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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Steamy Waters — Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten), Namjoon x Vixen (mentioned)

Wordcount: 8.7k words

Genre: smut, a tinyyyyy bit of angst, pwp, established relationship, idol!au

Rating: very18+

Hello strawberries! With Namjoon’s Steamy Waters we saw the guys leaving for tour, with Yoongi we see them come back. Of course there will be a few things happening in between the two fics, but that will come later (see it as some special piece similar in terms of genre to Girls’ Night). Quick recap of the plot: Yoongi comes back from tour and Kitten is there to greet him. It has been a long day, and a he’s been away for a long time: the two decide to head to the shower to help Yoongi get rid of his travelling filth and help Kitten get rid of her bitter feelings. (AKA that one time Yoongi finally convinced Kitten to move in with a very unorthodox method.)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: filth. Swearing. Sarcasm. Dirty Talking. Slight angst (Yoongi’s shoulder is sore; Kitten finds condoms in his travel bag and she is afraid of cheating, even though she knows Yoongi is 3000% faithful, past relationship trauma). Shower blowjob, cum swallowing, cock worship and breast worship, lots of ass grabbing (both male and female receiving); again, Yoongi wakes her up with oral which is something he does a lot but still, it’s non explicitly consensual since she’s sleeping, he asks for consent as soon as she wakes up. Unprotected sex within an established relationship (GET TESTED BEFORE GOING BARE WITH YOUR PARTNER. PLEASE. USE CONDOMS UNLESS YOU’RE 1000% SURE YOU’RE CLEAN). Spooning sex, fingering, he uses his fingers as a gag. Multiple rounds and very multiple orgasms and squirting. Mentions of a cocksleeve. Mentions of anal sex; mild anal play (female receiving), mentions of rimming (female receiving). Use of a G-spot vibrator with remote control via smartphone, squirting, cunnilingus and face riding, crying, slight degradation, use of safeword, old school missionary jackhammering, choking kink. On a side note, reader is bisexual and everybody has a crush for Vixen

If you want background music for reading I suggest playing the whole About Time album by Sabrina Claudio or Over It (complete set) album by Summer Walker. [Thank me later 😉]

Finally, here is my masterlist and well, Enjoy!!! ✨💜

———————————

You stood in the middle of the underground parking lot of Yoongi’s apartment, waiting for his van to arrive from the airport. Today he was back from the tour and you’d taken a few days off work to spend time with him.

You stood there, checking some emails on your phone when the doors of the lift opened on a dolled up Vixen.

You had seen her wear black, blue and white quite consistently, head to toe impeccable at all times. That’s why you had to do a double take when you saw her in a pink, frilly, tiny sundress that looked like it could unravel if you stared at it for too long.

“Am I late?” She asked, only to stare at you and realise that if you were there waiting, then no, they hadn’t arrived yet. “Sorry, dumb question, I’m just excited.” She smiled nervously, fixing non-existent creases on her dress.

“There’s a bit of traffic. They’ll be here in a minute, though.” You explained, putting down your phone. “Plans for a date?” You asked her, looking at her outfit.

“No, actually. I just wanted to dress pretty.” She said, elegant and sweet as usual.

You smiled and looked at your oversized, worn-out T-shirt from a rockband you listened to when you were a teen, and the loose cotton shorts that reached your mid-thigh, paired with casual flip flops. You weren’t even wearing your nice bra. Not that Yoongi would care about that once he took your shirt off. Bras were just a nuisance to him anyway.

“Are you on vacation?” She asked, checking her phone before locking it again. It lit up again with a notification, her lockscreen showing a picture of a boy staring at a sculpture. No doubt, Namjoon.

“No, just took a few days off.” You replied kindly. You checked your phone yourself. “You and Joon are going on holiday?”

“Just a quick getaway.” She explained, beaming at you. She looked radiant, as if the last seven weeks had never existed. But her face looked slimmer. Her arms too. You had often met at the gym, spending time together and working out, ‘to stop thinking’ she had said. And you had bonded like that, over working out to stop your brains and dull your edges while your boyfriends were away.

You tried not to think if Namjoon was going to propose while they were away. Yoongi had mentioned the man was considering the idea. “Then have a safe journey and a nice holiday.” You said, grinning. “Hope you can get your fill of him.” You said smirking.

She caught the innuendo mischievously. “Trust me, I will.” She replied before winking.

The bar to the parking lot lifted, before a black van entered the space, stopping a few slots away from you.

Vixen was basically skipping on her toes, ready to throw herself at her boyfriend. Beside her, you felt like a flock of hummingbirds had been caged inside your chest, the fluttering feeling almost uncomfortable. When you heard the doors open, your ears stopped working, blood pressure making them perceive nothing but a dull beeping sound.

Namjoon appeared from the door, Vixen dashing to him and throwing her whole body into his arms as he picked her up. The whole scene was very romantic and dramatic — just in their style —, almost making you sneer in a mysanthropistic fit, however the smaller figure appearing behind the lovey dovey couple made you reconsider your hatred towards humanity.

Let’s be clear, you weren’t normally this sour, but seven weeks without Yoongi had taken their toll, and all you wanted was to incinerate every couple until he had had his sweet way with you and you weren’t underloved and underorgasmed anymore.

“No dramatic welcome back for me?” He asked, staring at you from the distance with his hands on his hips. “No balloons and banners?” He shook his head. “You’re a disappointment.” He grinned at you.

“You’re sucking your own dick tonight.” You teased back, Namjoon and Vixen too caught up in their idyllium to bother with your bantering.

He shrugged. “Thank you for letting me know.” He opened his arms and you walked towards him, hugging him tight as he did just the same, your arms around his neck as he placed his hands on your waist and pulled you to him. “Hi, Kitten.”

“Hello, Yoongles.” You said, your voice emotional.

“I’m sorry, I smell a bit.” He said, thinking about all those hours on the plane.

“Not really.” You said, nuzzling into his neck, reacquainting with his cologne. “You’re as good as usual.”

His hands rubbed up and down your spine. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s too hot outside today and I could kill for a shower right now.”

The back of the van was already open as Namjoon took out the suitcases.

“Hyung. Here is yours.” He said, letting it roll towards Yoongi.

He thanked and caught it, sprawling his left hand over the top of it before catching the handle. Your eyes went wide as you stared at the tendons and veins just below the pale skin, jumping and flexing at the effort.

You had missed those hands. Dearly. Deliriously.

As he noticed your focused stare, he smirked, his other hand searching for your fingers, intertwining them with his. “I have my backpack too. Careful, there’s equipment inside.” Said Yoongi, pulling at your arm as he neared the back of the van and grabbed his stuff.

“Let me get that.” You said, fussing over him. He looked tired and thin. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Not too bad.” He said. “A bit crumpled up because of the long trip and the air conditioning, but overall not bad.” He let you take the backpack though, showing you that yes, it was probably not nice.

“I’ll have a cold pack ready upstairs.” You said, kissing his temple. The boys and Vixen said goodbye to the driver as he left, leaving the four of you trying to fit inside the lift.

It wasn’t too difficult and you were grateful that Namjoon stayed mostly silent even as his hand kept drawing patterns on the back of Vixen’s naked thigh, climbing decisively too high — and too under her dress — for public decency. Not that he noticed you or Yoongi staring and looking at each other conspiratorially, trying to find ways to tease him about it in the future.

Anyway, Yoongi drew you close with an arm around your waist, whispering in your ear, “I’m just as needy myself.”

You turned to look at him with a knowing smirk. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” You whispered back, pressing your brow to the side of his head.

Luckily, the doors dinged and opened, making the sweethearts quit their endeavours and hurriedly grab the suitcase and the smaller carryon. Next, you took care of Yoongi’s luggage, helping him slide it down the corridor, to the door of his apartment. Namjoon and Vixen stood in front of the door beside you while he opened the front door to their apartment and brought his stuff in.

“I don’t think I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Namjoon commented.

“I don’t think so, no.” Yoongi replied chuckling as you raised your eyebrows and looked away, avoiding Namjoon’s knowing smirk.

“Then have a nice break. Guess I’ll text you.” Namjoon replied.

“Of course.” Yoongi said.

“Kitten,” Namjoon greeted with a small nod.

You waved at him, at the same time as Vixen said goodbye to the both of you and Namjoon picked her up again.

“We didn’t tell them to keep it down.” Yoongi realised after staring at the closed front door for a couple seconds.

“We could sleep in your studio.” You reasoned with a doubtful pout.

Yoongi’s expression unintentionally mirrored yours.

“Shall we?” You said, gesturing to the door.

He placed his arm around your waist and dragged you in. “I’m not strong enough to carry you like that.” He said, closing the door.

“They’re so disgustingly sweet.” You replied, shaking your head and combing his hair with your fingers. He looked so good with black hair.

“You say that only ‘cause it’s been too long since I last fucked you.” He replied, ignoring the suitcases and placing his lips on yours, chastely, sweetly.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispered, rubbing his lips on yours tenderly.

“I’ve missed you too.” You replied, placing your hands on his ass and pushing him closer to you.

“I love you.” He murmured with his deliriously sexy voice.

“I love you.” You echoed, squeezing his behind eloquently.

He grinned. “Did Namjoon give you ideas?” He said, referring to the lift scene.

“I’m just appreciating the small things in life.” You quipped, making him part from you with an outraged frown.

“My ass is not that small.” He opposed.

“You are small.” You replied, cupping his face and squishing his cheeks.

“You have clearly forgotten how it feels to have my cock inside you.” He teased right back, gripping your ass himself and pushing you against his front, making you feel his hardening length.

“Maybe you could give me a reminder.” You wondered.

“I need a shower.”

“And I need to blow you, which, in my opinion, makes an excellent combination.” You said reasonably.

He grinned and shook his head. “Fuck, if I missed you.”

“Yes ‘fuck, if I missed you’, but also fuck me, please?” You said, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands with your palms up in front of him in a helpless pose.

“Let’s get that shower first, yeah.” He rubbed his hands up and down your sides. “You’ve waited so long that you can wait a bit longer, right.”

“I repeat, you’re this close to sucking your own dick tonight.” You warned jokingly.

“Then we can have that shower and let you blow me before you change your mind.” He teased, calming you down with heavy touches to your cheeks and hair.

He was secretly enjoying the feel of you in front of him, getting reacquainted with the materiality of you, with the joy of feeling you at his side, of feeling you, full stop. He had never known he could miss touching someone. Innocently, attentively and lovingly.

