charming this gentleman is trying to be. No, it’s his assumption that she’s too young to own such a horse that gets to her. “I am the owner, as a matter of fact,” she states, a new found strength in her voice. “Good to know I am talking to the proper person then.” Her company chuckles, apparently pleased by her feisty counter. “Because I have a proposition for you.” Before he can make her an offer, Y/N intervenes. “Meadow isn’t changing owners, if that’s where you’re headed, Mr. MacLeod.” Fergus takes her in, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the pleased little smile remains. “I can make it worth your while.” “I believe you can, but no matter your offer; she’s not for sale,” the cowgirl makes herself clear, a sternness in her voice that should tone the horse trader down. It doesn’t. Instead he chuckles dryly and takes a little booklet out of the inner pocket of his black coat; it’s a cheque book. Not taking no for an answer, he pulls out a pen and writes down his signature. “Everything is for sale, love. All one has to do is pay the right price,” he says, wisely.

Fergus MacLeod rips off the sheet of paper, handing her the cheque. Not wanting to be downright rude, she takes it, staring at the empty line; it’s blank. “You may write down whatever number you seem fit. It’s up to you,” the Brit elaborates. “Now that I’ve got your attention, would you happen to know where I can find Bobby Singer? I would like to have a little chat with my old friend.” “He’s by the main arena.” She points in the direction of the entrance. “Wonderful,” he quips. “It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

A shiver runs down her spine as MacLeod walks away to find her boss. She’s highly aware that he is a very influential and important person in the industry, but he has got some nerve. Y/N might look like an innocent and timid girl, but there is no way in hell that she would ever give up Meadow, no matter how large the figure.

She stares at the cheque, crumbling it in her hand before she stuffs it in her pocket, angrily. She has never met someone as brazen as Fergus Macleod at a show before, and she has been to enough to know. But she doesn’t want to waste time and think about the confrontation now. The cowgirl would much rather focus on her wrangler boyfriend who is wowing the judges.

Dean’s run with Ringo Starr is another great one, and with him being the last contestant of the class, the rankings are decided the moment the score comes in. With 215.5 points, he secures the third place, behind another rider and Bon Jovi, who has held on to the lead. An impressive result, one that he knows his uncle is going to be very pleased with.

When the Dean exits the arena, he is met by his girlfriend, who is smiling widely. “You nailed it!” she chirps with enthusiasm. “They did good,” Dean says, rustling Ringo’s black mane, more than satisfied with the performance of both young horses, but not taking the compliment upon himself.

The cowboy gets down from the saddle, noticing that the gelding is tired from all the first impressions and new sensories that come with the first show. Ringo’s coat is damp, a shade darker because of the perspiration; he gave it his all. Intending to hand-walk the horse back to the stables to shower the animal and give him his hay, he strolls to exit the warm-up area, but Bobby stops him. “Dean?” his uncle calls out, beckoning him to come over. Y/N glances up, following Mr. Singer’s voice. Noticing that Fergus MacLeod has found who he claims to be his ‘old friend’, her face falls slightly. She wonders what the Englishman would want, and why Dean has been invited into the conversation. Questionly, she looks back at her boyfriend and takes over Ringo from him, reckoning she should leave since it’s none of her business what will be discussed, but the man in black has different ideas. “Y/N, do join us, and bring the horse as well, love.” The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rises; what did he just call her? Unable to prevent his jaw from clenching, he steps towards the two ranch owners, trying to keep his cool. Who the hell is this dickhead? “That’s Fergus MacLeod,” Y/N whispers, as if she just read his mind. “He’s the founder of some of the largest stud farms in the country and even has stables in Europe. Owns at least two dozen licenced stallions.” The wrangler nods in acknowledgement. Great, some snobby bigshot. Very much aware that this new face might have something to offer Bobby, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Ah, the one and only Dean Winchester,” Fergus’ grins mischievously. “Nice work there in the ring. Your uncle here told me it’s the first time those two horses are competing.” “That’s right,” the cowboy confirms. “Macleod is the name. Pleasure to meet ya.” The Brit extends his hand, which Dean shakes a little firmer than normal. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish with the display of his own physical strength.

“Fergus here is interested in buying the four year olds,” Bobby explains, apparently noticing his head wrangler’s suppressed hostility, shooting it down with a piercing stare, warningly. Dean’s demeanor changes instantly as he raises his eyebrows. If this horse trader is going to bring the big bucks, he knows he needs to keep himself in check for the sake of the ranch. “Mind if I have a peek?” Macleod asks, gesturing at the horse. “Go ahead.” Dean steps back, making room for him to inspect the horse.

Fergus circles the horse, taking the bay gelding in from several angles. He feels the hindlegs for any swelling or abnormalities and does the same with the front legs, after Y/N has removed the bandages Ringo wore in the ring to prevent any injuries. The horse trader then proceeds to look Ringo in the face and check his teeth. After a satisfied nod the man turns around, straightens his impeccable suit. He then takes a tissue from his breast pocket and wipes his hands. “It’s a fine looking animal you’ve got here, Singer,” he compliments. “You may take the horse away, my dear.” Even though she isn’t fond of the degrading way he is talking to her, Y/N obliges. Taking care of the horses when she’s not riding herself is her job after all. “Oh, and Miss Y/L/N…” She halts the horse next to her and turns around. The Englishman has his hands in his pocket now, twinkling hazel-colored eyes looking her up and down. “Bobby here tells me that you’re a well-educated woman. A master degree in Business & Economics? Impressive. Someone as smart as yourself has to acknowledge that it’s a good deal. I assume you will consider my offer on your horse,” he pauses, more intrigued with every detail he learns about the woman before him. “I would like to point out there’s room for six figures on that cheque. What numbers to fill in, is your choice.”

Dean wants to snap his head at his girlfriend, but keeps his posture. Did this man just offer her several hundred thousand dollars for Meadow? Eyes wide in astonishment, he exchanges a look with his uncle, both trying to keep a straight face. “She’s not for sale,” Y/N makes clear one more time, pronouncing the words slow to prove a point. Amused with her stubbornness, the corner of MacLeod’s mouth twitches upward. Cocky, he holds her gaze, but eventually yields. “Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind. The offer stands.”

Without responding to Fergus’ tenacious reply, she turns away, nudging Ringo to follow her. The three men watch her leave, Dean knows her well enough to be able to tell that MacLeod has her blood boiling. He’s not surprised Y/N didn’t think twice about shooting the bid down. Meadow means the world to her, more than any amount of money could ever buy. But holy shit. Six figures! Realisation hits him; it would be enough money to save the Ranch.

The Brit who made the generous offer pulls him from his thoughts. “Alright, lads. Let’s talk business, shall we?” The three walk away from the few people that are lining around the warm-up area. A little further down, on a crossing of two paths, they stop. The little square is still quiet at this hour. Safe from lurking eyes and eavesdropping ears, they gather around one high table near a drink stand. Even though it’s a non-serve area, the influential man calls the bartender to take their order. The young guy comes back with a coke for the rider - who still has a run later this afternoon - and two bourbons. Dean didn’t even know they served whiskey at this event, let alone this early.

MacLeod cuts right to the chase. “I will offer you thirty grand for the four year old Quarters, and I will take them off your hands right away.” Dean doesn’t flinch, being in these kinds of conversations before. He can maintain his poker face, no matter how amble the offer. It is a negotiation after all. The owner of the two horses thinks about it for a second, but then comes with a counter. “Forty.” “C’mon, Bobby. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Fergus clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly after which he takes a sip from his drink. “Now, I know times are tough and that you’re experiencing difficulty staying afloat, but do realize I am already doing you a favor here. Thirty thousand dollars is more than fair.”

The head wrangler is taken aback by the Englishman’s comment. How would he know the ranch is struggling? Did people in their close circle spill the beans? Apparently MacLeod spots the unpleasant surprise on the faces of the men opposite of him, because he comments on it without missing a beat. “It’s a small world, lads. People talk. You should know that by now, Singer.” Bobby moves past the comment rather quickly and ponders about the sum. Fergus isn’t wrong; it’s not just a decent offer. It’s a generous one, one he isn’t going to decline. The Englishman across the table knows it too; the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch is desperate for money. “Cash,” he demands, accepting the original offer. The dark haired man strokes his neatly trimmed beard. “I can arrange that.”

The head wrangler might not like the horse trader, but he did just make this weekend ten times better. He gulps down the last of his coke, crumpling the can before he dunks it in the trash on the side of the crossroads. The cowboy figures the deal will be sealed with a handshake before they go separate ways, but MacLeod has a second matter to settle. “I have another proposition for you.” Having their attention, the middle aged Brit observes their reaction, his eyes full of mischief. The two members of the ranch near Phoenix share a look. “We’re listening.” Bobby says.

Fergus swirls his whiskey, studying the amber liquid in his glass. “I own a stallion,” he starts off, putting the drink to his mouth in the short pause. “I bought him at the Derby Quarterhorse Auction for over a million dollars. He’s licensed, one of the best pedigrees I’ve ever seen, not to mention his conformation and movements. He already covered four hundred mares this year. I expect great things from this horse, he is supposed to bring in the money. There is one slight issue, however.” Dean listens, intently, wondering where he is going with this. “And what would that be?”

“The horse has some… behavioral issues,” the stud farm owner claims, careful in his choice of words. “It has quite the temperament, one his former trainers haven’t been able to use in their advantage, my advantage.” Slowly the head wrangler begins to realize why the price MacLeod is willing to pay for the two Quarters is so steep; he is playing a game of give and take. The way the owner of this stallion is talking about money and business, calling the animal ‘it’, doesn’t sit well with him either. Where is the horse’s well-being in all of this?

“What’s his name?” Dean likes to know. Fergus frowns at that, clearly not understanding why it would matter, but he answers anyway. “You might have heard of this horse; his name is Cain.” Dean has heard of the horse. The whopping 1.2 million that was paid for the talented Quarter made headlines in the industry.

“What are these behavioral issues?” he needs to know, not taking the bait just yet. “Typical stallion behavior; dominance is the main problem. The horse has character, what can I say?” MacLeod laughs it off. “Anyway, I am looking for a capable horseman. Someone who can actually break him in.” The owner of the horse in question shifts his penetrating gaze from Bobby to Dean. The cowboy realizes they are at a verge of a possibly very important business deal, but he cannot stop himself from commenting on the peculiar choice of words. “I don’t ‘break in’ horses. I teach them to trust and to cooperate,” he states firmly. “Potato, potahto,” Fergus dismisses. “Are you up for the job, or not?”

Dean exchanges a glance with his uncle, a silent conversation happening between them, only possible by years and years of working together. When Bobby rights himself, he has a crucial question. “What’s in it for us?” Again that small smile on the Englishman’s face; he knows he’s close to persuading them.

“A thousand dollars each month, paid in advance, and a fifty grand bonus when Cain successfully completes the stallion performance tests in April. Plus, five percent of his earnings in coverage for the coming year. After he passes the exams, we can set up a contract in order for you to remain his permanent rider,” MacLeod sums up.

Bobby analyzes the offer. It’s tempting in many aspects. Fergus just mentioned that the stallion already covered four hundred mares this year. With his stud-fee being at least a thousand dollars, they are looking at twenty grand cut already. Then there’s the regular income, not to mention the bonus. This deal might be the lifeline his family business was frantically fishing for. It’s up to Dean, though. He is the one who is going to work with this horse, and the only one who can make an educated guess if it’s achievable in five months' time.

“We would like to see Cain first,” Bobby decides, wanting to offer his head wrangler a moment to evaluate the animal. “I’m afraid that will not be possible at this time, but I tell you what.” The Brit finishes his bourbon, setting the glass down on the high table. “The horse will be delivered to your property and you will have a week to decide if you want to take on this job. If not, no hard feelings.”

Dean glances aside, spotting the slight nod of his uncle. Seems like they can’t go wrong here; if Cain turns out to be more difficult than Fergus leads on, they can always send him back. “You got yourself a deal,” Bobby concludes, extending his hand to the man in black. “Splendid.” The horse trader smirks, delighted with the arrangement they agreed on, shaking their hands. When he grips Dean’s hand tight, he looks him deep in the eye, as if he recognizes something in the handsome cowboy.

“You’re John’s boy, aren’t ya?” he realizes. “I bought a couple of horses from that Winchester back in the day. How is he?” Tension grips Dean’s body, the sound of his father’s name on Macleod’s tongue sending a shiver down his limbs. He tries to breathe in without it being too obvious, finding it difficult to keep his mask on. “I wouldn’t know,” he answers curtly.

Fergus furrows his brow at that, clearly curious as of why the two aren’t in touch anymore. He allows a silence to linger between them, their handshake holding on to the apprehensiveness. “Hmm,” he responds at the peculiar answer. “Well, you are just like your father. I could’ve sworn it was him when I saw you in the arena earlier; spitting image. You have his ways.”

It’s like MacLeod is deliberately trying to get under his skin, and no matter how hard the young cowboy fights it, the man he’s making a deal with is succeeding. The words spoken with that distinct English accent ring in his head, much louder than they were pronounced, cracking like a whip on his back. You are just like your father. You have his ways.

Dean releases the stallion owner’s hand, quickly slipping his into the back pockets of his jeans, drying his clammy palms on the denim. He hopes neither of the men in his company notice him shaking. He inhales through his nose, squares his shoulders and stands tall, pushing down the anxiousness that is stirring in his stomach. Disappointed in himself, he chews on the inside of his cheek in search for distraction. He can’t let a simple comment get to him like this.

Now that he has shut down the attitude the ranch hand was giving him, the Englishman looks down on Dean with a sinister smile on his lips. He keeps a hold of the Winchester’s gaze, until he averts his green eyes. Only then MacLeod steps away. “We’ll stay in touch. I’ll have my men pick up the two Quarters this afternoon,” Fergus announces, his long, dark overcoat swaying slightly as he turns around once more. “A pleasure doing business with ya.”

With those words, MacLeod walks away and leaves the two men in the middle of the square. The sun is suddenly uncomfortably warm to Dean. He sniffs and takes a few steps from his uncle, as if the two or three strides would actually be enough to walk it off. He places his hands in his side and dips his hat forward when he faces Bobby again, making sure the older man can’t sense how unsettled he is. But Bobby is no fool. He knows his nephew better than the boy’s own father did, and that’s exactly what’s bothering Dean.

“You alright?” he checks. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dean returns just a little too rapidly, shrugging it off. “Just…” His uncle is careful not to address the subject directly, yet at the same time he needs to offer the opportunity for the wrangler to vent. “With what he said about John--” “Don’t.”

The simple word comes out harsher than he meant it to leave his lips, the darkness in his eyes when he shoots his father-figure a glare soon replaced by regret. Dean knows Bobby is trying, like he and Ellen have for the past fifteen years. But no matter how much time passes, he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the past.

His uncle isn’t mad, nor is he disappointed in his surrogate son. He just nods slowly at the dismissal, before he begins to make his way to the stables. Dean remains in the middle of the crossing, his hands still firm on his hips, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathes out. The deal they just made should bring much needed relief, but the meeting leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He gathers himself and follows after his Bobby. They have more showings to prepare for, but nothing can cast out the words spoken by Fergus MacLeod. Not the rhythmic thumping of hooves in the dirt, not the chatter and laughs produced by the growing crowd, nor the music that comes from the main arena. All he can register is the painful message, which reopens the deep scars on his heart every time they bounce off the walls inside his head.

I am just like my father.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty two here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural AU #Dean fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester #Jo Harvelle #Bobby Singer #Ellen Harvelle #Benny Lafitte #Kate Huntington

185 notes · View notes

seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

75 notes · View notes

wide-eyedscottishlass · 3 years

Text

Scarlett and the Professor

moodboard by @strangelock221b

[continued from]

Following her watery lesson in the bathtub—in which her insatiable lover had proven his endurance matched perfectly with his dedication to their mutual pleasure—the rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet happiness for Scarlett. Once dried and dressed, he had headed back to his study to grade the last of his papers, having instructed her to get herself dressed and promising he would come back to collect her in no longer than twenty minutes. “I think a tour of the manse is in order once I return,” he’d promised, pressing a few lighthearted kisses to the back of her neck as she stood before the bathroom mirror, towel-clad and about to brush out her hair. “And then perhaps we’ll take a little drive to see what other adventures we can get up to.”

And as good as his word, Hennessy had squired her about his home both inside and out, quietly delighting Scarlett with his apparent need to maintain at least some small physical contact with her most of the time. Splaying one hand on the small of her back or draping an arm across her shoulders, and even stealing occasional kisses from her when she least expected it. How heavenly it felt to know by these simple gestures how thoroughly he now considered her to be his own! His surprisingly tender affections proved distracting enough that if asked, Scarlett would not have been rightly able to answer questions about the layout of his home.

Beneath a cloudless, cerulean sky, they strolled through the wild-grown garden that bordered the pool and jacuzzi behind Hennessy’s house. A riot of indigenous plants and flowers grew thick around them; despite her several months on the island, they still struck Scarlett as breathtakingly exotic. Bougainville and anthurium flourished unchecked, along with several species of lily, banana flowers, and hibiscus; the vibrant reds and pinks, golds and oranges, vied for dominance amidst the deep green of the leaves and vines, with splashes of light and dark blues throughout. The center of the garden held an old, marble bench beside a small ornamental pool filled with lotus blossoms. Beyond this private little piece of Eden lay a wide, grassy slope that ended at a hedgerow which ran the length of the property. But for all its tranquil charm, it was clear from his commentary that Hennessy preferred the shingle of white sand beach which she had viewed from his balcony. Scarlett hoped that in time he’d take her there as well.

“Feeling peckish yet?” They were sitting beneath the umbrella of a wrought iron table on the patio near the pool. “I’m famished…how about we grab a bite to eat?”

“I’d like that,” she agreed, game for whatever he had in mind. Hennessy held out his hand to her as she stood up and whisked her along with him to his garage. He continued to play the gentleman, seating her in his sleek, midnight blue convertible and advising her well. “Buckle up, little lamb—I’m feeling the need for speed,” he grinned, slamming shut her door and then taking his place behind the wheel.

Scarlett was shocked to discover that despite being a man who held nearly absolute and steadfast control over every aspect of his life (that she’d observed thus far, anyway), Hennessy drove like a maniac. Though he must’ve known well the curves and dips and swells of the two-lane road from his home and beyond, he took them with an incautious speed and virtual abandon that were quite harrowing. She did her best to keep her eyes set on the road in front of them, making involuntary sounds of distress at his most egregious transgressions, and feeling him sneak peeks her way while chortling at her obvious distress. “Almost there, m’dear,” he laughed as the tires squealed through yet another reckless curve and played havoc with her loose, fishtail braid—so that once they’d reached the little roadside, seafood shack that was their destination, Scarlett had to loose it from it’s binding and run her shaky hands through her hair to set it right.

Once her nerves and stomach had settled, she discovered she was hungry enough to put that harrowing experience behind her–for the time being–and indulge in the bounty which Hennessy has ordered for them, and then laid out on one of the weathered picnic tables behind the small, brightly shingled building. “The best and freshest catches on the island,” he bragged, “Prepared with all the culinary magic only a native chef could provide!” Scarlett found greater pleasure than she might ever have imagined in watching him indulge his ravenous appetite. They feasted upon cornmeal battered shrimp, a crab and curry stew, conch fritters served with a spicy brown rice, pickled mackerel in a thick coconut milk sauce beside fried plantains. At Hennessy’s insistence, she even tried the Bake and Shark with Citrus Chutney, surprising herself that she actually enjoyed it. He was larger than life in everything he did, and she felt a swell of simple affection for him fill her heart, and unabashed gratitude that she was along for this glorious, albeit unpredictable, ride with him.

Afterwards, he surprised her yet again, offering to drive to her flat so she could grab a bathing suit and another change of clothes—indicating that he expected her to stay with him a second night. Even another nerve-wracking drive back to his estate couldn’t dampen her joy at that.

____________________________________________________

The sun glinted off the ripples and waves lapping at the warm, white sand of Hennessy’s beach as he spread out a thick blanket for them to recline upon. Curious gulls flew low, checking for food scraps that so often accompanied the presence of humans in their domain. Scarlett stood where the water just kissed her toes, breathing deep the salty tang of the Atlantic, a scent that often awoke a quiet longing in her heart for home---though she wouldn’t dream of being anywhere in the world right now but at her lover’s side.

A sudden updraft swept through her hair, and the squawks of protest from the sea gulls caught in the rising air current drew her attention away from the ocean and back behind her. Hennessy had one arm crooked and was drawing swirls in the air, that same determined focus on his face as when he’d worked that mysterious water magic as she bathed. He’s clearing the birds away, was her immediate thought; he’s literally stirring the air to send them away! How in hell is this possible? Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet didn’t feel as solid as it should.

He flashed her his ever-charming sideways smile, and held out his free arm to her and he lowered the other and the ‘breeze’ died away. “Come sit with me, Scarlett.” Hennessy’s tone of command was undeniable, and her knees went weak with her need to obey. She took his proffered hand and then settled onto the blanket, not allowing the certainty that she wasn’t the first woman to share it with him here, to dull the pleasant anticipation that he would inevitably be taking here soon in whatever way pleased him best.

Hennessy made their small talk easy for a time, skirting the edges of the questions which he had to know were weighing on her mind, while drawing from her the details of what he certainly must think of as her quaint, little life. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow while Scarlett sat cross-legged and continued to watch the waves lap at the warm sand. As relaxed as she was feeling, she could also feel him watching her as though everything she told him was of great interest---and as if he was in no rush to pursue his pleasure just yet.

The blazing orange disk of the sun had sunk lower on the horizon by the time that conversation lapsed, and he finally saw fit to broach the topic that remained foremost in her thoughts. “You’re quite a patient woman, Scarlett. Especially for one so green.” The husk of his voice was as soothing as the rhythm of the waves, and drew her eyes his way. “I’m impressed. You’ve held your tongue all these hours about something I know you must be bursting to ask about.”

Scarlett shrugged and gave a wee smile. “My Mam always taught me that patience was a virtue—but before he lit out into the wider world to make his fortune, my Da taught me a simpler wisdom…”

“Which was?”

“That I should take a lesson from the Sea, whose patience endures forever. And who always gets want she wants, in the end.”

“Hmmm…wise man, your Da,” Hennessy reflected, “Though he’d have done better by you not to father you in absentia.”

“I suppose so,” she sighed, resolving to keep that quiet pain from tainting this precious time with her teacher, “Though it’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

He smiled at her winningly, “You have an apt way of looking at things, m’dear.” He took to his feet as he told her, “And your patience has earned you the answer to the mystery of the afternoon.” Hennessy held out his hand to help her rise up, guided her forward to stand with her toes tucked just beneath the edge of the water again, and then stood behind her, “But first a little demonstration more.”

The sun had dipped almost completely beneath the waves; the air was warm and soft, rife with the night’s possibilities. Scarlet felt, as much as heard, Hennessy draw a deep breath, and in moments saw the seafoam suddenly part around her feet, wetting the sand in a widening circle that left her skin untouched. The circle soon grew to encompass them both, closing behind him.

Scarlett licked her lips, barely able to speak. “It’s real…it really happened. Part of me kept insisting that I dreamed the whole thing, but…but it’s real…”

Hennessy stepped into her and spoke against he ear, making her shiver with his truth, “Very, very real, my sweet. As real as the Sun at it’s zenith. As real as the pull of the Moon upon the tides.”

Though her mouth had gone dry, Scarlett remained undaunted in her need for the full truth. She turned to face him, clear-eyed and ready for whatever he might reveal. “Then how, my jo…tell me how it’s even possible. Please.”

“Oh my dear,” he tutted, “My sweet, innocent girl. Hennessy’s eyes gleamed softly in the dying light. “There is so very much you have left to learn.”