He had missed the feel of you under his hands. Combing your hair, hiding his nose in the crook of your neck, holding your hands.

Holding your hands.

He felt like he could do just that as you fell asleep on the bed.

He felt so tired.

“Let’s go.” You said, noticing his tired gaze.

“The bags.” He said, pointing at his luggage in the entry.

“Later.” You replied, squeezing his hand and leading the way to the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom.

“How was the journey?” You asked, taking off your shirt once you entered the bathroom door.

“Tiring. Very long. We had a long delay due to the connecting flight being late.”

“You had a connecting flight?” You said, incredulous, stopping as you were taking off your shorts.

“Well, it’s pretty difficult finding direct flights from Europe to South Korea.” He said, taking off his own shirt.

You turned around to look at his naked torso. It was pale as usual, more sculpted, but barely, still you immediately spotted the slightest curve on his belly and relaxed. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Next he took off his loose linen sweats, a pair of plain white boxers emerging underneath. His calves were slightly bronzed, and as he noticed you staring he explained. “I stayed out with Hoseok one afternoon. I had bermudas on.” He pouted.

“My poor little cracker.” You cooed, getting closer to him in nothing but your underwear. As he hugged you, his hands went immediately to the clasp of your bra, unlatching it.

Grinning, you took it off and offered it to him, who threw it hatefully behind his shoulders. “I hate that shit.” He sneered, before cupping each of your breasts and pushing them up, planting his face snug in between.

“I missed you.” He mouthed, kissing both.

You giggled. “Are you talking to my tits.”

“I am appreciating the great things of life.” He murmured.

“I hope appreciating them includes covering them in hickeys and cum.” You commented, caressing his hair as he kept trying to suffocate himself between your boobs.

“What if I appreciated your dirty mouth first?” He teased, opening the tap to the shower and feeling the water temperature with the palm of his hand before bending down to take off his boxers.

His cock was half mast, as glorious as you remembered it, the hair around kept just long enough to stay soft.

As he noticed you staring, he snickered. “It looks like you really want to reacquaint with it.”

“Says the man who said ‘I missed you’ to my tits.” You teased.

“Fair enough.” He conceded, getting under the water falling from the shower head.

Taking off your panties, you followed him in.

“You look beautiful, Kitten.” He said, “a bit too thin, though.” He commented, running his hands up and down your sides.

“All those nights in the gym took a toll.” You replied.

“I still can’t believe you actually went to the gym.” He said, kissing your lips as light as a butterfly. “And just because you wanted to fuck but I was away.”

You shrugged, “the alternative was starting a very sapphic tryst with Vixen, but I don’t think Namjoon would have condoned it.”

Yoongi chuckled, “No, I don’t think so.” He admitted, massaging your ass under his palms. “Nice improvement.”

“I did Vixen’s workout. That girl is a fucking power plant.” You shook your head. “Completely crazy.”

“She is after all Namjoon’s girlfriend. I’m surprised he called her Vixen and not bunny or rabbit.” He shook his head.

“Enough with the sweethearts. Give me the D, mr Min.” You said, getting on your knees.

He laughed and ran his hand through your hair, while you scooted back towards the wall. You precisely knew how you wanted him.

“Kitten. What is it.” He asked, looking at the way you parted your legs and crouched, making sure that your spine and the back of your head pressed against the wall, your heels tucked under your ass.

“I want you to fuck my mouth?” You said, eyes imploring, your hands already running down the back of his thighs, trying to bring him close.

“You sure?” He asked, licking his lips repeatedly, swallowing once and then again in an attempt to bring comfort to his dry mouth.

“Yeah.” You replied, looking up at him bringing your hand between your legs, testing your own wetness.

Your eyes met as he stroked his length a couple times before feeding the tip of his cock into your mouth, parted wide for him. “Tell me how deep I can go.” He murmured, pushing in slowly.

You placed your hands on his hips, pushing him deeper into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around him, covering the edge of your teeth and bobbing your head tentatively. His hand moved protectively to the crown of your head, trying to keep your head from hitting the wall.

“Easy, tiger,” He said, chuckling, before his laugh stopped, interrupted by a moan. “Kitten, that's deep.” He murmured as you pushed him past the back of your tongue and deep into your throat. You kept him there for a couple seconds, focusing on the feel of him to avoid choking, before pushing him away.

He placed the other hand on the wall, holding up his weight. “Are you okay, love?” He asked, noticing your reddened eyes and heavy breath.

“Yes.” You murmured. “It feels so good to have you back.” You said, elated, as you pulled him back into your mouth, asking him with delicate motions of your arms to thrust into you.

“Missed your lips. Your tongue,” he moaned, groaning as you squeezed your cheeks against his tip. “So fucking good.” He combed your hair back and moved the hand from the wall to your chin, making you look up to him. “Look at me, ____.” He ordered you. “I want to look into your eyes as I fuck your mouth.” He leaned his forearm against the wall, plunging in with a gentle curl of his hips, his mouth wide, the water falling down his spine, his black locks plastered against his forehead. “I love your mouth. Your nasty tongue.” He drew out. “Touch yourself.” He growled, teasing you with his sexy voice.

“Yoongi.” You moaned as he slid out. “Please.” You whimpered.

“Please what, kitty.” He said, touching your face.

“I want you to cum.” You cried out, scratching his abdomen lightly.

“How do you want that?” He asked, brushing a few loose strands of hair off your face.

“I want you to fuck my mouth.” You repeated, eager, your fingers rubbing in between your legs.

“Then let me give you what you want, love.” He purred, grabbing his shaft and placing the soft, reddish tip right on your lower lip. “Is this what you want?”

You nodded, begging him with your longing glance.

He grinned sinfully and let his hip arch forward.

He entered your mouth with a slow and steady stroke, giving you time to prepare yourself, until he was all the way in.

“I'll never forget how it feels, Kitten. I've spent hours thinking about this.” He groaned, his chest heaving.

And then he slipped out, only to stroke in again. You moaned a bit, and then kept quiet, focusing on the feel of him, on his eyes screwed shut, on the rhythmic contractions of his belly, on the flexing of his quads and his glutes.

He was so beautiful, lost in bliss, chasing his high, stopping only when you tapped his leg twice.

He let the tip rest on your tongue, “love that dirty mouth.” He praised you as you slurped and twirled your tongue around him. “Can never resist it.” He went on.

Once more you pulled him towards you, humming wantonly.

“Close, Kitten. Need your… Yes.” He groaned as you reached for his balls. “Sq–”

He didn't have the time to give you orders: you were already doing his favourite things, massaging his sensitive spot, squeezing him gently until he sank deep into you and went silent for a couple seconds, not even breathing before he let a raspy roar tear from his mouth and echo in the small space.

You shut your eyes tight as he gave the smallest thrust, burrowing deep into you as he spilled inside you, the lack of oxygen getting to your head, but still you tried opening your eyes, looking at Yoongi's lips hanging open, gasping for hair.

His chest expanded in a deep breath. “For fuck’s sake.” His eyes opened slightly.

He was leaning over you, the light dimmed by his body shielding you, the sound of the water precipitating against the floor a bit too loud for his ears and your own.

You touched his leg twice and his eyes shot open as he slipped out quickly. “Damn it, you okay, Kitten?” He knelt between your legs, touching your cheeks and taking in your closed eyes and your chest heaving as you finally got some brand new oxygen in your lungs.

“A bit short of breath.” You whispered, leaning into his touch and nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Oh, precious.” He moved his hands behind your back, hugging you close. “Poor thing.”

“Don’t baby me.” You mumbled, raking your nails down his back, making him shiver.

“No?” He asked, smiling softly, rubbing his cheek against your hair. “You’re a tough cookie?”

You nodded with your eyes closed and he snickered.

“My tough cookie.” He murmured, patting your head. “I missed you so much, beautiful. I love you.”

You untucked yourself from his shoulder and looked at him in the eye. “I love you, too.” You cooed.

“What can I do for you, ____?” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

You dipped your head forward, hiding into him. “I want you close.” He felt his heart melt.

“You don’t want me to fuck you?” He asked, simply caressing your head as you mouthed at his throat.

“Let’s finish the shower first.” You said, parting from him and standing up.

He placed a chaste kiss on your hip as you stood before him, his tongue delving between your legs, tasting your honey-clad folds. “I swear the taste of your cunt keeps getting better and better.”

“We can take this to bed, Yoongi, now stand up and let me wash your hair.” You murmured, running your hands into his dark locks

“You could wash my hair while I make out with your pussy.” He suggested.

“I need to focus, stand up you menace.” You smirked playfully.

He obeyed, bending his head forward, planting it between your tits.

“Yoongi!” You said, playfully outraged.

“Oh, come on.” He murmured. Immediately he found his usual spot and took it past his lips, sucking it with his teeth, rubbing it with his tongue while you found the bottle of his shampoo and poured some in your palm, rubbing your hands together and spreading the foam over his hair.

“Don’t be a whiny pup.” You scolded him, spreading the soap over his scalp, carefully avoiding it going into his eyes.

As he felt your fingers massaging his head, making sure that all the shampoo was rinsed off his hair, his lips accidentally parted in a wide yawn.

“Let’s go to bed.” You murmured, maybe for the first time since you saw him downstairs, the dark circles underneath his eyes.

You closed the tap quickly, stretching to reach a towel and drying him up, pressing the towel to his pained shoulder, dabbing the cotton softly before peppering a cascade of kisses on the skin. “We’re gonna put some lotion on this baddie.” You said, smiling gently at him. “Does it hurt?” Your lips still caressing his skin there while you kept drying him up, knowing how dangerous it was for him to stay wet under the air conditioning. He was delicate and something inside you, something affectionate and apprehensive, made you want to pamper him.

“A bit.” He said, pouting, feeling like he could drop his facade now, abandoning himself to your gentle care.

He yawned again. “You had your orgasm and now you’re sleepy, kitty cat?” You teased, cooing at him cutely.

“I’m a bit jet-lagged,” he admitted, stealing a towel and opening it up, cupping your breasts from over the cotton, and then moving his attention elsewhere, brushing your belly, your arms, kneeling down and placing a small kiss on your lower belly, before rubbing the fabric over your legs, first one, then the other, helping your foot up and drying first your left, then your right one.

“Where’s the lotion?” You asked, kissing his brow as he stood up.

“In the carryon. It’s with the toiletries.”