(to be continued)

tagging: @strangelock221b @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @splunge4me2art @ben-locked @ben-c-group-therapy @letterstosherlock @humanbornarchangel @aeterna-auroral-avenger @frowerssx-world @tsukuyomi011 @emilyinnj4real @losille2000 @macgyvershe (as I have a hunch this is just up your alley!)

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #romance #magic #Scarlett Campbell.#OFC #OMC #not my OMC and used with permission #Scarlett's Professor #Professor Hennessy #Hennessy

16 notes · View notes

jazy3 · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 16X12

I watched the new episode of Grey’s Anatomy over the weekend. I liked it. It was a standalone that focused on some of the characters I'm less interested in so it wasn't as thrilling as it could have been but it was good. One thing I loved about this episode and last week’s was the humour! They’ve really brought the humour back to Grey’s Anatomy and I am here for it! We could all use a laugh these days. Meredith’s Voice Over this week is about secrets and how they all come out eventually. Very true. I loved her line, “The question is what are your body’s secrets? And are you ready to know?” We all fear the truth sometimes. Meredith Grey asking the real questions.

Maggie and Jackson run into each other at the hospital. We find out that she took Richard’s advice and went to ask Koracick for her job back. He hasn’t decided yet. Jerk. Jackson proceeds to throw shade and Maggie throws it right back. That’s my girl! We find out that Maggie and Jackson have been invited to what they think is Richard and Catherine’s anniversary dinner. Next we see Catherine and Richard arguing. We find out the dinner is actually happening so they can tell their kids that they’re separating. Yikes! The other clue here is that judging by the promo Meredith does not attend. If it was a real anniversary dinner Meredith would absolutely be in attendance because Richard is like a father to her.

Her absence really should have tipped Maggie off that something was wrong. That being said, Maggie’s been going through a tough time recently and got kinda drunk pretty soon after arriving and she is historically pretty oblivious sometimes so I guess I can’t blame her for that. Meanwhile Levi is at home recovering and Nico is there helping him. Awww they’re so cute! I love them together. I loved Levi’s line, “Except for the ball gag and jock strap were good.” LOL!

We find out that Levi’s Great Uncle Saul is in hospice and he’s dying. According to Levi he was an ass to everyone else except him and he’s devastated that he’s dying. Poor Levi. Meanwhile, Maggie shows up for dinner at Richard and Catherine’s very nice house. She wishes them a happy anniversary and gifts them chocolates. Richard and Catherine are stunned. They completely forgot it was coming up. Oh boy.

Jackson arrives next and wishes them the same and gifts them an Alice Mann painting all the way from South Africa. Maggie feels bad for only bringing them chocolates. Catherine tries to smooth things over. Richard wants to cut to the chase and tell them. Catherine wants to hold off and gets everybody wine. You can see where this is going. Then the doorbell rings. It’s Vic from Station 19! Jackson invited her because he thought it was a dinner party. And she brought Dean because she thought it was a party party, not a dinner party and as we later learn is trying to set Maggie and him up since he previously showed an interest in her.

Meanwhile, Levi comes to visit Uncle Saul with Nico in tow. They banter and then Saul chastises him for still living in his mother’s basement. Levi beats around the bush and Uncle Saul is having none of it. “You think I’m getting on a roof with a bugle horn anytime soon?” Oh Uncle Saul! With that Levi introduces Nico as his boyfriend and comes out as gay to his uncle. Nico goes to shake his hand and Uncle Saul promptly dies right in front of them! Only on Grey’s! Which results in a stunned Levi uttering the phrase, “I killed him. I killed him with my gayness.” Oh my god! Interestingly Justin Chambers is still credited on this episode even though he does not appear. As with last week’s episode this is likely because he was away but still under contract and expected to return when this episode was shot last year.

I think we’ll start to see more obvious storyline changes beginning with episode 13 as it would have been the first one filmed in the new year either during or after Justin decided to leave the show. It’s a shame we’ll never get to see the original storylines as they were planned, but Justin gave 15+ years to a show that nobody thought would make it past Season 1. So as much as I miss Alex as a character I get it. When it’s time to move on it’s time to move on. You have to do it when you feel ready and not by anyone else’s clock or timeframe.

Back at the hospice Levi is doing his best to follow Jewish tradition with regards to Saul’s body. His Aunt shows up and then promptly peaces out! Oh man! Over at the dinner party Jackson is a complete ass and Maggie calls him on his crap completely! I’m so here for it! You tell him! You go Glen Coco! Catherine continues to be cold towards Vic and honestly I kind of love it! She asks Vic if she’s allergic to shrimp and in response Dean says, “Vic? No! She’ll put anything in her mouth!” Oh Dean. You are not helping. LOL!

Dean and Maggie seem to get along well which is nice. Maybe there’s hope for them still. We find out from Vic that during her training the nickname first responders used to refer to Pac North was The Morgue! Oh boy. Back at the hospice Levi and Nico are playing cards. Nico still wants that sandwich. Levi’s a hard no. Then in walks a man who Levi doesn’t recognize but who clearly knows Saul. Then Levi introduces himself and the man recognizes him. He knows who he is because Saul talked about him all the time. My heart!

He correctly identifies Nico as his boyfriend and Levi is confused. We find out that Uncle Saul was gay and this man was his partner. Twist! We find out that Saul and Daniel were the loves of each other’s lives and that Daniel is heartbroken at his passing. I guess Levi’s gayness didn’t kill Uncle Saul after all! That’s a relief! Back at dinner Maggie shares Catherine and Richard’s proposal story and then Jackson makes this lovely speech about how they’re the gold standard. Which would be wonderful if they weren’t separating.

Catherine and Richard talk in the kitchen. Catherine gets emotional and says that maybe they’ve been too hasty with the separation. Richard agrees and says that if he wants things to move forward he needs her to apologize. He says he knows that doesn’t come easy for her, but to him he can’t move forward with her without it. I loved their exchange. “Richard I am sorry, but-” “Apologies don’t have the word ‘but’ after them.” Talk that truth Richard! Talk that truth!

I’d really like it if we got more of an explanation of Catherine’s actions. They still haven’t explained why she didn’t stand up for Richard or didn’t apologize afterward or try to fix it. Back at the hospice Daniel and Levi lovingly prepare Saul’s body in accordance with the Jewish tradition. It’s very moving. I loved Daniel’s line, “Your generation takes for granted what is possible.” It’s heartbreaking but also true. There’s some really wonderful commentary here about how far social attitudes and legal rights have come for gay people in the U.S. and elsewhere in the last few decades. Like many things we, the younger generations, often take hard won victories and certain possibilities for granted. This scene made cry because as Daniel says the fact that our generation can even do that for a second is reason to hope for a better tomorrow. The acting was very well done.

Back at dinner Maggie and Jackson are arguing about his yacht when Richard gets a text that he’s very happy about. Catherine goes off because she thinks he’s talking to his girlfriend. He’s not. It turns out the text is from Alex. Richard has been talking to him about making Maggie an offer to run their Cardio Department and he’s approved it. Judging from this information and other info we’ve received Alex is still living in Seattle, still running Pac North, still married to Jo, and still spending time with Meredith.

So does this mean their new plan is to off screen his character? Justin Chambers has moved on but the character of Alex will continue to exist off screen? Not sure how I feel about this yet. On the one hand I don’t want them to kill him off on the other I hate not seeing him and want him to get a proper send off. But this also leaves it open for him to come back on screen in the series finale which I would love. It’s clear to me that they had a storyline planned out for Alex’s character and Pac North prior to this. Obviously since the actor had moved on they are having to scrap and rework that plan. I’m sad we’ll never see the intended version.

But at the same I also respect that an actor has the right to move on when they’re ready to do so especially after 15 years. It sucks for the character but it’s good for Justin Chambers so it’s a toss up as a fan. Also why is Catherine outraged? Koracick said he’d think about it when Maggie talked to him. You snooze you lose pal. Also why is Jackson such a patronizing entitled asshat these days? What’s up with that?

Things finally come to a head at dinner and Catherine and Richard finally announce that they are separating. Poor Dean. He gets invited to what he thinks is a party and instead winds up at someone’s break up dinner. Fun! Catherine and Richard both leave the table and Jackson and Maggie follow them out. I’ll give Jackson one thing: he’s a wonderful and loving son. He’s there comforting his mom when Vic comes to drop off some plates. Catherine finally warms to her and offers her some cobbler. It’s a very sweet moment.

Meanwhile Maggie and Richard talk outside. They have a heart to heart and then Maggie asks about the job offer. It’s a lot of money. She’s surprised Alex thinks she’s worth that much. Richard says he thinks so too. She accepts! It seems to me that the original storyline would have seen Maggie, Richard, Owen, and Alex working together at Pac North. But since Justin Chambers has moved on it looks like that will be happening off screen now.

As everyone prepares to leave Vic and Maggie talk it out and clear the air. I’m glad they did. They’re issue is with Jackson not with each other. We cut to Levi and Nico. They’re back at home packing up his things. His mom comes downstairs. Levi explains that Uncle Saul is gone and that he’s moving out. Levi gives this great speech to his mom about how he’s super gay and that his mom saying she accepts him but not telling anyone isn’t really acceptance and he can’t do this anymore. Because Levi’s made a decision. He doesn’t want to wait until he’s old and dying to be free. He wants to be free and live openly now as a gay man and be happy. Levi’s mom thinks Nico put him up to this but as Levi explains he loves her but he has to do this.

I’m so proud of Levi! Standing up to family is hard especially when you love them but you have to do it. Back at the house Catherine and Richard argue. Richard asks if Catherine was hoping he’d fail when he took the job at Pac North. She says she hoped he’d come to his senses and asks if Maggie turned down his absurd offer. Why does Catherine think the offer is absurd? It’s more than Grey Sloan was paying her clearly and they indicated they weren’t interested. Why wouldn’t she take it?

Richard has had enough. He calls Catherine out on her need to control everything and that the success of Pac North is because of him and that she had nothing to do with it and it’s killing her. I’m glad Richard is finally calling Catherine out on her need to control everything. It really is absurd. In response Catherine calls someone named Harry and asks them to find out how much it would cost to buy Pac North. Seriously? This woman would rather buy a struggling hospital than apologize to her husband?

I saw the Catherine Fox Foundation buying Pac North as a likely resolution to the storyline but I pictured in a more positive way. This is just mean and spiteful. I figured Alex and Richard would turn Pac North around, make it a great hospital, and bring it up to Grey Sloan’s level. At which point Catherine and the other doctors would see the value in it and offer to make Pac North part of the Foundation. That way everyone would keep their jobs but we would see the doctors go back and forth. However, that plan obviously involves Alex being on screen as he’s the Chief. I’m wondering if Justin’s departure caused them to have to rewrite this storyline in a more negative way or if that was the plan all along.

It’s impossible to say and we’ll never know for sure, but one thing that is evident to me is that the writers and showrunners didn’t think Justin would be leaving this season or this soon in the season. If they had known they would have written this storyline differently. That being said everyone has a right to move on when they’re ready to do so and it’s up to the writers to make it work now that the actor has moved on.

Also did this woman just threaten to shut down an entire hospital that employs hundreds of people just to spite her husband for succeeding without her? WTF?!?! Where would those people go? Where would their patients go? Mercy West Medical Centre and Seattle Grace Hospital merged years ago, Dillard Medical Centre was shut down for obvious reasons, and the show has established that both Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital and Seattle Presbyterian Hospital run at capacity patient wise. Where would they go?

I feel like Catherine’s line at the end about not being sorry was supposed to be empowering but to me it just felt cold, selfish, and cruel. Richard didn’t do anything to her. Richard stood up and stood alongside Meredith who he loves like a daughter and instead of trying to understand that Catherine is acting like he betrayed her. Next week’s promo seems to be more Station 19 oriented and doesn’t really tell us much so I guess we’ll just have to wait and see!

Until next time!

28 notes · View notes

gdwessel · 4 years

Text

Wrestle Kingdom 14 Night Two - January 5, 2020; Featured Shows for 2020: G1 Climax 30 to be Held in September & October, Two Osaka-Jo Hall Shows, Sakura Genesis Returns to Schedule, No KOPW in 2020?

The second part of the historic two-night Wrestle Kingdom 14 has come and gone, and... yeah, there’s a lot here. You know where you can watch it and how much to pay for it. Let’s get right to it.

- January 5, 2020, Tokyo Dome (NJPWWorld, FITE TV)

NEVER Openweight 6-Man Tag Team Championship Gauntlet Match: EVIL, Shingo Takagi & BUSHI [Los Ingobernables d. Togi Makabe, Toru Yano [CHAOS] & Ryusuke Taguchi © and Tomohiro Ishii, YOSHI-HASHI & Robbie Eagles [CHAOS] and Taichi, El Desperado & Yoshinobu Kanemaru [SZKG] and Bad Luck Fale, Yujiro Takahashi & Chase Owens [Bullet Club] (Shingo > Taguchi, Made In Japan, 6:08) - Order Of Eliminations: - CHAOS > Bullet Club - CHAOS > SZKG - LIJ > CHAOS - LIJ > MVP - Makabe/Yano/Taguchi fail their 5th defense - EVIL/Shingo/BUSHI are the 20th champions

Jushin Thunder Liger Retirement Match II: Hiromu Takahashi [Los Ingobernables] & Ryu Lee d. Jushin Thunder Liger & Naoki Sano [FREE] (w/ Yoshiaki Fujiwara) (Hiromu > Liger, Time Bomb, 12:14)

IWGP Juniorheavyweight Tag Team Championship: SHO & YOH [CHAOS] d. Taiji Ishimori & El Phantasmo [Bullet Club] © (SHO > Phantasmo, Strong X, 14:08) - Ishimori/Phantasmo fail their 2nd defense - RPG3K are the 61st champions

RevPro Undisputed British Heavyweight Championship: Zack Sabre Jr. [SZKG] © d. SANADA [Los Ingobernables] (European Clutch, 12:32) - Sabre succeeds his ?th defense

IWGP US Heavyweight Championship: Jon Moxley [FREE] © d. Juice Robinson (Death Rider, 12:48) - Moxley succeeds his 1st defense

NEVER Openweight Championship: Hirooki Goto [CHAOS] d. KENTA [Bullet Club] © (GTR, 16:12) - KENTA fails his 3rd defense - Goto is the 28th champion

Jay White [Bullet Club] d. Kota Ibushi (Blade Runner, 24:58)

Chris Jericho [FREE] d. Hiroshi Tanahashi (Walls of Jericho, 22:24)

IWGP Heavyweight & IWGP Intercontinental Championships Double Gold Dash: Tetsuya Naito [Los Ingobernables] © d. Kazuchika Okada [CHAOS] © (Destino, 35:37) - Okada fails his 6th defense - Naito succeeds his 1st defense - Naito is the 70th IWGP Heavyweight Champion and first Double Champion

Sometimes, you do need to tranquilo, and we learned that lesson here tonight, with this main event. This wasn’t just Naito winning the Double Gold Dash that he talked about all of 2019, and was the main driver of. This wasn’t just Naito winning in the main event of Wrestle Kingdom, and beating Okada at the third time of asking at the Dome at that. This was the culmination of a six year long storyline with Naito, that started with a fan vote that saw his earned WK main event be taken from him; that saw him be rejected by the fans and fall into Los Ingobernables along with two other friends in CMLL who had also been rejected by the fans of their company. That saw Naito and Los Ingobernables de Japon become one of the hottest acts in all of wrestling, to the point of being the only NJPW wrestler to get pre-match chants his way. That saw him get his Dome main event, but then lost at the final hurdle. And now, two years after coming up short in G1 Climax, being saddled with a title belt that he despised, but now accepts, and a lot of online angst from his fans, Naito is an IWGP Heavyweight Champion at the Tokyo Dome, and the first to hold both title belts.

So naturally, KENTA attacks him during the LIJ Roll Call. Because NJPW booking has whomever loses to Goto at WK fail upwards. Which is a damn shame for Goto, because his match was really quite good, and he always delivers at Wrestle Kingdom. It’s the other 11 months out of the year that the booking makes him look like a chump. Just let Goto club mofos in 2020 and see how far he comes along. KENTA meanwhile helps remake Bullet Club as the top rudo faction in the company, along with Jay White. His match with Ibushi was GOOD... until the last five minutes or so. And then we get the needless ref bumps and fuck finishes and interference. Really took me out of the match honestly.

Jon Moxley retains the IWGP US Heavyweight title, meaning not only was Juice Robinson denied also being a Double Champion, but also that Moxley looks to be sticking around in some capacity. Also sticking around, is Minoru Suzuki, who despite all the talk (including from this blog, ahem) that he may be done in NJPW and would be coming to NOAH tonight, appeared after Moxley’s match, with a full “Kaze Ni Nare” entrance, and laid him right out. I am completely psyched for a Moxley v. Suzuki feud, and never been so glad to be wrong about something I’ve written about. This is the type of quality pairing the fans have been clamoring for.

SANADA is the only member of LIJ to not have any kind of title belt. Hmmm.

Jushin Thunder Liger’s final match was something to behold, and words cannot do justice the emotions behind this. Post-match, he gave a quick speech to the Tokyo Dome crowd, thanking them for 31 years of support. Backstage, the creator of the original Jushin Liger comic, Go Nagai, was there to greet him, as well as Daichi Hashimoto, current BJW wrestler, and the son of the late Shinya Hashimoto. In the meantime, the teamup between Hiromu and Ryu Lee (in his debut as Ryu Lee) didn’t last, and Hiromu offers the first challenge for the IWGP Juniorheavyweight title to Ryu Lee.

One interesting aspect of this was Ryu Lee came wearing the ROH World Television title, which got no mention on the Japanese commentary, and from all accounts one mention followed by awkward silence on the English. Contrast that with numerous mentions of AEW and their title belt, which Jericho wore to the match. However, Jericho still won, so there will be no challenge by Hiroshi Tanahashi for that title anytime soon. Jericho did say backstage (out of character?) that he wants AEW and NJPW to work together more in the future. So stay tuned for that.

All in all, a very satisfying two days. The attendance was listed for tonight as 30,063, a nearly 10,000 person drop, however this is still hardly a failure, given the sell-out last night. A very successful weekend for NJPW and the Tokyo Dome. I do have to wonder if Ibushi v. Naito would have popped the number more, however. We will discuss that on the Podcast soon, probably later this week.

Looking to the future, NJPW announced select major show dates, with some very interesting listings. First off, they will run both Dominion AND The New Beginning In Osaka at Osaka-jo Hall this year. Wrestling Dontaku is once again a two-day event.

Sakura Genesis returns to the NJPW calendar this year, on 3/31/2020 from Tokyo Ryogoku Kokugikan. The BOSJ Final will be on 6/6/2020 at Tokyo Ota Ward Gymnasium, rather than at Ryogoku like last year.

The biggest news here is G1 Climax 30 will be getting moved to the autumn rather than July/August this year. This is totally to do with the Olympics being in Tokyo this summer, and the lack of availability of arenas during that time. It will be interesting to see G1 so late in the year, however, with the Finals at Ryogoku on 10/16/2020 - 10/18/2020. The other upshot here is with this move, there does not appear to be a King Of Pro Wrestling event on the cards for this year, as the G1 30 Finals will take place during that usual time,unless they run it at another time this year. The Olympics are making things very interesting for NJPW.

I will list the shows soon in an Upcoming NJPW Events pot coming real soon.

Tomorrow is New Year Dash!!, which is a secret card, bar the retirement ceremony for Jushin Thunder Liger. I may not hold it together for that. We are also still awaiting the announcement for the cards for Fantasticamania, and The New Beginning, tho the latter will depend on New Year Dash!! to some extent.

Hope everyone enjoyed this Wrestle Kingdom weekend, and we move on to the future.

2 notes · View notes

peterstanslizzie · 5 years

Text

Re-watching Lizzie Mcguire: Episode 1.5 (I’ve Got Rhythmic)

You know what this moment is? It’s Lizzie about the hit the floor from tripping

- The episode begins with Lizzie approaching the bulletin board to check what her grade is for her school English test; Turns out, Lizzie only got a ‘B’. She gets frustrated because she feels like she’s not amazing at anything when comparing herself to her peers like Gordo who is an aspiring filmmaker and Miranda who is good at arts and crafts.

Lizzie discovers her Talent

- During gym class, Coach Kelly introduces rhythmic gymnastics to the girls and Lizzie and Miranda are not feeling it. As someone who used to do gymnastics at school, I think they’re being too dismissive of the sport. I found it to be really fun and I actually enjoyed playing with the different apparatus.

- Coach Kelly asked the group of students if there is anyone who would like to volunteer and demonstrate some basic gymnastics. Miranda without thinking, blurted out a big fat “NO!” and she was subsequently chosen to demonstrate first. I don’t think I saw Coach Kelly teaching them any moves. So how is Miranda supposed to demonstrate anything? Maybe this wasn’t their first gymnastics class?

Why did Miranda throw those clubs like that? It’s like she really wanted them to be flung far far away from her

- Miranda is handed a pair of gymnastics clubs and as expected, she flopped really bad. Kate’s next and she hurts herself by dropping one of the sticks on her foot. I did not expect that; She seemed so confident. Lizzie couldn’t contain her laughter and Coach Kelly does not respond to her reaction well and asks Lizzie to use the ribbon in front of the class.

For the honor of Grayskull! Sorry, I just had to include a She-ra reference in here

- Lizzie shocks everyone by being so graceful and elegant with the ribbon. When watching this episode back then, I think I already knew Hilary Duff had prior training in gymnastics. She could do cartwheels, flips and all the sort.

- Kate who just cannot let Lizzie outshine her asks Coach Kelly if she can be given a second chance to re-do the demonstration to which she agrees and proceeds to ask her to do it again on the spot, with the ribbons this time. Kate flops once again.

Oh Kate, just give it up! You stink at rhythmic gymnastics

- Coach Kelly who was so impressed by Lizzie’s natural ability persuades her to represent the school in the ‘Rhythmic Gymnastics Regional Competition’. Lizzie isn’t so sure about it but Coach Kelly asks her to take some time to think about it.

A Big Decision to Make

- Lizzie fills in all the details with her best friends and they support her to actually go for it. Side note: the number of times they cut to the scene when Kate hurt her foot is ridiculously funny hahaha. At home, she also asks her parents if she should pursue it to which they give the generic answer of yes because that’s what parents do.

An athlete’s dream is to appear on a cereal box

- Lizzie proceeds to dream about winning a gold medal in rhythmic gymnastics and even dreams about her picture appearing on a toasted oat meal cereal box. She smiles in her sleep and I believe that is the moment when she is going to go for it for all its glory.

- The next day, Lizzie still reeling from her dream announces to Gordo and Miranda that she made the decision to be a gymnast, which surprises them both as they had mixed feelings about it.

‘Olympic’ Training Montage

- We get a special montage with a surprisingly catchy music track of Lizzie training for the competition. Here are some of my rundowns of what was shown:

1. Lizzie struggles to wake up at 5:00 am and Gordo shakes her to wake her up. Wow, Gordo is fully committed to making this documentary for Lizzie; Waking up before 5:00 am just to go over to her house to film her?! Did he stay over or did Lizzie’s parents let him in lol?

2. Her mom prepares her a cup of several raw eggs to drink. I wouldn’t dare drink it but thank goodness Lizzie poured them onto a pan to fry them. Phew!

3. Lizzie has a one-to-one training session with Coach Kelly. A super intensive one I will say. However, Lizzie seems to be managing pretty well....

...for the most part

This All Better Be Worth It

- Lizzie is found by her friends in a state of exhaustion and couldn’t bring herself to stay awake. Kate, now with a foot brace, pops up with her posse and delivers this line that is immortalized as a forever popular gif:

Remember when .coms were included in jokes?

- Gordo burns her good by asking her to repeat what she said into the camera and tells her he’s casting the part of the bitter talentless girl. Oh, snap! Kate is such a pain in this episode. Can’t she just stop being so obsessed with Lizzie being better than her in one thing?