You quickly wrapped your towel around your body, exiting the room and looking for his large suitcase. You opened it, his laundry neatly folded inside, his beauty bag perfectly fitting in. As you rummaged into his beauty bag, you frowned, spotting a familiar bottle of lube and a small silicone pocket. A few condoms loose among his toiletries.

Something in you hesitated. Even though you knew Yoongi would never, ever look at someone else, old ghosts of your ex immediately started tormenting you.

You tried to ignore the unsettling feeling, blinking a few times before grabbing his shoulder lotion and heading for the kitchen, immediately finding a cold pack inside the freezer, and bringing it to the bedroom. You looked inside a drawer, finding a little kerchief or a bandana — whatever it was — and bringing it to the bedside table.

Yoongi was laying in the middle of the bed, looking at you as you obstinately avoided his gaze.

“Lay on your side.” You asked gently but coldly before he obeyed, still a bit confused at your change in mood. Was it because he hadn’t fucked you? Maybe you were okay with it, but now you weren’t anymore? Were you disappointed?

You poured some cold lotion on the round muscle, following the instruction he had taught you before he left, when he came home tired and sore from practice. And then again, his therapist had taught you some small tricks after the concert in Seoul, when you had accompanied him to the doctor the following day for his ordinary session.

He hissed as the cold gel met his skin, while your thumbs dug into the skin gently but surely, massaging the stressed muscle. “It’ll warm up.” You said simply, spreading the lotion and massaging it where flesh and bone met.

You opened the cold pack, cracking it in the middle and placing it behind his shoulder, where his shoulderblade and collarbone met. locking it into place by tying the bandana around it, running it around his armpit. “There you go. I’ll go rinse my hands.”

You hadn’t kissed him. Or looked at him.

“Kitten.” He called, but you were already walking into the joined bathroom, willingly ignoring his call.

You opened the tap, rubbing the heavy stench of the gel off your hands, and then placing your clean, wet, cold palms against your cheeks, trying to calm down.

You grabbed one of his t-shirts before you lowered the blinds, walking towards the bed and laying down on your side of the bed, curled up in a ball and sliding under the covers after turning on the air purifier. His eyes opened as you laid down,

“Why are you wearing a shirt?” He asked.

“I’m cold.” You replied briefly.

“Kitten.” He called again.

You turned away from him, taking a few deep breaths, pondering whether you should talk or not.

“Kitten.”

“I found the condoms. In your bag.” You voice shook. “I know you would never do what he did but still.”

“Goodness.” He murmured, his breath freezing in his lungs. “Fuck. Kitten. Don’t.” He said calmly, with a reassuring tone, coming closer to you, hugging you to his chest, his tender arm coming around your body, while his good one moved under your head, pillowing it. “They’re there from when you came to our concert in Busan. Remember?” He said, kissing the crown of your head. “Remember Busan?”

You nodded. Of course you remembered. “I do.” You had changed birth control and you had used the condoms for safety. And accidentally — since you were already equipped — you had tried anal for the first time, quite to your surprise.

“And I kept them there. Hoping that maybe you could find a way to come to one of the concerts. That maybe we could have a couple nights somewhere.” He explained, intertwining your fingers. “No one else. I swear to God, no one else, Kitten. No one else, ____.”

You relaxed in his hold, kissing his arm under your head. “I’m so sorry. I know you would never. I trust you, but… You know how it feels.”

“I do, love. I know you trust me, baby.” He kissed your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, being so strong, my love.”

“Can you just hold me?” You asked, slowly slipping into complete relaxation. Even though you knew feeling him inside you would be the best form of reassurance, you abandoned the idea. Because, as much as you’d love him to ruin you, what you had missed the most while he was away was his hands combing your hair before falling asleep, his chest expanding and deflating against your back as he slept behind you, his hand gently placed on your chest, while you simply laid there, basking in the peacefulness of being together. You missed combing his hair, feeling the weight of his head resting in your arms, kissing his temple as he laid his head on your shoulder, you watching a movie while he pretended not to nap.

“There you go, Kitten.” He murmured against your nape, sprinkling little pecks all over your upper back. “I missed you.” He whispered, again, losing count of how many times he had said it. His body relaxed behind yours, his mind already thinking how he could possibly offer you true reassurance later — and repay you for the blowjob. In kind. With interests. Once he was sure you were sleeping, he stood up, looking into the drawer of your bedside table and smirking once he found the small case together with the charger.

He considered he’d better recharge it and avoid unfortunate mishaps, he unplugged your bedside lamp and connected the charger, plugging it into the toy. Satisfied with the potential developments, he curled up around you; his eyelids fluttered closed, his yawns becoming stronger and more frequent, sleep conquering his body as your own muscles loosened with Morphean abandon.

————————————

When Yoongi woke, it was already sundown, a gentle orange light coming in from the window. Around seven pm.

First, he noticed that his shoulder felt better. Next, he noticed that you were wearing a shirt.

Disappointing.

And next, he realised that he was home. At your side. In your bed.

Finally, he realised that he hadn’t yet seen you cum. He had been home for around six hours and he had spent the majority of those sleeping. When he could have made you cum on his tongue several times.

He started considering his options.

With quiet and discretion, he parted from your sleeping form, heading for the small drawer where he kept bedsheets, towels, underwear and sleeping clothes. There, under a blanket, he found exactly what he was looking for.

“Yes.” He huffed out, placing his treasure on the drawer and fixing the rest, moving back to the bed together with the soft object. He removed the cold pack from his shoulder and spread the small two-layers blanket on the free side of the bed, planning to lay it out fully once he managed to wake you up.

Now he only had to rouse you.

He arched his eyebrows, thinking of how he could do that without getting his cock bitten off.

You were a very smart and adult woman, but still you took your naps very seriously, acting like a whiny child whenever someone interrupted them.

He crawled on top of the bed, curling up in a ball below you, pressing his knees to his shoulders as he gave a tentative lick on your naked labia, his tongue insinuating between your folds until he found your sweet nectar.

Your hips moved against his face, just barely, an involuntary movement of your body. You were still asleep.

He gave a full lick, as far as your position allowed.

You fussed in your sleep, maybe mumbling his name, or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He lifted your leg just enough to have access to your clit, the tip of his tongue toying with it, tapping it a couple times before he flexed his appendage and rubbed it against your sensitive spot, first in tiny licks, then in circular motions.

“Yoongi,” this time you called for real.

Finally happy with the result, he put down your leg and laid down behind you, placing his palm on your belly and sliding it under the shirt, feeling your naked skin.

“Kitten?” He called, making sure that you were actually awake.

“Yes.” You replied, your voice groggy.

“I want inside.” He murmured at your ear.

“Yes.” You confirmed, mind still a bit hazy with sleep.

“Yes what?” He asked with an arrogant chuckle.

“Inside. Please.” You whimpered, your hand stretching behind you and grabbing his sex.

“Let it be, Kitten. I’ll take care of it.” He slapped your hand away before he wrapped his fingers around his shaft, rubbing his tip against you. “You want it like this?” He said, nibbling your shoulder. “Want me from behind?”

You nodded, lifting your upper leg and hooking it back over his hip, offering him access. “You’re so good at spoons.”

He snickered. “Told you it was good.” He slid the tip in slowly, stretching your hole as the thick, red, spongy head breeched your inner cave. “Remember when we played twenty question here, in my house?” He said, voice raspy as he slid in all the way, stilling only once he bottomed out.

“I do.” You replied with difficulty, through gritted teeth. “I rubbed you through your pants unti you came.”

“You were fingering yourself while jerking me off.” He murmured. “You were there, so open about your pleasure, so unashamed.” He kissed you below your ear, slowly sliding out.

You whimpered as he parted from you, lifting your shirt and pushing his hand to your chest, his fingers immediately tweaking your nipple. You turned your head, trying to meet his lips, almost getting a crick in your neck at the effort. He slid in with a deep stroke, bending over you and joining your mouths.

“In that moment I realised I had to have you.” He groaned against your mouth.

“We hadn’t even kissed and you were thrusting yourself into my hand.” You mewled as he rubbed against the tender tissue inside you. “God, you always hit my sweet spot like this.” You cried out, giving him a few squeezes.

“So tight.” He cried out, purring against your ear. “And I hadn’t kissed you because I was afraid.” He said, almost as if he weren’t trying to possess every inch of you, as if it wasn’t the most difficult thing he had ever done, to stay perfectly still inside you as you milked him.

“Afraid.” You said, provokingly. “Ten dates in two months and you were afraid.”

“I knew that the moment I got my tongue in your mouth, I would never slow down.” He murmured, pulling out just barely before ramming into you. “I wanted to hear you moan for me from the first time I heard your voice. So soft. So sexy.” He groaned against your ear.

His hand moved to the other breast, your gaze focusing downwards, on his skeletal fingers, on the way they spread and constricted around your flesh. “Yoongi, I wanna cum.” You moaned, grinding your hips in circles while he gave tiny thrust that rubbed the head of his cock against your g-spot. “So good.” Your hand reached behind, grabbing his ass cheek and sinking your nails into the flesh, imprinting five red crescents into the skin, scratching it, marking it.

His other arm slid beneath you, fumbling a little as he substituted the one on your breasts, while the other one, a bit freer, moved up, to slip his fingers into your mouth. “Suck them, Kitten. Moan around them.” He said, pressing his index and middle finger on your tongue. “Make them wet before I rub them on your clit.” He murmured, giving small circles with his hips, feeling you clench around him.

“Close.” You moaned while he moved his fingers away from your tongue, right on your sensitive bud.

“Come on. Cum for me.” He groaned, rubbing his palm delicately over your nipple, teasing it barely, only the tip meeting the rough skin of his calluses. “Cum on my cock. Claim it. Come on.” He said, his voice strained, his hips pushing with quick small strokes, focusing on caressing and pressing against your sweet spot.

“Yoo—” You tried to speak his name but your mouth stayed open, a loud scream ripping from your throat, as it all became too much. “Yoongs, wait, fuck, too good!” You screamed as his fingers kept teasing you insistently, overstimulating you. “Yoongs, fuck, another!” You felt his thrusts become faster, harder as your second high approached.

“No no no no, please, stop!” You screeched, trying to tug his wrist away, while he kept it against your mound, tucked in tight.

“You know the word, ____.” He growled as he gave a few final strokes inside you, your whole body shaking with effort, your second high so incredibly strong that it took your voice away, your ears filled with a shrill beeping sound. “So good.” He hummed pushing your back into his chest as he stayed deep inside you, coating your cunt with his seed as he gave a couple tentative thrusts. “So fucking good, Kitten.”