Introducing Larry Tudgeman

- We actually got a mention of Larry in the first episode when he was caught on camera picking his nose and eating his snot by Danny Kessler. But this time, we got to actually see him in the flesh. I actually love Larry; He is kinda like Gordo but only much weirder and nerdier.

- Kate puts on her popular girl charm and asks him to do a little favor for her, which we will find out towards the end of the episode.

- Lizzie is baking cookies at home, which worries Jo because she has noticed that every-time Lizzie bakes, it’s because there is something bothering her. Lizzie tells her mom it’s because she’s stressed about competing but the truth is, she is just not passionate about the sport.

Time to Compete!

- It’s the day of the competition and Lizzie is busy warming up while Gordo is filming her and providing commentary for his documentary. He trips over a pile of gymnastics equipment and accidentally angles his camera up over to the ceiling and catches Larry doing something fishy. Lizzie’s turn is next and she starts her routine.

- He tells Miranda about Larry and they both try to help Lizzie from getting sabotaged by him. During her routine, she does a great job so far but when she tosses the hula hoop up in the air, Larry catches it with a broom. Lizzie froze a little because she did not expect her hoop to disappear but luckily, Gordo with his quick thinking throws Lizzie a ribbon and she continues her routine.

- Larry is then spotted by Miranda, who is armed with a fire-extinguisher and threatens to spray him if he doesn’t drop the hula hoop. He drops it and Lizzie manages to catch it at the right time and finishes her routine strong. Kate is stunned her plan failed.

Honestly, Kate always seems to get the funniest edit

- She then storms out of the gym and Gordo catches her leaving with his camera and she was basically caught red handed.

Smile for the camera sunshine

Lizzie’s Confession

- Lizzie wins 1st place despite the setback. That’s a little surprising considering the fact that she just started training for it but amazing job nonetheless.

- Her parents congratulates her for winning the competition but Lizzie confesses to them that she hates rhythmic gymnastics and the only reason she likes it is because she’s good at it. Her parents are supportive of her regardless of her position. Such understanding parents; My parents would have been the opposite.

Overall Thoughts

- In my opinion, Lizzie suddenly realizing she’s good at rhythmic gymnastics and actually winning 1st place in a regional competition is kind of a one-off plot device thing for Hilary to showcase her gymnastics prowess on Lizzie Mcguire. It’s just not realistic to me but this is fiction and loopholes like that aren’t meant to be analyzed deeply by people like me.

- That being said, I do really like the underlying message presented in this episode, which is we should pursue something we are absolutely passionate in and commit to it. And if we haven’t discovered what our destiny is yet, it’s never too late to figure that out.

6 notes · View notes

maddie-grove · 5 years

Text

Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: March/April

PLAYLIST

“Hey, Little Songbird” from Hadestown (The Wager)

“New Slang” by the Shins (Spinners)

“Auto de Fé” from Candide (October Wind)

“Let’s Generalize about Men” from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure)

“Juice” by Lizzo (Shrill)

“Love’s Been Good to Me” by Frank Sinatra (Sex and Violence)

“Heroes” by David Bowie (Cracker Jackson)

“Listen to Her Heart” by Tom Petty and the Hearbreakers (The Cybil War)

“Satellite of Love” by Lou Reed (The T.V. Kid)

“Distant Shores” by Chad and Jeremy (Love’s Willing Servant)

“Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?” by the Mountain Goats (The Cartoonist)

“Ghost World” by Aimee Mann (Summer of the Swans)

“Floating Vibes” by Surfer Blood (Not the Duke’s Darling)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010): Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, a nineteen-year-old nobleman in medieval Sicily, loses his entire fortune to a tidal wave and soon finds himself on the brink of starvation. That’s when the Devil comes knocking with an offer: endless money for the rest of his life if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This is a retelling of a lesser-known Sicilian fairy tale and, next to the sublime Breath, it’s Napoli’s best work. Instead of taking the easy route of making Don Giovanni a stupid brat who learns to be nicer and more frugal, she complicates things by making him sweet and resourceful from the beginning, as well as callow and somewhat thoughtless. (His first action after seeing the damage wrought by the tidal wave is to go out and help bury the dead for three straight days.) This makes the message of the book more powerful; if someone deep-down good and intelligent can stand to think more about others and help the less fortunate, then clearly that lesson applies to everyone, not just the worst sort of rich people. Don Giovanni’s unprocessed grief over his long-dead parents and longing for human connection are also very affecting.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Spinners by Donna Jo Napoli and Richard Tchen (1999): In medieval-ish Scotland, a poor tailor longs to marry his sweetheart, a spinner, but her father will only consent if the tailor can show he’ll be a good provider. The tailor tries to make a dress that appears to be made of gold and succeeds; however, he still loses his sweetheart to a rich miller and his health to a magic spinning wheel (as one does). Years later, the sweetheart’s daughter, now a skilled spinner in her own right, finds herself in trouble when a king gets the wrong impression about her being able to spin straw into gold. File this one under “cool idea, half-assed execution.” After a certain point, Napoli seems to run out of her own ideas and just follows “Rumpelstiltskin” to its original conclusion. This wouldn’t be great for any fairy-tale retelling, but the ludicrous “Rumpelstiltskin” needs more reworking than most. Also, the tailor’s sweetheart is such an ableist tool! I’d get it if she chose the rich miller out of concern for financial security, but she just dumps the tailor because the magic spinning wheel basically gave him a supernatural stroke and she thinks it made him evil? You can do better, baby!

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Cartoonist by Betsy Byars (1978): Alfie Mason, a quiet eleven-year-old, takes refuge from his unhappy family in the tiny attic of his ramshackle house, drawing faintly absurd cartoons. Then his ne’er-do-well older brother Bubba loses his job, prompting a way-too-excited Mrs. Mason to decide to renovate the attic into a bedroom...so Alfie barricades himself in the attic and throws the family into chaos without saying a word. I first read this book when I was eleven, and even then I found it deeply upsetting. Mrs. Mason seems incapable of seeing anyone but Bubba as a full human being, and she never regrets hurting Alfie or her daughter Alma in order to benefit her eldest. The best Alfie and Alma can do is call her out on it--Alfie through his silent protest, Alma by finally standing up for herself and her little brother--and try to move on. It’s certainly an unvarnished message for a middle-grade novel, but it’s not a bad one, given that some parents are just like that.

Shrill by Lindy West (2016): In this memoir, Lindy West reflects on her personal experiences with fatphobia, the general strangeness of having a human body, abortion, the ethics of comedy, and Internet trolls, among other subjects. This book was genuinely inspiring and amusing to me at a time when I greatly needed a lot of confidence and some laughs, and for that I am eternally grateful. The humor can feel very social-media-circa-2015, but there are worse things than a book capturing a specific moment.

Cracker Jackson by Betsy Byars (1985): Eleven-year-old “Cracker” Jackson Hunter realizes that Alma, his beloved former babysitter, is being physically abused by her husband. Even though his divorced parents forbid it and Alma herself warns him against angering her husband, he tries his best to help her, with mixed results. By all rights, this middle-grade novel should be a tonal mess--Jackson and his best friend Goat get involved in some legit Wacky Schemes--but instead it’s a moving portrait of a kid who has to deal with gut-wrenching adult realities while also navigating sixth-grade drama. I also loved Jackson’s three parental figures. They’re all flawed--Jackson’s mom is a worrywart about stuff that doesn’t matter, his dad can’t hold a conversation with him without lapsing into Dracula impressions, and Alma sometimes treats him more like a peer than a kid--but they all clearly care about him and try to make things okay.

Not the Duke’s Darling by Elizabeth Hoyt (2018): Years ago, a horrific murder and a dubious attempt at revenge tore apart the lives of Christopher Renshawe and Lady Freya de Moray. Now he’s a widowed duke with severe claustrophobia and a blackmailer on his case, while she’s an undercover spy for a secret society of Scottish witches who help women. (Awesome.) (Also some of them are lesbians.) When they end up at the same house party, she vows to keep hating him for wronging her family, but does that last long? No, because they’re reasonably good at communicating and can appreciate each other’s goals! This spooky Georgian romance didn’t knock my socks off, but it’s a good start to Hoyt’s new Greycourt series and it has a light touch with the serious issues it handles.

Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (2019): Violetta Beauchamps, a sixty-nine-year-old* bookkeeper, is cheated out of her pension by her landlord boss. In desperation, she hatches her own retirement plan: swindling Bertrice Martin, a wealthy seventy-three-year-old widow, by pretending to be her insolvent nephew’s landlady. Bertrice has refused to pay her nephew’s debts on principle, but she’s willing to make an exception if Violetta will help pester him into vacating his lodgings. Shenanigans and old-lady romance ensue. This mid-Victorian-set romance novella is like an ambiguous image (for example: that picture that’s either a vase or two faces in profile). Look at it as the tale of two L.M.-Montgomery-style elderly women falling in love, and it’s delightful; look at it for deep social commentary, and it’s pretty simplistic and sometimes even callous. I enjoyed it, but it only works on certain levels.

Summer of the Swans by Betsy Byars (1970): Lately, fourteen-year-old Sara Godfrey has been feeling awkward and out of charity with everyone: her absentee father, her plainspoken aunt, her beautiful older sister, the other kids at school, and even her little brother Charlie, who has been mostly nonverbal and easily disoriented since sustaining serious brain damage during a childhood illness. When Charlie goes missing in the night, though, her only thought is to find him. Despite loving Byars, I avoided this Newberry winner as a kid because it looked kind of boring. It is a little sedate in a classic-American-coming-of-age-story way--part “The Scarlet Ibis,” part Judy Blume--but I still loved Sara, who is always ready to throw down, and I found the depiction of Charlie to be surprisingly sensitive for the time. (The language is outdated, but the passages from Charlie’s POV aren’t condescending, plus he isn’t killed off, as I initially feared.) The descriptions of the coal-ravaged West Virginia countryside are also very evocative.

The TV Kid by Betsy Byars (1974): Lenny, a preteen living with his single mom at the kitschy Kentucky motel she owns, struggles in school and has no friends. (His family moves around a lot and he probably has a learning disability.) He has two sources of solace: watching TV and sneaking into the abandoned lake houses in his neighborhood. One day, though, his favorite hobbies get him into trouble. This was one of my favorite Byars books as a kid, even though I was not familiar with the TV landscape of 1974. I liked it a little less this time, but not because it was dated; instead, I was disconcerted by how pro-getting-bitten-by-a-rattlesnake it is. Also, a significant portion of the story is devoted to a child suffering horrible pain from a snakebite, which is harder to take as an adult reader. Still, it’s got some of that classic Byars melancholy.

The Cybil War by Betsy Byars (1981): Eleven-year-old Simon has had a crush on his classmate Cybil for years, because she does awesome stuff like advocate for more active roles for girls in the yearly school pageants. He’s not inspired to act on his feelings, though, until his awful best friend Tony decides he likes Cybil and starts talking shit to her about Simon. There’s a lot to like about this book. Cybil, with her nonchalant confidence and kindness, is a wonderful character, and Simon’s thorough admiration for her is adorable. I also like how Byars ties Simon’s complicated feelings about his deadbeat dad to his efforts to navigate small-scale fifth-grade drama; both weigh heavily on him, and Byars is never condescending about this. Yet the book’s not Byars’s best, mostly because of the lack of generosity towards Cybil’s fat friend Harriet and, to a lesser extent, Tony.

Sex and Violence by Carrie Mesrobian (2013): Seventeen-year-old Evan doesn’t do serious relationships, instead preferring to hook up with girls and ghost them when he starts having feels. (His family moves around a lot and he’s got some trauma.) Then one girl’s jealous ex orchestrates a horrific assault on them both, leading Evan’s distant widowed dad to take his traumatized son back to their Minnesota hometown. It turns out okay. I liked this novel a lot more once I accepted it as an intentionally messy coming-of-age novel, rather than an issue novel...but it was still a little too messy for its own good. I felt like I was supposed to condemn Evan for having casual sex, something that’s both morally neutral and natural enough for a teen who moves every year, yet the narrative all but endorses his contempt for lower-class girls. I was also uncomfortable with the revelation that Evan was a survivor of statutory rape. It seemed like he was being punished by the narrative only for hyper-sexuality that clearly stemmed from trauma--with a physical assault with some strong sexual implications, no less--but let off the hook for his thoughtless middle-class-boy prejudices. I did feel for him, though, and that carried me through most of the book.