“Yoongi,” you murmured with your voice hoarse.

“The whole neighbourhood will know about you getting that good dick,” He teased, slipping out of you and holding you tight, rolling you on top of him, and then on the other side of the bed, where he had laid the special blanket just for you.

“There’s the blankie.” You said, surprised.

“Yup. I laid the blankie for you.” He said, as he noticed you sitting up and tearing your t-shirt off your torso, throwing it away before you rolled your body on your front.

You smiled and nuzzled into the soft microfiber, anticipating the special treatment you were about to get.

“Are you ready, Kitten?” He asked, rubbing your ass, then letting his finger walk up your spine, carding through your hair and grabbing it, massaging your scalp with his hooked fingers.

“Yes, please.” You said, half still dizzy with your previous orgasms, and half dizzy with the anticipation for the ones that were about to come.

“Would you like to stay on your front?” He asked, stretching to the bedside table and unplugging the device, placing it away from your curious eyes.

“Yes? And then turn around?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Maybe you could play with my boobs, choke me a little, then fuck me again?” You said, arching your back and pushing your ass up, trying to lure him in, and at the same time rubbing your sensitive nipples against the soft fabric.

“Greedy little beast.” He said, patting your head affectionately.

You pushed your face against it, like an obedient little cat.

“Stay put, Kitten. I’ll come back in a second.” He said, dashing for the entry room lightning fast, rummaging in his backpack for his phone, finding it and murmuring a “aha!” before he headed back to the bedroom the small toy still placed in his palm, his fingers wrapped tight around it.

As he entered the bedroom he slowed down, looking at you kneeling with your ass up, your front pressed against the mattress, your arm trapped underneath you as your fingers played peekaboo between your legs, tickling your folds like the long, spindly legs of a spider.

“You got started without me?” He asked, looking at you with his phone in his hand, his other palm unfolding as he let the vaginal vibrator dangle from his fingers pinching the small cord that simplified extraction.

“Fuck it, I love you.” You chuckled, pushing your fingers inside, feeling how deeply he had stretched you.

“You only love me for the sex.” He said, grinning, making the vibrator swing back and forth like a pendulum.

“That’s not true.” You said, whimpering as you hit a really good spot. You giggled. “I also love you because you’re fucking filthy.” You teased.

He grinned his signature gummy smile and brought the toy to his face, his lips parting wide and wrapping around it, sucking it in his mouth.

Your eyes went wide at the gesture, the cord dangling like the tail of a mouse caught in the cat’s clutches.

He crawled behind you, placing down his phone as he caressed the back of you thighs, grabbing your ass and massaging it with his firm, strong hands.

“Put it in?” You asked, wiggling your butt in his grasp.

His right hand parted from your skin, pinching the cord and tugging at it, the toy popping out with a loud noise. “My filthy babe wants her cunt filled?” He asked, licking at his cum as it has oozed out of your slit, coating your inner thighs.

“Please, Yoongi.” You purred, using your fingers to part your labia.

He snickered and placed the toy on your entrance, letting it slide in one millimeter at the time.

You felt every single second of it, the slightly oval shape calling for a barely-there stretch at the tip, but hitting an almost-burning sensation once you reached the widest part, Yoongi devilishly stopping it there, his other hand disappearing from your leg.

That’s when the vibration started. Slow, steady, almost imperceptible.

“Yoongs...” You whined, stretching the vowels in a whining tone.

“Oh, quiet.” He shushed you, putting down the phone to caress your spine, “Be a good girl.” He murmured, scratching your butt before slapping it playfully. “You should keep up with the work out. Look at this ass.” He said, before letting his teeth sink in it.

You screamed, the toy finally sliding all the way in.

The vibrations started propagating inside you, together with his teeth tightening on your flesh. He would leave a mark for sure. It was only a matter of how harsh it would be, how long it would last.

He parted from your butt, pondering for a second whether he thought it a good idea to run his tongue down the junction of the two ass cheeks, teasing the hole in between.

Not yet. He felt like he should discuss it with you first.

To silence his doubts he parted from you, admiring the view, letting it eventually suggest him how to proceed.

He wished he could preserve the moment in his mind forever, even if he couldn’t quite see your face, your pretty nose scrunched and eyes shut as you focused on the feeling between your legs, trying to make it good enough to lead you to pleasure once more.

With his phone he let the intensity of the vibration grow just a bit. A very, very tiny bit.

“More.” You mewled, your fingers rubbing your clit.

There was his suggestion.

Sliding his hand up against your side, then forward, near your belly, he managed to take control of your wrist, pushing it away and trapping it behind your back. “I’m gonna give you more, but that’s all you’re gonna get, Kitten.” He warned, letting his thumb increase the vibration on the touch screen of his phone.

“Fuck it. Yes.” You said, as the stimulus became medium-intense.

And then mild again. “Don’t mess with me please, just please!” You cried out, writhing against nothing, parting your legs wider as he noticed the cord hang between your leg twitching with the tight contractions of your cunt.

“Oh, I shouldn’t?” He raised the controller all the way up.

“YOONGI!” You screamed, your body out of control as your legs gave out, pushing your hips against the mattress, the soft fiber of the blanket feeling divine on the delicate tip of your clit.

And then again the vibration quieted down, your brow furrowing as you felt your eyes get watery, huffing out, panting and grunting as you looked for relief, grinding against the bed desperately.

With a grin he let the vibration flutter on a middle ground, giving you a fleeting feeling of stronger and weaker stimulation.

“How does your tiny cunt feel, Kitten? Is it tight? Wet? Warm?” He asked, provokingly.

“It feels very— Yoongi!” You called again as he let you begin talking comfortably and then turned the vibrations all the way up, making you tear up and cry out his name.

“That’s right.” He said. “It feels me.” He toyed with the cursor on the upper side of the screen, letting it oscillate among the higher values. “It feels only me. Because that’s my cunt.” He said, talking over your small hiccups and whines. “And it’s the only cunt I want to be inside.” He snarled, bringing the controller down low again, your desperate sniffling making him feel compassionate as he let the vibrations go to the maximum and left them there, his torso rising over you as he let a dollop of spit fall from his lips to your puckered hole, his hand leaving your wrist and spreading over your ass, his thumb spreading his spit and pressing enough to cause a stimulation but gently, not to violate your delicate entrance.

“I’m so close.” You cried out, panting, your mouth so dry as you felt the wet slide of his finger between your ass cheeks, on the sensitive skin of your anus, where even the slightest outer pressure echoed inside tenfold.

“Cum for me.” He groaned, picking up your hips and laying his front against your back, rutting his crotch against the seam of your ass.

“I’m— Oh—” You stayed silent as the high rushed over you, an incredible amount of wetness pouring out of your slit, getting caught in the blanket, just the way it was supposed to, the double layer protecting the sheets below. “Oh, Yoongs, babe.” You said, your whole body falling down, your legs kicking and twitching as the vibration stayed too high on your still delicate spot.

“I wanna ride your face, quick I’m gonna c—” You tried to focus on not squirting again, waiting for him to get in place.

Mercifully, he turned down the vibrations, laying on his back, parting your knees and sliding below your pelvis, his mouth immediately finding your clit while you raised your front on your elbows, so you could make more room for him — but also to feel your breasts hang heavily, and to tease your nipples while the whole scene carried out.

Yoongi started sucking almost immediately, one of his hands spread on your ass, rubbing it and squeezing it, the other one toying with the controller, giving you that rhythmic increasing and decreasing stimulation while you got used to the feel of him on your clit.

And once more you were close, your inner muscles shaking violently as he hummed against you, clicking his tongue fast against your delicate bundle of nerves.

And just like that, your hips started undulating gently above him, giving him the sign to leave the vibrations high up as you moved your weight on your hands, raising your upper body to look a his eyes focused on your bouncing tits, on your parted mouth, on your eyes, rolling shut as you gushed on him, your cum covering his upper chest as you grabbed your left breast in your palm, constricting it in your painfully tight fist, while your hips went wild on him, fucking your clit into his mouth, moving so hard and fast that he lost his grip on it while you rubbed yourself all over his face, meeting his nose, his chin and simply chasing the feel of the hard surface of his lineaments against your overstimulated clitoris.

He basked in it, after all the time it had taken to have you this wild, this reckless while his mouth worked his magic on you. You had began your experience with him as a shy novice in the art of getting head, but now here you were, spreading your wetness all over his nose and chin and lips and dammit, forehead too, riding him with the prowess of a tiger, glorious in all your ruthless lust.

He was aroused by your confidence and it took him a while to realise that you had collapsed over him, crying, begging, your legs kicking against the mattress while your hand had left your breast and had tightened its grip into his hair, keeping his face still first while he tried to move it side to side. Now oversensitive, with tears in your eyes, you pushed his head away, down, off of you.

“Yoongi. Please. Oh, god. Icycle, Yoongi. Icycle.” You sobbed, your voice breaking as he quickly found the cord and pulled the vibrator out of you.

And there you were, laying barely alive on the bed, his head under your hips, the toy vibrating on the bed, somewhere.

He allowed himself one brief second before he lifted your hips and slid out from below you. “Kitten,” He said, worried, wiping his face and chest with a corner of the blanket while he switched off the toy, trying to turn you around, on your back, so he could see you properly.

Obeying to his insistent hands, you turned, showing him your eyes rimmed with tears, your wild hair, your chest, still shaking with sobs and hiccups.

“Poor Kitten.” He said, caressing your face. “You had to use your safeword, baby? Are you okay?” He asked, cupping your cheek and kissing you.

You immediately wrapped yourself around him as he laid on top of you, your lower lip pouting. “I want you closer.” You said, grinding your hips against his hard sex.

“Need to be fucked by my cock?” He asked. “Again?” With a gentle expression, he parted from you enough to pump his length a couple times before you felt him enter you.

The sensation was different. With the vibration gone, all you felt was the fullness, the thrusting motion that he started straight away now that your cunt was slippery and wide.

“Hard and fast, love?” He asked, checking on you.

You nodded. “If possible, then yes.” You said. “Can I please touch myself? I’m not sure I can cum without after that...” You explained, his head nodding as he already dove for your tits, tightening his hand around your neck — more precisely your jugular — while his mouth focused on your left nipple.

You felt him beginning to hammer into you, at the beginning with slow, thorough slides that had you feeling every single vein, from the tip to the base. And then he simply focused on the angle, your head growing dizzy as you gurgled his name, helpless, desperate, horny out of your mind, completely fucked out.

“Does it feel good, Kitten?” He asked, releasing your breast and focusing on your neck, biting and leaving a few bruises and hickeys around.

“Always.” You whispered, meeting his thrusts.

“Then move in with me.” He said, pouncing on you in the most unexpected moment.

“What?” You said, trying to open your eyes, to focus on his expression, his crunched nose, his lips parted and his hair sticking to his forehead with wet locks, the vein on his neck popping out every time he thrusted in and bit his lip in an attempt to control himself.

“Move.” Thrust. “In.” Thrust. He said, grunting.

He hit a very good angle, your fingers stilling on your clit. “Yoongi—” With a very smooth stroke, he made your eyes roll close, your lips parting in a tiny word. Very tiny.

“Yes.” You sibilated.

“Yes?” He asked again.

He had probably fucked you dumb and brainless.

“Yes.” You whispered again.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good in our home.” He said, ramming in with renewed enthusiasm, finding a speed and an intensity you didn’t think his delicate body could muster.

“Our home.” You murmured, pushing your heels into his butt and meeting his thursts with impatient little moans as you felt your last high approach, your eyes rolling shut as he tightened the pressure on your veins and finally collapsed on top of you, your fingers strumming your clit a couple more times before you felt that definite clenching; his mouth releasing a tiny hum as he gave two small strokes, his lungs releasing a long exhale.

“You’re moving in.” He said, exhausted on top of you. “I love you.”

In the small limbo between death and life, in the postorgasmic bliss of the French ‘small death’, you wore a small smile. “You fucked me dumb enough to make me say yes.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard my D is your kryptonite.” He joked, giggling weakly.

“This was probably your best performance, mr. Min.” You said, patting his head. “Really fucked me dumb. Cunnilingus so good I cried. It’s a ten across the board, love.”

“Well, now that you’re moving in I’ll have a lot more time to defeat my new record. Upgrade. Improve. Elevate.” He nibbled your nipple. “Outdo myself.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. Good: getting the D anytime. Bad: having multiple near death experiences in a week. I might have to reconsider moving in.” You mumbled, combing his hair.

“I’ll simply have to keep you dumbfucked twenty-four-seven.” He pondered. “Can do.”

You giggled. “Can do.”

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #suga smut #suga x reader #yoongi fanfiction #suga fanfiction #bts smut #bangtan smut #bts blog #bts fanfiction #yoongi x y/n #suga x y/n #min yoongi

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skgway · 3 years

Text

1823 Aug., Wed. 20

11 1/2

Soon began on the erotics last night. Her warm, then [e]ncouraging. I said this was not like keeping our promise. She answered, ‘no’ and reached a towel to put under us to keep the bed clean on account of her cousin. I had retired too early for her. ‘Am I too soon for you?’ ‘Yes, rather,’ said she, and I resumed, determined she should have a sufficiently good kiss before I had had one. She said she had and we fell asleep.

Both awoke at five in the morning and talked till seven. Asked if this was not better than my sleeping in Micklegate. ‘Yes,’ but it was prudence # on her part. She had a feeling she could not describe. Would make any sacrifice rather than have our connection suspected. She seemed very affectionate and fond of me. Said I was her only comfort, she should be miserable without me.

Lou has got rather out of ∂ [Charles]’s good books she – Lou never got up to breakfast living with her uncle has given her very independent notions – He waited for her – Consulted her in everything – She told C– [Charles] one morning, she got up at the hour that suited her convenience – ∂ [Charles Lawton] has therefore been sadly out of his best humour this summer and π [Mariana] sadly fidgetted –

Told M– [Mariana] that she did not understand one 1/2 my letters, and misunderstood the other – That my aunt said (speaking of the regard between us), it was “much more on one side than the other”, – On my side then hers – Miss Pattison had blushed up to the sears, and told her at Manchester that ∂ [Charles Lawton] complained of her being cold and she wished she would try to be warmer when she returned. π [Mariana] said she and ∂ [Charles Lawton] very well knew the reason of that that she could not seem warm if she did not feel so.

π [Mariana] once sat next Miss Pattison’s uncle at dinner there and he said of her she looked like one who could love. I agreed, then reverting to ourselves, ‘this is adultery to all intents and purposes.’ ‘No, no,’ said she. ‘Oh yes, π [Mariana]. No casuistry can disguise it.’ ‘Not this then, but the other.’ ‘Well,’ said I, choosing to let the thing turn her own way. ‘I always considered your marriage legal prostitution. We were both wrong. You to do and I to consent to it. And when I think of blaming others, I always remember nothing can at all excuse us but our prior connection.’

I did not pursue the subject, nor did π [Mariana] seem to think much of it. The fear of discovery is strong. It rather increases I think. But her conscience seems seared, so long as concealment is secure. She said yesterday of Harriet, if she had never liked Milne I could have made more excuse for her. Thought I to myself, if none but those who were without sin threw the first stone.

Harriet, like the woman taken in adultery, might escape – Told her she needed not fear my conduct letting out our secret. I could deceive anyone. Then told her how completely I had duped Miss Pickford # and that the success of such deep deceit almost smote me, but I had done it all for her, π [Mariana]’s, sake. ‘Why should it smite you? ‘It is deceit that does no one any harm.’

I made no reply, but mused how sophistry might reign within the breast where none suspected it. How might not this argument best retched from one deceit to another. Mary, you have passion like the rest, but your caution cheats the world out of it. Scandal and your courage is weak, rather than your principal strong. Yet is it I who write this.

She’s true to me, yes, but she has not that magnanimity of truth that satisfies a haughty spirit like mine. She is too tamely, worldly, and worldliness is her strength and weakness her foible and her virtue. She loves me, I do believe her, as well as she is capable of loving. Yet her marriage was worldly, her whole conduct is worldly to the farthest verge that craven love can bear.

How often has it struck me that years ago when once talking to Lou about this marriage and the powerful circumstances that almost compelled it. ‘Well,’ said she, ‘you do not know π [Mariana]. She is worldly and the match was worldly altogether.’ This did indeed strike me at the time but it never struck me as it does at this moment – (Thursday 21 August 3 55/60 p.m. 1823) –

It now opens upon me as the key of all that all I have never yet been able to comprehend in her character. I have doubted her love, I have doubted her sincerity. How often with an almost bursting heart have I laid aside my papers and my musings because I dared not pursue inconsistencies I could not unravel. I could not deem the dial true, I would not deem it false. The time the manner of her marriage to sink January 1815 in oblivion. Oh how it broke the magic of my faith forever. How, spite of love, it burst the spell that bound my very reason suppliant at her feet. I loathed consent but loathed the easing more. I would have given the yes she sought, tho it had rent my heart into a hundred thousand shivers. It was enough to ask –

It was a coward love that dared not brave the storm; and, in desperate despair, my proud, indignant spirit watched it sculk away – How few the higher feelings we then could have in common! The chivalry of heart was gone – Hope’s brightest hues were brushed away – Yet still one melancholy point of union remained – She was unhappy. So was I –

Love scorned to leave the ruin desolate; and time she has shaded it so sweetly, my heart still lingers in its old abiding place, thoughtless of its broken bowers, save when some sudden guest blows thro’, and scrunching memory is disturbed – But oh! no more “the heart knoweth its own bitterness,” and it is enough – “Je sens mon coeur, et je connais les hommes. Je ne suis fait comme aucun de ceux que j’ai vus; j’ose croire n'être fait comme aucun de ceux qui existent.” Rousseau's Confessions volume and page first.

She loves me. Tho it is neither exactly as I wished, nor as I too fondly persuaded myself. ‘Ere years had taught me to weigh human nature in the balance or unlock the loveliest of bosoms with the key of worldliness. Yes, she loves me. My own feelings shall descend to hers. They have done so in part. How I could have adored her had she been more of that angelic being my fancy formed her. No thought, no word, no look, had wandered then. Surely my every sentiment towards her had had less of earth in it than heaven –

How like “the visions of romantic youth”! I know she might have realized then – Je sens mon coeur – But no more – No more – I seem unable to return to the dry detail of a journal –

At seven an hour before getting up asked her to get out of bed and wash. We both did so. Then got into bed again and had a long quiet good kiss and then a comfortable nap. Got up at eight. I laughed and said we must really both of us get well as soon as we could. We owned she thought I was worse than she was, and said jokingly ‘do you forgive me for it?’ ‘Of course.’ I set her at ease on this point, but yet the characteristic difference between us always strikes me. I am sure I should even shew twice as much as she really feels –

Went downstairs at 8 1/2 – Breakfasted etc. etc. Sat next Mrs Milne. Had been very properly attentive to her. Asked π [Mariana] if she was satisfied etc. etc. Said I would act as she liked but I could not decidedly change my manners to Mrs. M[ilne] unless my real acquaintance with her conduct might be acknowledged. She has been foolish again in corresponding with her cousin, Mr. Dannett. This was the thing Eli [Eliza Belcombe] alluded to when I was last in York –

Took leave, and off from the B– [Belcombe]’s (Dr. B– [Belcombe] had had rather a restless night but was nevertheless no worse). As the minster clock struck 10 found the horses to the mail at the Tavern door, to start at 10 1/4 instead of 10 3/f as I supposed – Asked the coachman to wait a minute or 2, and hurried into Micklegate – Only just time to wish then good by, and say I should be passing thro’ again in a fortnight or 3 weeks to spend a fortnight with M– [Mariana] at Scarbro’ –

Did not see Mrs. Duffin this morning – Miss M– [Marsh] whispered last night, she had had a paralytic affectation about a fortnight ago, and had been almost gone – I perceived no difference in her as I saw her sitting round the table last night – She did not attempt to move, but this being unnecessary, did not strike me –

Got into the new mail, and drove off from the D– [Duffin]’s door at 10 1/2 – Only 1 gentleman besides myself – Beyond Tadcaster took up a nice decent elderly woman – I never uttered all the way – Wrapt in musing – Thought of π [Mariana] and the three steps business, then about my manners and appearance. Building castles about their improvement, elegance, engagingness, etc. etc. The good society I hope to get into, etc., etc.