October Wind by Susan Wiggs (1991): In late-fifteenth-century Spain, Cristóbal Colón (aka Christopher Columbus) tries to convince Queen Isabella to fund a westward expedition. Meanwhile, nobleman Joseph Sarmiento learns an enormous secret about his background and must decide whether to alter the course of his life. During this time, Rafael Viscaino, a young scribe, strives to rise in the world while his friends, aspiring doctor Catalina and cheerful but troubled half-Roma Santiago, have their own struggles. This historical novel (which just barely qualifies as a romance) has a lot of potential, but it wastes too much time on Columbus and Isabella, plus it gives them more credit than they deserve. Wiggs should’ve focused on Joseph, the sexiest and most likable character, and made more of his eventual relationship with Anacaona, a Guanahani woman. Or else she should’ve just made it a poly romance with Rafael/Catalina/Santiago, which she comes this close to doing.

Love’s Willing Servant by Avis Worthington (1980): Left penniless by her father and betrayed by her childhood sweetheart, Lettice Clifford decides to take herself to her sister’s home in colonial Virginia and get a rich husband. She’s surprised to find herself sharing a ship with Geoffrey Finch, a neighbor who has been betrayed by his evil twin and sold into indentured servitude. When his indenture ends up getting bought by her brother-in-law, they grow closer, but multiple creepy people and Bacon’s Rebellion threaten their love. Maybe I’ve just seen too much, but I was pleasantly surprised by the relative inoffensiveness of this Old School romance. Geoffrey is a reasonable person, there’s not a sexual assault every other chapter, and the racism issues are more “the black characters should be more central” than “this is just a defense of slavery” or “calm down with the n-word, Quentin Tarantino.” These small mercies aside, I also enjoyed the absolutely bonkers plot and the use of historical details. I didn’t care much for Lettice, though, because she’s usually either boring or kind of a dick.

*Nice.

#books #reading #theme of the bi-month: his family moves around a lot #rewritten because tumblr ate it

4 notes · View notes

ssportsnews · 3 years

Text

French commentary's praise "Recruitment of new ST in Bordeaux? Hwang Eui-jo must be supported" 먹튀검증

먹튀검증먹튀사이트먹튀검증사이트먹튀 검증 먹튀 사이트 먹튀 검증 사이트

Praise continued for Hwang Ui-jo, who scored two goals in a row.

In the 18th minute after falling 0-1 in the away match against Montpellier in the 7th round of the 2021/22 season against Montpellier held on the 23rd (Korea time), Hwang Ui-jo received a pass from Yashin Adli and shot a huge mid-range shot from a long distance outside the box. He scored an equalizer that poked right into the corner.

After scoring a multi-goal in the last 4 rounds away from Saint Etienne, Hwang Ui-jo scored two goals in two consecutive matches and continued his upward trend with three goals in two matches. After the September A match schedule, he complained of thigh pain in the 4th round home match against Reims and was substituted in the 19th minute of the second half, but he immediately scored in two matches and regained his confidence.

Luigi Colagne, a commentator for Amazon Prime Video, a French broadcaster who watched Hwang's performance on that day, praised Hwang Ui-jo very much. He said, "Hwang Ui-jo is very confident. It's good to see goals and talents, his attitude, vision and body position in Ligue 1".

He asked, "Will the Bordeaux owner continue to consider signing a striker, especially when we are trying to find a new striker like Mbaye Niang (Stad Ren)?" I need support. He hasn't been able to get enough rest in the last few weeks with the national team," he said.

According to a recent French local newspaper report, Niang is about to take a pay cut to join Bordeaux. Niang receives a monthly salary of 250,000 euros (about 343.77 million won) from Rennes. He is also prepared to cut more than half of his current weekly salary from Ren.

Hwang Ui-jo has been playing without a proper rest since the 2018 Asian Games in Palembang, Jakarta, as well as recently. In January 2019, when he was a member of the J-League Gamba Osaka, he played the 2019 Asian Cup in Qatar during a league break. In the summer of 2020, he entered Korea and returned to Bordeaux after entering a training center for four weeks to fulfill the military service exception he received as a gold medal in the Asian Games.

After about three years of marching, Hwang Ui-jo also showed disappointment in the national team during the recent Tokyo 2020 Olympic Games and September A match. Nevertheless, Hwang Ui-jo is trusted by the newly appointed coach Vladimir Petkovich by running the scoring for two games in a row with a multi-goal that brings victory when the team does not win, and a fantastic mid-range shot from behind.

On the other hand, Bordeaux, who had an equalizer by Hwang Ui-jo and a comeback goal from Jean Onana, allowed Montpellier to come back in the second half, but Samuel Kalou's dramatic equalizer in the 40th minute of the second half resulted in a 3-3 draw.

#먹튀검증 #먹튀검증사이트 #먹튀사이트

0 notes

gemvictorfromtheponyverse · 6 years

Note

Top 5 Classic Who episodes!

Ooh, nice question! Here we go!

1 The Two Doctors

It is pointless for me to deny my love for this episode, 6 & 2 is a perfect combo, as is 6 & Jamie. Peri is less of a whiny Bitch and more helpful, and one of my absolute favourite lines ever features there:

“I can’t tell you how privledged I feel, having been half-frozen, and asphyxiated, and cooked, and then forced to clamber through miles of pipe. ”

2 Androids of Tara

I love all of The Key To Time episodes, and Mary Tamm’s Romana is an absolute favourite among all companions. The Androids of Tara is as exciting and Adventoures as it is funny. It also has an Audio commentary track that is gold.

3 City of Death

Not much to say about it, is there? I have yet to meet a single person who dislike it. Romana & Thr Doctor are funny, it is exciting and puzzling and Julian Glover makes for an excellent villain.

4. Carnival of Monsters

I am generally a sceptic as far as the Pertwee era goes. I love Liz, Jo, Sarah,The Brig, Benton & Yates, but Pertwee himself is a bit hard to handle. This episode, however, is epic, and even Pertwee manage to charm his way into my heart. A serial I will always recommend, definatly!

5. Robot

Of course, I need to end this with a really solid Sarah Jane serial. There is no companion more holy to me than The Doctor of my childhood, Sarah Jane Smith. Though Robit also is the introduction of the breathtaking Tom Baker, Sarah Jane takes a lot of soace in the serual and she does it brilliantly. We also see the rrturn of Ian Narter, the imbecile Doctor & most definatly an underrated companion!

5 notes · View notes

pamphletstoinspire · 6 years

Photo

THE PROPHECY OF DANIEL - From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 10

INTRODUCTION.

DANIEL, whose name signifies "the judgment of God," was of the royal blood of the kings of Juda, and one of those that were first of all carried away into captivity. He was so renowned for his wisdom and knowledge, that it became a proverb among the Babylonians, "as wise as Daniel;" (Ezech. xxviii. 3.) and his holiness was so great from his very childhood, that at the time when he was as yet but a young man, he is joined by the Spirit of God with Noe and Job, as three persons most eminent for virtue and sanctity. Ezech. xiv. He is not commonly numbered by the Hebrews among the prophets, because he lived at court, and in high station in the world: but if we consider his many clear predictions of things to come, we shall find that no one better deserves the name and title of a prophet; which also has been given him by the Son of God himself. Mat. xxiv. Mark xiii. Luke xxi.) Ch. --- The ancient Jews ranked him among the greatest prophets. Jos. Ant. x. 12. and 1 Mac. ii. 59. Those who came after Christ began to make frivolous exceptions, because he so clearly pointed out the coming of our Saviour, (Theod.) that Porphyrius has no other method of evading this authority except by saying, that the book was written under Epiphanes after the event of many of the predictions. S. Jer. --- But this assertion is contrary to all antiquity. Some parts have indeed been questioned, which are found only in Greek. They must, however, have sometime existed in Heb. or Chal. else how should we have the version of Theodotion, which the Church has substituted instead of the Sept. as that copy was become very incorrect, and is now lost? C. --- Some hopes of its recovery are nevertheless entertained; and its publication, at Rome, has been announced. Kennicott. --- In a title, it seems to make the Daniel visited by Habacuc, a priest; but it is abandoned. C. --- This version of course proves that the original was formerly known; and the loss of it, at present, is no more decisive against the authenticity of these pieces, that that of S. Matthew's Heb. original, and of the Chaldee of Judith, &c. will evince that their works are spurious. H. ---Extracts of (C.) Aquila and Sym. seen by S. Jerom, (W.) are also given in the Hexapla. Origen has answered the objections of Africanus, respecting the history of Susanna; and his arguments are equally cogent, when applied to the other contested works. The Jews and Christians were formerly both divided in their sentiments about these pieces. C. See S. Jer. in Jer. xxix. 12. and xxxii. 44. --- But now as the Church (the pillar of truth) has spoken, all farther controversy ought to cease; (H.) and we should follow the precept, Remove not the landmarks which thy fathers have placed. Deut. xix. 14. See N. Alex. t. ii. S. Jerom, who sometimes calls these pieces "fables," explains himself, by observing, that he had delivered "not his own sentiments," but those of the Jews: quid illi contra nos dicere soleant. C. --- If he really denied their authority, his opinion ought not to outweigh that of so many other (H.) Fathers and Councils who receive them. They admit all the parts, as the Council of Trent expressly requires us to do. See S. Cyp. &c. also the observations prefixed to Tobias, (W.) and p. 597. H. --- Paine remarks that Daniel and Ezechiel only pretended to have visions, and carried on an enigmatical correspondence relative to the recovery of their country. But this deserves no refutation. By allowing that their works are genuine, he cuts up the very root of his performance. Watson. --- Daniel, according to Sir Is. Newton, resembles the Apoc. (as both bring us to the end of the Roman empire) and is "the most distinct in order of time, and easiest to be understood; and therefore, in those things that relate to the last times, he must be made a key to the rest." Bp. Newton. --- Yet there are many difficulties which require a knowledge of history; (S. Jer. W.) and we must reflect on the words of Christ, He that readeth, let him understand. Mat. xxiv. 15. Daniel (H.) is supposed to have died at court, (C.) aged 110, having written many things of Christ. W. --- His name is not prefixed to his book, yet as Prideaux observes, he sufficiently shews himself in the sequel to be the author. H.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin.

HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

Chapter 10

Daniel having humbled himself by fasting and penance seeth a vision, with which he is much terrified; but he is comforted by an angel.

[1] In the third year of Cyrus king of the Persians, a word was revealed to Daniel surnamed Baltassar, and a true word, and great strength: and he understood the word: for there is need of understanding in a vision.

Anno tertio Cyri regis Persarum, verbum revelatum est Danieli cognomento Baltassar, et verbum verum, et fortitudo magna : intellexitque sermonem : intelligentia enim est opus in visione.

[2] In those days I Daniel mourned the days of three weeks.

In diebus illis ego Daniel lugebam trium hebdomadarum diebus :

[3] I ate no desirable bread, and neither flesh, nor wine entered into my mouth, neither was I anointed with ointment: till the days of three weeks were accomplished.

panem desiderabilem non comedi, et caro et vinum non introierunt in os meum, sed neque unguento unctus sum, donec complerentur trium hebdomadarum dies.

[4] And in the four and twentieth day of the first month I was by the great river which is the Tigris.

Die autem vigesima et quarta mensis primi, eram juxta fluvium magnum, qui est Tigris.

[5] And I lifted up my eyes, and I saw: and behold a man clothed in linen, and his loins were girded with the finest gold:

Et levavi oculos meos, et vidi : et ecce vir unus vestitus lineis, et renes ejus accincti auro obrizo :

[6] And his body was like the chrysolite, and his face as the appearance of lightning, and his eyes as a burning lamp: and his arms, and all downward even to the feet, like in appearance to glittering brass: and the voice of his word like the voice of a multitude.

et corpus ejus quasi chrysolithus, et facies ejus velut species fulguris, et oculi ejus ut lampas ardens : et brachia ejus, et quae deorsum sunt usque ad pedes, quasi species aeris candentis : et vox sermonum ejus ut vox multitudinis.

[7] And I Daniel alone saw the vision: for the men that were with me saw it not: but an exceeding great terror fell upon them, and they fled away, and hid themselves.

Vidi autem ego Daniel solus visionem : porro viri qui erant mecum non viderunt, sed terror nimius irruit super eos, et fugerunt in absconditum.

[8] And I being left alone saw this great vision: and there remained no strength in me, and the appearance of my countenance was changed in me, and I fainted away, and retained no strength.

Ego autem relictus solus vidi visionem grandem hanc : et non remansit in me fortitudo, sed et species mea immutata est in me, et emarcui, nec habui quidquam virium.

[9] And I heard the voice of his words: and when I heard, I lay in a consternation, upon my face, and my face was close to the ground.

Et audivi vocem sermonum ejus : et audiens jacebam consternatus super faciem meam, et vultus meus haerebat terrae.

[10] And behold a hand touched me, and lifted me up upon my knees, and upon the joints of my hands.

Et ecce manus tetigit me, et erexit me super genua mea, et super articulos manuum mearum.

[11] And he said to me: Daniel, thou man of desires, understand the words that I speak to thee, and stand upright: for I am sent now to thee. And when he had said this word to me, I stood trembling.

Et dixit ad me : Daniel vir desideriorum, intellige verba quae ego loquor ad te, et sta in gradu tuo : nunc enim sum missus ad te. Cumque dixisset mihi sermonem istum, steti tremens.

[12] And he said to me: Fear not, Daniel: for from the first day that thou didst set thy heart to understand, to afflict thyself in the sight of thy God, thy words have been heard: and I am come for thy words.

Et ait ad me : Noli metuere, Daniel : quia ex die primo, quo posuisti cor tuum ad intelligendum ut te affligeres in conspectu Dei tui, exaudita sunt verba tua : et ego veni propter sermones tuos.

[13] But the prince of the kingdom of the Persians resisted me one and twenty days: and behold Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, and I remained there by the king of the Persians.

Princeps autem regni Persarum restitit mihi viginti et uno diebus : et ecce Michael, unus de principibus primis, venit in adjutorium meum, et ego remansi ibi juxta regem Persarum.

[14] But I am come to teach thee what things shall befall thy people in the latter days, for as yet the vision is for days.

Veni autem ut docerem te quae ventura sunt populo tuo in novissimis diebus, quoniam adhuc visio in dies.

[15] And when he was speaking such words to me, I cast down my countenance to the ground, and held my peace.

Cumque loqueretur mihi hujuscemodi verbis, dejeci vultum meum ad terram, et tacui.

[16] And behold, as it were the likeness of a son of man touched my lips: then I opened my mouth, and spoke, and said to him that stood before me: O my Lord, at the sight of thee my joints are loosed, and no strength hath remained in me.

Et ecce quasi similitudo filii hominis tetigit labia mea : et aperiens os meum locutus sum, et dixi ad eum, qui stabat contra me : Domine mi, in visione tua dissolutae sunt compages meae, et nihil in me remansit virium.

[17] And how can the servant of my lord speak with my lord? for no strength remaineth in me, moreover my breath is stopped.

Et quomodo poterit servus domini mei loqui cum domino meo? nihil enim in me remansit virium, sed et halitus meus intercluditur.

[18] Therefore he that looked like a man touched me again, and strengthened me.

Rursum ergo tetigit me quasi visio hominis, et confortavit me,

[19] And he said: Fear not, O man of desires, peace be to thee: take courage and be strong. And when he spoke to me, I grew strong: and I said: Speak, O my lord, for thou hast strengthened me.

et dixit : Noli timere, vir desideriorum : pax tibi : confortare, et esto robustus. Cumque loqueretur mecum, convalui, et dixi : Loquere, domine mi, quia confortasti me.

[20] And he said: Dost thou know wherefore I am come to thee? and now I will return, to fight against the prince of the Persians. When I went forth, there appeared the prince of the Greeks coming.

Et ait : Numquid scis quare venerim ad te? et nunc revertar ut praelier adversum principem Persarum. Cum ego egrederer, apparuit princeps Graecorum veniens.

[21] But I will tell thee what is set down in the scripture of truth: and none is my helper in all these things, but Michael your prince.

Verumtamen annuntiabo tibi quod expressum est in scriptura veritatis : et nemo est adjutor meus in omnibus his, nisi Michael princeps vester.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Third. This concurs with the first of Darius. Cyrus then reigned in Persia, and the king is here often mentioned, as the vision happened near it, on the banks of the Tigris. Only twenty-one days had elapsed since the former. --- Strength. Heb. "warfare," or determinate time. Job vii. 1. This shall surely take place, but not soon. C. --- For. Prot. "and had understanding," &c. H. --- He was informed of the meaning, or strove to know what the preceding vision denoted. C. --- Pharao and Baltassar were not prophets, as they did not comprehend what they saw. For understanding is requisite, in order that a vision may be prophetical. S. Tho. ii. 2. q. 175 a. 2. W.

Ver. 2. Weeks. Marsham says twenty-one years. But it means only so many days. He began to mourn on the third of Nisan, and continued fasting (v. 4) it seems even on the sabbaths, and on the feast of Passover, till the 24th. C. --- He was grieved that the people did not make use of the leave granted by Cyrus; (Theod.) or because the Samaritans had prevailed at court to have the temple forbidden; (Usher, A. 3470, and 1 Esd. i. 14.) or rather because he could not fully understand the former visions. C. ix. 30. and xii. 9. &c. C.

Ver. 5. Linen. Heb. baddim. --- Finest. Heb. uphaz, (H.) from Phasis or Ophir.

Ver. 6. Chrysolite. Heb. "Tharsis." This precious stone was perhaps greenish.

Ver. 10. Hand; the Holy Ghost, or rather the angel Gabriel.

Ver. 11. Desires most amiable. C. --- This new title is given to comfort the prophet. W.

Ver. 13. The prince, &c. That is, the angel guardian of Persia: who, according to his office, seeking the spiritual good of the Persians, was desirous that many of the Jews should remain among them. Ch. --- S. Jerom, &c. explain it of the angel guardian. W. --- Each country has an archangel over it, as individuals have an angel. Others assert that this was an evil angel; for how could a good one oppose so long the will of God? Yet this argument may be retorted, as evil spirits themselves must comply. It seems, therefore, that Cyrus was exhorted by the good angels to invade the Chaldeans, and thus to liberate God's people. He was afraid of the hazardous attempt, and free-will may resist the inspirations of God. --- One, or "prince." C. --- Michael, and the guardian of Daniel, joined their prayers for the liberation of the Jews. v. 20. W.

Ver. 14. Days. It will not soon take place; or, I have many things to tell.

Ver. 20. To thee? He awakens his attention (v. 14. C.) and gratitude. H. --- Prince, angel guardian; or Alexander, who would one day rout the Persians. C. xi. 2. C.

Ver. 21. Of truth, in the former sealed visions. C. - Your prince. The guardian general of the Church of God, (Ch.) as he was of the synagogue. C.

#prophecy of daniel

1 note · View note

agameforgoodchristians · 6 years

Text

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy, peace, and ____________." A Canon Card Talk On Rethinking Christmas

We promised in our other, older Christmas Card Talk, that we would get around to writing one about the sundry issues we have with the "traditional" telling of the Christmas story. This is that Card Talk in two parts.

Part I:

When is Jesus’ Birthday?

Like most scholars, and lay clergy worth their eggnog, we don’t believe that the incarnation took place on December 25th.

There are already a plethora of articles, blogs, and social media posts enumerating the historical, cultural, theological, and meteorological reasons why Jesus wasn’t born on this date.

we would like to advance the argument that Jesus was born during SUKKOT.

This is not an idea original to A Game for Good Christians by any means. A simple Google search will provide others expounding on this perspective with more detail than presented here [For example, this website presents a host of other arguments for a Sukkot birth date for Jesus, some more convincing than others. All interesting]. However, permit us to add our voice to this conversation.

God with Us

The Gospel According to Matthew 1:23 (quoting Isaiah 7:14) declares

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel (which means “God with us”).

While others fight about translating “virgin” in this passage, we will focus on the word Emmanuel, “God with us.”

We recently saw a Facebook post where an atheist was mocking the Nativity narrative by pointing out that Jesus is never called Emmanuel anywhere else in the Bible ever, that His Hebrew name was actually Yeshua. So clearly this is another example of Biblical contradictions, throw the whole thing out, merry X-mas, tip your waitress on your way out of the faith. This response ignores that the fact that "Emmanuel" is one of multiple prophetic names in the book of Isaiah, that serve as title more than personal designation. And that is the purpose of Matthew quoting Isaiah: the writer is providing a description of Jesus. "God with us"

The Gospel According to John contains a similar idea in its opening chapter which, while slightly different, is equally instructive:.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth (John 1:14)

“Lived among us.” Other translations read “dwelt among us.” However, a closer translation remembers the context of the Jewish communities recording these stories:

“And the Word became flesh and σκηνόω (skēnoō) among us.”

The Greek word σκηνόω (skēnoō) was used in the Septuagint to translate the Hebrew word for “Tabernacle.”

Thus,

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and Tabernacled among us”

This last is how the Young's Literal Translation renders the passage, as well as many Christian commentaries who make this connection.

Sukkoth, The Feast of Booths (or the Feast of Tabernacles), commemorates the forty-year period the children of Israel lived in the desert, wandering toward the Promised Land. The name refers to the temporary dwellings they inhabited during the journey. The feast, while partially an agricultural affair, was also a reminder of the history of travail and travel, marked by God's hand their lives; how the God of their mothers and fathers brought them through the wilderness.

But what cannot be forgotten is that God was in their midst in His own tent of dwelling: the Tabernacle: the place of sacrifices, dedications, devotion, and atonement. The holy place where humanity could come close to the divine in the midst of the camp.

The gospels record Jesus living among us in the same way.

Jesus’ life is one that brings salvation, physical and spiritual. He is the fullness of the Exodus journey to the Promised Land, and the Exodus from Assyrian/Babylonian Exile home, and the Exodus from secular rule to entering the Kingdom of God. This is the driving motif throughout the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament: A God who saves people while living among them. Hence Jesus’ Hebrew name, Yeshua: “God is salvation/The God who saves,” because God loved the world so much, He gave His Son/Himself.

What more appropriate time for Him to arrive and make His place in our midst than Sukkot?

In the end, does it matter when Jesus was born? Not to us. It's that He was born that matters. That He came for His family and for yours. Even though, especially when, we're a mess. Which brings us to Part 2...

Part II:

Christmas Has Always Been a Disaster for Families

Most people's understanding of the Christmas story is replete with Hallmark-eqsue, Sunday School flannel-graph, bullshit. For example, three wise men did not appear at the Nativity. Read through Matthew chapter 2 carefully. First, the passage never gives a number of magi, only that they were bearing three gifts. Second, placing the magi at the birth requires the same level of mental gymnastics and Christmas magic needed to get 27 elementary-aged kids to accurately recite their lines during a Christmas pageant without any stage-fright, meltdowns, or potty accidents. The narrative events show that the magi couldn't have shown up on the same night as the birth. This is more apparent when its noticed that the passage is suggesting that Jesus is a toddler when they appear, not a newborn. He is consistently referred to as a "child" in the passage, and the magi do not find him "laying in a manger" like the shepherds do in Luke chapter 2 (more on that below). Jesus was probably running around the house, now wondering what he's supposed to do with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And keep in mind that after their departure, Herod began to murder all males two-years-old and under. If Jesus had just been born, why isn't the slaughter of innocents only for newborns? Why the wide range? This is just one example of "the greatest story ever told" being mangled.

the biggest offender is the myth of "the inn."