Thought of consulting Mr. Simmons, the surgeon. George Streetman, Chester. π [Mariana] consulted him. He feared some uterary of or belonging to the womb. Determine yet might judge from the effect of Scarbro whether Steph was right in supposing it merely weakness. He had treated her judiciously. She ought to be examined, but would not submit –

At Leeds at 1 – Got out for 1/4 hour and off again (from the Rose & Crown) at 1 20/60 – Beautiful day till we got to the New Dolphin Clayton heights, and from there to the Pine-apple

H–x [Halifax], a smartish, sunshiny shower – Got out at the Pine apple at 3 40/60 – Fair and fine immediately –

Got home at 4 – Went into the stable for a moment – Caradoc had gone on well – Then went into the house, and sat talking to my uncle and aunt till 5 40/60 – Then dressed for dinner – My father and Marian called in the evening, and staid till after 8 – I was absolutely asleep almost all the time –

Came up to bed at 9, at which hour Barometer 1 1/2 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 60º – Put by my things – Read the 1st 13 pages volume 1 Rousseau Confessions –

A bowel complaint. Dawdling to stick the pot up the chimney to prevent smell. Could not manage it. All this hindered and kept me up. E [three dots, times treating venereal complaint] O [three dots, signifying much discharge] A great deal on my linen. Saw it when I washed thoroughly before dinner, first with water then alum lotion –

[in margin]

#Tuesday morning 26 August 1823 This is very well in its way, but she has more of it than love –

# Did not give the slightest hint of P[ickford]’s real character, nor does π [Mariana] at all suspect the truth. I merely said she was the most learned woman I knew and had therefore more penetration than the world in general – π [Mariana] thought she should feel under restraint before her –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #shibden hall 1823 #mariana lawton #frances pickford

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orthodoxydaily · 3 years

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Saints&Reading: Mon., Mar. 15, 2021

Commemorated on March 2_by the New calendar

The Priest Martyr Theodotus (315)

The PriestMartyr Theodotus, a native of Galatia in Asia Minor, was bishop of the city of Kyreneia in Cyprus. During a time of persecution against christians under the impious emperor Licinius (307-324), Saint Theodotus openly preached Christ, calling on the pagans to abandon idol-worship and turn to the True God. The governor of Cyprus Sabinus gave orders to arrest and bring bishop Theodotus to trial. Having found out about this order, the saint did not wait for the soldiers sent after him, but instead immediately went to the governor with the words: "I am here, whom thou seekest; I have shown myself, so as to preach Christ my God". The governor gave orders for the saint to be beaten without mercy, hung up upon a tree and be dealt with by sharp implements, and then be taken to prison. After five days Saint Theodotus was again brought to the governor, who presumed that the bishop would prefer after his tortures to renounce Christ, rather than endure new sufferings. But Saint Theodotus did not cease to preach about Christ. At first they put the saint on an iron grate, under which they set a bon-fire, and then hammered nails into his feet and let him go. Many witnessed the sufferings of the martyr: astonished at the endurance of the saint and his Divinely-inspired speaking, they came to believe in Christ. Learning of this, Sabinus gave orders to stop the torture and lock up the saint in prison. During the time of Saint Constantine the Great (Comm. 21 May), the freedom to confess their faith was given to all christians, and among the sufferers set free from prison was also Saint Theodotus. The saint returned to Kyreneia and after two years serving as bishop he peacefully expired to the Lord in about the year 326.

The Monk Agathon of Egypt (5th.c.)

The Monk Agathon of Egypt, a contemporary of the Monk Makarios the Great (Comm. 19 January), pursued asceticism in a skete monastery in Egypt. He was distinguished by an especial meekness, accounting himself most sinful among men. One time monks from afar came to the monk Agathon for spiritual talk and asked him: "Art thou Father Agathon?" "Ye see before you a sinful servant of God", – answered the monk. "It is rumoured, that thou art a man proud and intemperate", – replied the monks. "Completely true", agreed the saint. "We have heard also, that thou art a liar that loveth to gossip about others". "This also is true", – assented Saint Agathon. "They say moreover, that thou art an heretic?" – the monks persisted, but immediately they met with an objection: "In vain, I am not an heretic". When they asked the monk why, having accepted upon himself other vices, that he refused this last one, the saint explained: "These vices it is impossible not to ascribe to myself, since every man by his nature falls into sin, and all of us, through the corruption of our nature, are involuntarily captivated by vices; but heresy is apostacy from God, a deliberate renunciation of the True God". To the question about which ascetic deeds are more important for salvation, the external or the inner, the monk Agathon answered: "A man is like a tree; the outer or bodily concerns itself with leaves, whereas the inner soul grows fruit. But just as Holy Scripture asserts, that "every tree which does not bear good fruit, shalt be cut down and thrown into the fire" (Mt 3: 10), so then it is evident from this, that the greater attention ought to concern the fruit. But a tree also has need for its leaves, so as to sustain the life-bearing sap and by the shade of its leaves offer protection to the tree and its fruit from the desiccating heat". The monk Agathon died in about the year 435. For three days before his end the monk sat in silence and concentration, as though disturbed about something. To the perplexed questioning of the monks he answered, that he saw himself at the Judgement in front of Christ. "How is it possible that thou, father, should fear judgement?" – they asked him. "I through my strength have kept the commandments of the Lord, but as a man how might I be certain, that my deeds have been pleasing to God?". "Dost thou not trust that thy good deeds which thou hast accomplished, are pleasing to God?" – asked the monks. "I have no hope until such time as I see God. Human judgement is one thing, but Divine judgement is another matter". Having said this, the saint expired to the Lord. [Trans. Note: "Agathon" in Greek means "Good", just as also "Makarios" means "Blessed"; – there is a didactic thread woven into the fabric of many of the Saints vitae teaching this or that moral point or insight. Thus, whether or not Saint Agathon started monastically with such a name is less relevant than having finished with it. The opening dialogue with the monks from afar takes on a deeper dimension when set in perspective of: "Art thou Brother Good", – "Ye see before you a sinner" "guilty of all the sins ye allege and more" "but God forbid, no heretic!"].

Isaiah 1:1-20 (6th Hour)

1 The vision of Isaiah the son of Amoz, which he saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah. 2 Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth! For the Lord has spoken: “I have nourished and brought up children, And they have rebelled against Me; 3 The ox knows its owner And the donkey its master’s crib; But Israel does not know, My people do not consider.” 4 Alas, sinful nation, A people laden with iniquity, A brood of evildoers, Childrenwho are corrupters! They have forsaken the Lord, They have provoked to anger The Holy One of Israel, They have turned away backward. 5 Why should you be stricken again? You will revolt more and more. The whole head is sick, And the whole heart faints. 6 From the sole of the foot even to the head, There is no soundness in it, But wounds and bruises and putrefying sores; They have not been closed or bound up, Or soothed with ointment. 7 Your country is desolate, Your cities are burned with fire; Strangers devour your land in your presence; And it is desolate, as overthrown by strangers. 8 So the daughter of Zion is left as a booth in a vineyard, As a hut in a garden of cucumbers, As a besieged city. 9 Unless the Lord of hosts Had left to us a very small remnant, We would have become like Sodom, We would have been made like Gomorrah. 10 Hear the word of the Lord, You rulers of Sodom; Give ear to the law of our God, You people of Gomorrah: 11 To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices to Me?” Says the Lord. “I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams And the fat of fed cattle. I do not delight in the blood of bulls, Or of lambs or goats. 12 When you come to appear before Me, Who has required this from your hand, To trample My courts? 13 Bring no more futile sacrifices; Incense is an abomination to Me. The New Moons, the Sabbaths, and the calling of assemblies— I cannot endure iniquity and the sacred meeting. 14 Your New Moons and your appointed feasts My soul hates; They are a trouble to Me, I am weary of bearing them. 15When you spread out your hands, I will hide My eyes from you; Even though you make many prayers, I will not hear. Your hands are full of blood. 16 “Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; Put away the evil of your doings from before My eyes. Cease to do evil, 17 Learn to do good; Seek justice, Rebuke the oppressor; Defend the fatherless, Plead for the widow.18 “Come now, and let us reason together,” Says the Lord, “Though your sins are like scarlet, They shall be as white as snow; Though they are red like crimson, They shall be as wool. 19 If you are willing and obedient, You shall eat the good of the land; 20 But if you refuse and rebel, You shall be devoured by the sword”; For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.

Proverbs 1:1-20

1 The proverbs of Solomon the son of David, king of Israel: 2 To know wisdom and instruction, To perceive the words of understanding, 3 To receive the instruction of wisdom, Justice, judgment, and equity; 4 To give prudence to the simple, To the young man knowledge and discretion— 5 A wise man will hear and increase learning, And a man of understanding will attain wise counsel, 6 To understand a proverb and an enigma, The words of the wise and their riddles. 7 The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, But fools despise wisdom and instruction. 8 My son, hear the instruction of your father, 9 For they will be a graceful ornament on your head, And chains about your neck. 10 My son, if sinners entice you, Do not consent.11 If they say, “Come with us, Let us lie in wait to shed blood; Let us lurk secretly for the innocent without cause; 12 Let us swallow them alive like Sheol, And whole, like those who go down to the Pit; 13 We shall find all kinds of precious possessions, We shall fill our houses with spoil; 14 Cast in your lot among us, Let us all have one purse”—15 My son, do not walk in the way with them, Keep your foot from their path; 16 For their feet run to evil, And they make haste to shed blood. 17 Surely, in vain the net is spread In the sight of any bird; 18 But they lie in wait for their own blood, They lurk secretly for their own lives.19 So are the ways of everyone who is greedy for gain; It takes away the life of its owners.20Wisdom calls aloud outside; She raises her voice in the open squares.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristian #ancientchristianity #originofchristianity #spirituality #old testament #sacredtext #wisdom

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tvdas · 5 years

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British Idealism and the Concept of the Self

Edited by W. J. Mander and Stamatoula Panagakou. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. ISBN 978-1-137-46670-9.

My book review of Anglo-American Idealism: Thinkers and Ideas[1] evaluated intersections of Anglo-American idealism and Caitanya Vaiṣṇavism and mentioned the relevance of idealist thought to current issues and contemporary philosophical concerns. This related book, on British Idealism, discusses understanding our own selves. Selfhood is a “highly complex concept with multiple aspects, levels and depths, and one whose development has occurred gradually over centuries at the hands of many different thinkers,” write the editors in the introductory first chapter. (p. 20) The nature of the concept of the self in British idealism led, again, to my discerning commonalities with Caitanya Vaiṣṇavism.

The second chapter considers three pioneers of idealist thought who “laid the grounds for the conception of selfhood which later came to prominence” (p. 11) and paved the way for more influential philosophers who, in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, made Idealism a British school of thought. James Frederick Ferrier developed “an original system of idealist metaphysics”; John Grote critiqued “contemporary philosophy from an idealist perspective”; and James Hutchison Stirling offered “the first detailed analysis of Hegel’s philosophy in English.” (p. 32) Other champions of British Idealism assessed in the book are F. H. Bradley, Edward Caird, T. H. Green, Bernard Bosanquet, R. G. Collingwood, and J.M.E. McTaggart. Common to all these almost forgotten thinkers is an idealist conception of the self.

“In Ferrier’s view, the essential fact of humanity is self-consciousness; therefore, this must be the starting point for philosophy,” Jenny Keefe writes.[2] “So, throughout his philosophical works he emphasizes its importance and argues that self-consciousness is the condition of knowledge, reality, freedom and religion.” Ferrier’s epistemology starts with “his primary proposition: ‘Along with whatever any intelligence knows, it must, as the ground or condition of its knowledge, have some cognizance of itself.’ ” (p. 27)

The editors comment on Ferrier’s primary idea: “The precise relationship between experience and the subject of experience is no doubt a complex and subtle one, to be sure, but at its most fundamental, the idealistic claim that all reality lies within experience is just the thesis that so-called ‘external reality’ is, in truth, no more distinct from its cognition than are our thoughts from our thinking of them. Notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, knowledge of the world is really a kind of self-knowledge, and there can be no explanation of what it means to grasp the former except through an account of our knowledge of the latter. . . . If selfhood constitutes the model for fundamental reality itself, it must be conceded that the self in its deeper being is not to be mistaken for the self as it presents itself in its everyday common-sense dress. Experience is foundational, but appearances can be misleading.” (p. 4)

Nowadays, if one rejects both theses (i.e., that selfhood constitutes the model for fundamental reality and that self-consciousness is important for knowledge — unless one thinks of “knowledge” in extremely limited ways), one could hold other ideas concerning the value of personhood, its compatibility with the natural order, and its relation to transcendence. According to one contemporary personalist, while the British idealists quickly separated personality from the rest of what is real, held it apart, and thought it “to be something other than the very energies that are organized within its manifestations,” this is a mistake — a conceit on the part of human thinkers.[3]

According to Bill Mander, editor of the online History of Oxford Philosophy, F. H. Bradley is the greatest British Idealist because of his ground-breaking work in logic and metaphysics.[4] James W. Allard summarizes Bradley’s views that “metaphysics is deeply rooted in human nature” and “is an attempt to find . . . intellectual satisfaction. . . . [W]e are naturally led to wonder about and reflect on ultimate reality, on what ‘is beyond the visible world’. For some of us who do this, ‘the intellectual effort to understand the universe is a principled way of thus experiencing the Deity.’ ” (p. 47) Scholars seeking Bradley’s intellectual satisfaction of experiencing the Deity in this way can read in Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam[5] about the divine opulences of the famous Lord Viṣṇu — His spiritual body generated the universe, and all its perceivable aspects are situated within Him.

The editors say that generally, “One of the most characteristic features of British Idealism is its focus on philosophy of religion.” In response to “the difficulties which originated from contemporary science and biblical scholarship (the so-called ‘Victorian crisis of faith’),” the British Idealists emphasized that God “is immanent in nature, and most especially immanent in the finite self; a position whose reverse expression, of course, is to say that the finite self is implicitly infinite or divine.” (p. 5) The finite self’s implicit infinity or divinity is delimited in Caitanya Vaiṣṇava philosophy. The self is a minute portion of divinity, analogous to a drop of ocean water — qualitatively divine, but not quantitatively so.[6]

To give you a good dose of a British Idealist’s account of knowledge of the self that is neither skeptical nor dogmatic yet approximates a preliminary Caitanya Vaiṣṇava understanding, I condensed Edward Caird’s rigorous philosophy. Caird describes the nature of our conscious life as “circumscribed by three ideas, which are closely, and even indissolubly, connected with each other.” These three divisions within consciousness are not to be seen as an abstraction or “rigid and absolute,” explains the scholar Phillip Ferreira. “In the final analysis, they must be understood as comprising a single, though internally diverse, experience.” (pp. 90–91) Caird’s profound three-part view of consciousness includes (1) the idea of the not-self (or object world) — simply my awareness that things ‘other’ than me and specific entities exist; (2) the idea of the self as my awareness that I am, and I am a being conscious of things that are separate from myself; and (3) the idea of God, or universal consciousness, as an awareness that includes but transcends both the ideas of self and the not-self.

Similarly, Caitanya Vaiṣṇava philosophers discern a three-part scheme: (1) matter (i.e., bodies, minds, and the world), (2) spirit (the self), and (3) the supreme controller of both. The self is part and parcel of the supreme Self, or Kṛṣṇa — this is mentioned in the beginning of the Bhagavad Gītā. The eternal self, as a false enjoyer and predominator, misidentifies with matter under the influence of illusion (māyā) and interacts with matter through the agency of the supreme Self within everyone’s heart, who acts as the all-pervasive observer, consenter, supporter, and the higher personal enjoyer in all bodies.

When introducing Caird, the editors note his “careful drawing out of the lessons from both Kant and Hegel about the nature of self-consciousness”. (p. 12) Kant deduced that “the self and not-self imply each other,” but to Caird their difference “is only possible within a common framework,” which Caird — influenced by Hegel — insists “must be understood as something infinite or divine” and “cannot properly be understood ‘all at once’ but only gradually” through a three-fold dialectical exchange between self, not-self, and God. (p. 13)

Ferreira illuminates Caird’s (and Kant’s) view that “the awareness of self-continuity arises only through an act that, first, synthesizes (i.e. organizes according to rules) the contents of sense, and second, differentiates the self from those contents.” (p. 96) A transcendental subject’s “synthetic combination of [the] sensuous contents [of experience] is always made according to conceptual ‘rules’ (or categories) that establish precise relations between them.” (p. 95) Caird acknowledges and insists “that the not-self/object world is law-governed and ordered throughout” (p. 91) and there are “conditions that are essential to its being but which remain merely implicit and hidden from view.” (p. 92)

Within the intelligence and the object world is a shared deep structure, and self-discovery is co-extensive with the truthful apprehension of the object world. The absence of ideas of the self and God as somehow co-extensive with the world constitutes varying degrees of defectiveness in our apprehension of the not-self. “The highest levels of understanding require that we grasp both self and God as not just co-extensive with our awareness of the object world, but as constitutive of and necessary to its existence.” (p. 92)

Ferriera concludes: “We are told that if we carefully reflect on the conditions of [conceivable] experience, we shall discover that . . . the presupposition and condition of any part can only be the whole — the whole that possesses characteristics of what we are ultimately forced to call a ‘divine intelligence’. To those who would deny this, Caird presents this challenge: Provide a self-consistent explanation of how any of the contents of experience could be known if such a whole — such an absolute — did not exist. Caird believes that this challenge cannot be met. He believes, too, that “if we think the matter through with the seriousness that it deserves, we shall see that, in the end, it is a view such as this or nothing.” (p. 105)

Now I will encapsulate the rest of the book’s chapters. A few are about reconciling the individual to the community. T. H. Green’s stance, summarized by Janusz Grygienc, is that personally identifying with “the common good may be an effect of conformity to a communal ethos, or individuals’ moral development.” (p.123) Rex Martin writes about Green’s extended notion of the self with “three dimensions: the metaphysical, the ethical and the civic.” (p. 14)

Three chapters cover Bernard Bosanquet, “a key exponent of the moral view of politics, which combines elements of ethics and metaphysics in the discussion of the nature of the state, the role of institutions, the common good, the best life, and the ideal of self-realisation.” (p. 15)

Avital Simhony writes that Bosanquet highlights “the active, energetic and self-governing capacities of the relational individual” (p. 203) and “rejects the view of society in terms of ‘selves and others’, for it reflects ‘a purely psychological individualism’ that takes ‘the separate body as the separate self’.” (p. 216)

William Sweet focuses on Bosanquet’s theory of individuality and writes, “Development of consciousness eventually leads to the Absolute, but this process of development is also dependent on the Absolute. Thus, the realisation or development of consciousness is a realisation of the Absolute, but it is the presence of the Absolute in consciousness that enables the development to occur. The Absolute is not, then, anything over and above finite things or ‘appearances’, but rather it is, Bosanquet argues, the totality or full realization of them. . . . It is a complete system in which all things are understood in their multiple relations to one another. . . . Though many things—for example, human persons—are loosely described as individual and concrete, only the Absolute is concrete and an individual in the sense of being fully independent and self-sufficient. For Bosanquet, this Absolute is not only what is completely actual or real, but because it is real, it is the basis and principle of value and truth.” (pp. 182–83) The first verse of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam also declares that the Absolute Truth (Śrī Kṛṣṇa) “is independent because there is no other cause beyond Him. . . . Only because of Him do the material universes, temporarily manifested by the reactions of the modes of nature, appear factual, although they are unreal.”

Ian Winchester discusses R. G. Collingwood’s two ways to study the entire human being: as an object in our common world (via empirical methodology), and as the self, or consciousness (experienced from the first-person point of view). Their relationship, he adds, has been the subject of study by philosophical neuroscientists.

James Connelly raises “questions about the nature of the self which arise in writing biography or autobiography.” (p. 242) G. L. Cesarz discusses J.M.E. McTaggart’s conception of the self and his critique of materialism. “McTaggart concludes that the self cannot be an activity of the body. This is one of his reasons for rejecting materialistic explanations of the self and affirming that it is a spiritual substance.” (p. 265)

The last two chapters look at British Idealism as a whole. Leslie Armour writes that the defining mark of persons is their creativity, their power to frame or structure an intelligible world and generate value and meaning. W. J. Mander argues that “the true principle behind our own lives is at once the true principle behind the universe itself.” (p. 289) He draws out four interconnected roles that the concept of the self plays in idealist thinking: “value, obligation, freedom, and purpose in life”. In other words, “that which completely satisfies us [i.e., value], that which obliges us” — or is “the source of our obligation,” “that which most fully would set us free” — a “proper understanding of freedom,” [and] “that which is our proper goal.” These living concepts, with large, diverse spheres of influence strongly “claim to characterise ultimate reality.” (p. 303)

In summary, the book tells us that various kinds of understanding of true selfhood emerge from the multiple aspects of and levels of thinking about its historical development.