No room at the inn because there was no inn

Luke 2:1-7 is the passage of note for the famed manger scene:

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered.

Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child.

While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn (κατάλυμα kataluma).

So there it is. "There was no place for them in the inn." Except there's a problem:

The Greek word kataluma is properly translated as "upper room" or "guest room," not "inn."

(c.f. Luke 22:11 where kataluma is used by Jesus asking a homeowner about commandeering his "guest room" for the Last Supper, and Luke 10:34 where a completely different word is used when talking about an actual "inn").

Remember the context of the story: Jo and Mary are travelling to Bethlehem because that's where Joseph's relatives are. You know this. Some of you have heard this story for decades. Didn't you ever ask the question why are they looking for space at a hotel instead of staying with their family?

They did stay with family: that's exactly where this story takes place. Jo and Mary are in the home of one of his relatives, but there is no space in the guest room (kataluma) because it was filled up for the Roman census.

But what about the manger? Archaeologists and biblical scholars have long known that most of the small, humble dwellings in Bethlehem at the time did not have adjacent barns or stables as we think of them. Rather the people would have brought their livestock indoors at night. Thus, the manger was inside the house.

This all brings us to the point of this Card Talk: After years of Christmas pageants vilifying hotel management for not finding a spare bed for the pregnant Mary, the question we should really be asking is, who the hell wouldn't make room for their own relatives?

Mary wasn't rejected by strangers,

she was rejected by family.

There was room in the house. There was a guest room, but its occupants decided that they would not relocate for a pregnant woman. A pregnant relative.

Were they silently questioning who was the "real father" of this baby? Did they feel that Joseph was too kind, or too stupid to see he was being made to look like a fool by this loose woman? Did they think, "we'll let her stay in the house, but our hospitality only extends so far. A woman like that can sleep with the animals"? Did any of them rise and help usher young Yeshua into the world? How awkward was breakfast the next morning? Did they ignore Mary's labor pangs and cries well into the night, but give her dirty looks for their lack of sleep the next morning? Did anyone make snarky comments about the appearance of shepherds in the middle of the night? Did anyone even ask to hold Him?

At this time of year, people often pray that the God of hope will fill us with all joy, peace, and [a-fill-in-the-blank goodness]. But Christmas, like all holidays, has never been an event that unites all families in cheer. Conflict, recrimination, and chaos have always existed right alongside hospitality, hope, and joy.

Sometimes which we find is within our control. Sometimes it is not.

Sometimes we are the shepherds discovering an amazing event.

Sometimes we are Mary and Joseph, just trying to survive the holidays.

Sometimes we are the asshat relatives making life unnecessarily difficult for others.

[Don't be that asshat]

We choose what we impart and what we embrace, in light of and despite those around us.

We choose who we welcome into our homes and to our table. Who we allow within the boundaries of our lives, as well as our churches, our schools, our cities, our countries.

Perhaps this is the perfect time of year to consider who we let in and who we shut out: Who we allow to "tabernacle among us," and who we treat like animals.

But what do we know: we made this game and you probably think we're going to Hell.

Merry Christmas

#Christmas #Sukkot #Jesus #God is in control #Family Drama #d #Joy #Don't be a dick

1 note · View note

jo-shanerome18 · 5 years

Text

Coliseum and Forum Romanum

15/05/2018: Today we separated into two groups as Jo and Shane, as much as it is sensational, have seen the Coliseum so Cecilia, Tom and Beau, yet to do so, headed to their meeting place about ten thirty. We tried to book a couple of skip the line tickets with Get your Guide for the Forum. As it turned out we had to book for all three sites, Coliseum, Forum and Palatine Hill, which we did. The best we could do was eleven thirty five, two hours away, so we hung around a bit before heading to our meeting place at the western end where everybody seemed to be. After a few questions, we were queuing up at the entrance with all the other supposed skip the line people. We think it was a bit of a scam as no line could be found, particularly after the security scanner which seemed to be trying to find people keen on ruining ruins.

It was anything but a pleasant day today. Overcast skies greeted us as we approached the Coliseum forecourt and deteriorated to light rain as we queued. A bit of mucking around was the first thing with us trying to synchronise Rick Steve's audio with one set of earplugs as we wandered towards the Arch of Titus, the triumphal arch erected by Emperor Domitian in 81. The arch commemorates the victories of his father Vespasian and his brother Titus in the Jewish War in Judea some ten years earlier. The two laid siege to Jerusalem for a couple of years, starving and eventually slaughtering its occupants and raiding the vast riches of the temple. They finished off with burning the city down and destroying all but one of its walls, a statement that no walls could defend against the armies of Rome. The Wailing Wall is all that remains today. Thousands of Jewish slaves were brought back to Rome and were put to work building the arch and the Flavian Amphitheatre.

The last time we were there we could sit beneath the arch but it was now fenced off. It was continually full of school kids sitting down and being lectured to by their teachers, but not anymore.

SENATUS POPOLUS QUE ROMANUS DIVO TITO DIVI VESPASIANI F VISPASIANO AUGUSTO (The Senate and People of Rome, to Divus Titus, son of Divus Vespasian, Vespasian Augustus)

Fifty metres down Via Sacra and a right turn along a small tree lined path had us looking up at an enormous arched building of which less than half remains. It was at this time that the skies opened and we were looking for shelter. The Basilica of Maxentius was fenced off so we couldn't head there. Some of the ruined arches were thick and dry beneath but were immediately filled with people closer than us. We headed back along the path where we stood under some of the trees at the garden edge. This with our expensive jackets and cheap umbrellas gave us some protection.

Basilica of Maxentius (or Constantine). One started it and the other one finished

Looking up at the Farnese Gardens and Aviaries on the Palatine Hill from under the trees

There rain did not let up for some time so we put up with it and headed back down Via Sacra towards the Temple of Vesta, but not before checking out the Temples of Antoninus Pius and Faustina and that of Divus Romulus (or possibly Jupiter Stator). An easing in the weather allowed us to take stock and have a good look at the Vestal Virgins.

Jo and the Temple of Antoninus Pius and Faustina

The Temple of Vesta was associated with one of Rome's most ancient and important cults and as such possibly Rome's most sacred locations. It was within the circular temple that the Vestal Virgins tended the sacred fire that perpetually burned as a symbol of the city's life force. For as long as the flame burned, Rome would stand.

Temple of Vesta. The remains date back to the 191 restoration by Septimius Severus

Behind the temple was the courtyard of the House of the Vestal Virgins and the scant remains of what was once the building in which they lived. The six Vestals were chosen by the Emperor in his role as Pontifex Maximus from noble families and served a chaste existence for thirty years. They were aged between six and ten years old when chosen. Those who managed to last the distance were rewarded with large dowries and allowed to marry. Those who didn't were paraded around the town in a cart, given a loaf of bread a lamp and entombed in an underground chamber. According to the information we were given via our Rick Steves commentary, not many lasted the distance.

Remains of the Statues of the Vestal Virgins

It was then back down to Via Sacra and a left turn to the Temple of Julius Caesar who was assassinated in 44BC, stabbed 23 times by political conspirators. Not much of the temple remains but a metal roof covered the spot where Caesar was cremated. Shortly after his death Julius was deified posthumously by the Senate and his adopted son, Augustus, later to become Emperor Augustus begun the temple's construction. Fifteen years after his death Augustus dedicated the temple to him. A look behind a remaining wall at the front revealed the mound of dirt where he was supposed to have been slain. Flowers were strewn over the mound.

What's left of Temple of Divus Iulius

Being a little underwhelmed by the Caesar experience, although at least some of it survived, we wandered further down Via Sacra to the Forum Square, where it all happened. The square stretched to the foot of Capitoline Hill and was once surrounded by temples, law courts, government buildings, triumphal arches and such. Being the busiest and seediest part of town, the square was crowded with all sorts, from senators and politicians to pick pockets, gamblers and prostitutes. As is the norm with today's Romans, their ancestors also used the outdoor piazzas or squares to get some air and spend time with their friends and neighbours.

Veering off of the main street, we found ourselves looking across the almost vacant area that once contained Basilica Aemilia towards the Curia, where the Senate was housed. This was fenced off as was the Arch of Septimius Severus. By this time we could go no further. Stuck at the base of Capitoline Hill. Heading down towards one of the oldest roads around, Vicus Iugarius, we passed the columns of one of the oldest structures in the Forum, the Temple of Saturn. The original temple was built during 497BC and housed an old wooden statue of the god Saturn. More importantly, the statue's pedestal held the city's treasury (gold bars, coins and jewels). The present ruins are the third incarnation of the temple. It replaces the version destroyed by the fire of Carinus in 283 after being completely rebuilt in 42BC.

Arch of Septimius Severus, Roman emperor from 193 to 211

What's left of the third incarnation of the Temple of Saturn

That was just about it. We were on Vicus Iugarius, and looking toward Palatine Hill. Just to our left were two final but no less important structures. The Rostrum, a raised platform where Roman freedom was no more apparent. Rome's orators could stand on the three metre high platform, try to draw a crowd and sway public opinion. The other was the Column of Phocas, the last monument to be put in the Forum. The column was a gift from the Byzantine Empire in 608. It was presented to a Rome on the decline. A final nail in the coffin of a fallen empire, it commemorated the pagan Pantheon being given over to the Christian church. The thousand year rule of Rome had come to an end. The place was looted by Vandals and the population dwindled from one million down to ten thousand. The once grand centre of Rome was abandoned and subsequently buried under centuries of silt and dirt.

The Column of Phocas with the ruins of the Rostrum in the foreground

Looking across Basilica Julia to the Temple of Castor & Pollux. Arch of Titus behind

Our next step was to check out the Farnese Gardens on top of Palatine Hill. Halfway up the steps, we came across some sort of grotto with plenty of water leaking out of the rock. Probably some sort of miracle and supported by a light show on the bare surfaces. Then a storey above was the gardens and aviaries, created during the sixteenth century, when leading Roman families controlled the land on the Palatine. At this point the rain bucketed down so we paid more attention than usual to the place. Statued out, we left the aviaries and headed for the lookout above the old palace, looking over the entire Forum. The place was pretty packed but the rain got heavier as we approached the edge and the crowd split, looking for shelter. We had our five Euro umbrellas which kept us reasonably dry but continually threatened to turn inside out. We got away with it, had a good look with plenty of room and saved our umbrellas. The rain was only getting heavier so we made a beeline for the covered access to the other side of the Palatine Hill.

Ruin upon ruin, this place must have been remarkable in its day. The weather made everybody scamper so no effort was needed to wander around and through Domus Flavia and Domus Augustana to the Stadium and Severan Complex.

Stadio Palatino, or more specifically a gardened hippodromus where horses were exercised.

By now we had had enough and headed for the exit, satisfied that although there was more to see, we took our time and were happy with the experience. A down side was Jo's choice of footwear, having chosen shoes that ended up being so waterlogged that water squeezed through her toes and out the top as she walked.

The return trip was back along Via di San Gregorio, kept the Coliseum to our left and ended up following Via Celio Vibenna to a small restaurant where we could dry out, have a drink and a late lunch. After looking what Crab Ristorante had on offer, fish and crabs by chance, we entered the place next door where we had a simpler meal including a delicious serve of trippa (tripe). Osteria Angelino, although only a small shop front was quite large inside. There were a reasonable number of people inside with as many at the bar as eating. They must have been locals as they seemed to know each other.

Lunch finished, we headed back to the apartment via the local supermarket which was just a stone's throw way. Laden with supplies we walked back up Via Nicloa Salvi. On the way we witnessed hat we thought was a funny sight. There were four or five unmarked police cars rushing toward the city centre with sirens blaring and headlights flashing. The front seat passenger was leaning out the window with a red paddle waving at traffic about to obviously give way.

When we all met up we discovered that the others had their tour in two parts. The morning was the Coliseum and at two thirty were to meet again for the Forum. Cecilia had had enough after the Coliseum. Her back had been giving her hell since her slip and crash on the uneven marble stairs at Trevi Fountain.

Pasta for dinner, another trivia argument and bed.

Time for bed

Tomorrow Apia Antica.

0 notes