Tattvavit Dāsa is an editor and a writer, trained at Back to Godhead magazine for five years in Philadelphia. He edited the Bhaktivedanta Book Trust’s large photographic book Darśana, the collected poems of Srila Prabhupada, and twenty-five other books. He also wrote as many magazine articles on various topics: philosophy (Meditating on Kṛṣṇa in Athens), education (the cover story on the Kṛṣṇa-Avanti schools), traveling . . . . He has been to forty countries since meeting Srila Prabhupada in Los Angeles in January 1974. He practices Ayurveda and Iyengar yoga. Recently, he co-edited this issue of the revived ISKCON Communications Journal.

[1] James Connelly and Stamatoula Panagakou (eds.), Anglo-American Idealism: Thinkers and Ideas (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2010). My book review (in ISKCON Studies Journal, Sept. 2014) is here: https://tvdas.tumblr.com/post/55339088056

[2] All italics in quotations occur in the book under review.

[3] Correspondence with Randall Auxier, Professor of Philosophy and Communication Studies at Southern Illinois University (July 30, 2020), who presented a paper at the R. G. Collingwood Society Conference in Prato, Italy, in July 2010.

[4] https://www.philosophy.ox.ac.uk/history-oxford-philosophy#collapse387201

[5] See A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda’s Śrīmad Bhāgavatam (Second Canto, Sixth Chapter), (Los Angeles: Bhaktivedanta Book Trust, 1987).

[6] See, for e.g., “The Nature of the Self: A Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava Understanding” by Ravīndra Svarūpa Dāsa ( Journal of Vaishnava Studies, Vol. 20, No. 2, Spring 2012, pp. 127–32).

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botgalhs · 7 years

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So, for the people who've read my fics and the potential things he went through when he was culled, you know my headcanon that he was a victim of Pale abuse at the hands of his culler.

Well, on a note related to that, I actually have some headcanons about the types of abuse that could occur to culled trolls under their cullers on Beforus, in all four of the quadrants nonetheless. So I would like to explain some of them. In some instances using Kankri, to give an example for what I mean.

I will place warnings before going any further into this that there may be mentions of gaslighting, emotional and psychological abuse, sexual abuse, sexual assault, domestic abuse, isolation, etc etc. So if you are triggered or made uncomfortable by any of these things, I would suggest not reading ahead.

Also, these are only my headcanons on this subject when it comes to cullers and cullees on Beforus. It doesn't apply to my ideas of troll quadrants in general.

A great big thanks to @baconator153 for helping me talk through my headcanons and sort them out.

Now, let us get this started, shall we?

While a culler would most likely begin these types of abuse for their own satisfaction in whichever quadrant is used, another common element is in all of them. Submission. Cullers for the most part want their charges to be quiet, complacent, and submissive to their whims, especially the abusers who don’t want it known what they’re doing. So, for many of them, they tend to factor in that they want to do actions that would keep the culled troll being abused quiet: either because of threats by the culler of because they make the cullee feel wrongly guilty of the abuse and not want to speak up. This is something important to keep in mind for these headcanons here.

Pale Abuse

Pale abuse, as I view it, would be one of the most common forms of quadrant abuse from a culler to a cullee. It's most prominent in the fics I've written with Kankri. The basic nature of this sort of abuse is to abuse the type of biology which trolls would usually use to pacify and subdue an angered moirail. Usually by triggering the submission reflex through touch. However, the main purpose this type of abuse serves is to be able to always force the culled troll to comply with the culler's wishes. They can use the submission reflex and other such things a moirail would use at will to make the abused quiet down against their will.

One important thing to remember is that, despite moiraillegiance commonly being depicted in fandom as a glorified 'best friends' quadrant, it's still very much a romantic relationship for trolls. Only this type focuses more on emotion and pacification instead of sex like red and black romance. The closest that one might find for a human relationship for this type of abuse would be emotional abuse. Commonly this comes with such things as making a culled troll question their own thoughts and emotions on certain subjects, and even as far as flat out gaslighting.

Kankri in my fics best exhibits what I believe the result of this form of abuse would be once escaped. His dull, monotone, emotionless facade is in part caused by the actions of his culler. In the interest of avoiding being forced into pale, it would have been necessary for him to be able to hide his actual feelings whenever he got upset, so he would have learned to try to hide his emotions behind a mask in for this purpose. However, this also led to him having poor regulation and expression of his actual feelings, so when he does show some form of emotion, it normally comes out as things such as bursts of anger (as seen with Porrim) or some uncomfortable and unfortunate implications, as shown when he talked to Latula. This also stems from the ingrained habit of repressing any form of emotion, not wanting to show weaknesses which could have him culled and subjected to that again. Which could be a fear reinforced by constant proximity to so many highbloods, and Porrim, some of whose actions could be reminiscent of culling.

And of course, even though the touch was not sexual, the abuse would make him hesitant to be willing to trust anyone with physical intimacy. Which messed up many potential quadrant relationships for him in the future. As those who experienced this form of abuse Likely a part, in my own headcanons, of why he turned to celibacy.

If they do, in fact, end up escaping the situation and seek a pale relationship, the most common goal would likely be to find a troll equal to or lesser than them. So they would probably stick to the lowest bloods. So that there's less risk that what happened with the culler will happen again. Since lowbloods would pretty much never cull another troll by how the system works.

Red Abuse

Red would be one of the kinds I believe most would be familiar with in terms of abuse. In this case the culler seeks control and sexual gratification by forcing the cullee into performing sexual acts for them. Either touching the culled troll, making them touch the culler, or forcing them into sex.

One thing that would distinctify this from black abuse is that the culler would use force, but not violence, in order to get what they want. One common tactic may even be to try to get the culled troll this is being done to orgasm during the act. That way it can be justified as the culled troll having enjoyed the act. Even though this would have been a purely physical reaction from their body, and not at all indicative of any consent or enjoyment by the culled troll. This sort of conflicting feeling against their knowledge of what they do and don't want can cause even more emotional distress, stacked onto what the abuse itself already caused them.

Similarly to pale abuse, this would lend itself to an aversion to touch later in life. For similar, but different reasons. Compared to Kankri as a model: he avoids touch because it reminds him of the threat of pacification against his will, more an avoidance to keep away from an emotional response than anything else, fearing the emotional intent of it. A negative reaction to touch after red abuse would be brought about by a fear of the physical intent. If brought up in a culling household where they had no idea when it would occur again, they would always be on edge about touch in any form.

The other main effect of this form of abuse would be emotional. Because of the aforementioned tactics used by the abusing culler, the cullee would likely experience severe guilt and uncertainty in themselves. Likely believing themselves to be at fault and questioning their own role and complacency in their abuse. Which in itself would likely cause them to feel unable to tell their own romantic feelings towards other trolls out of fear and guilt from what happened previously.

If they ever began relationships again, they might stick solely to pale relationships and avoid concupiscent quadrants entirely. Or else put themselves into a relationship with an equal or lesser caste troll, as with pale mentioned above, which would mean they feel some form of control over their relationship so as to not be put at risk again.

Black Abuse

Black I believe would be considered the other most are familiar with when it comes to abuse. In which force and violence are used by the culler in order to coerce their cullee into sex and other sexual acts. However, it also combines in the more violent elements of blackrom. However, due to the extreme power imbalance between culler and cullee, not to mention the differences in strength due to lowblood vs highblood castes, this usually means that the cullee is helpless against their culler, and is unable to fight back against the advances and assaults.

Typically it occurs in what is considered the cycle of abuse in relationships. The black abuse in whatever form it happens in occurs; then comes an apology phase in which the culler will typically apologize and/or blame the cullee for what occurred, trying to push guilt and responsibility onto them with excuses; then a phase of calm where things are ‘normal’ and quiet, tensions build up again as the culler shows signs of stress, insulting the cullee for no reason, and is typically when a period of nonphysical and nonsexual, emotional and verbal abuse occurs;then the abuse occurs and the cycle begins over again.

In the aftermath of such abuse, a surviving cullee would likely be very hypervigilant of the emotional states of others. Their experiences, especially long-term, would make them sensitive to other trolls’ anger, making them fearful whenever they see signs of anger or aggression, even if it’s not directed at them. They would likely exhibit symptoms present in someone with Battered Person Syndrome.

A common occurrence in relationships if a survivor gets out would be split: either a complete distrust of other trolls and a desire to stay away from relationships (or at least blackrom relationships) entirely, or else their experiences might put them at risk for entering another similarly abusive blackrom due to learned helplessness and passivity they may have acquired during the time of abuse that was left unnoticed and untreated.

Black abuse would likely not be quite as common as red or pale, as unless the culler keeps their charge permanently cloistered away, it might put them at risk if others see their cullee constantly with injuries, even if they can pass them off as accidents of the cullee’s own fault.

Ashen Abuse

Similarly to how ashen relationships are considered to be a sort of outlier for troll relationships in general, ashen abuse is an outlier in itself for quadrant abuse. As with pale centered abuse, it has little to do with the physical factors so much as the emotional, and has no base whatsoever in sexual abuse of any kind. As an outlier, it operates much differently than the rest.

The most common way for it to occur is as such: the culler puts their cullee to be in a position where they would commonly encounter another troll they might perceive as threatening (possibly even manipulating the other troll into showing threats or becoming angry at them), they allow things to progress and seem as if they are going to be on the extreme low end of a massive power imbalance, and then the culler themself finally swoops in and inserts themself into the situation as a sort of faux third leaf. The intent is to act and appear as a savior of sorts to the cullee, in order to gain their trust and affection for what would be made to look like them acting as a benevolent protector.

This could and would likely be done several times, with several different outside trolls, in order to enforce the idea that the world and other trolls are dangerous, and only the culler can truly be trusted. This may eventually lead to the cullee becoming mistrustful of all others but the culler, and even finally self-isolating themselves from all others. Clinging to the culler in all situations and fearing everyone else.

If a cullee did survive this sort of abuse, their situation would be a bit unique to others in that they would still have a capacity to at least trust one person. Due to the nature of the precious ashen abuse, they might find and latch on to one person that they deem ‘safe’ and a protector, while all others are considered dangerous and untrustworthy. The most common type of relationship they would want to form would be a moiraillegiance, since the quadrant itself is naturally suited to calming and protecting a partner. Though it may also set the surviving troll up for a slippery slope trail of relationships, as the extreme amount of dependence they would have on the ‘safe’ person might end up feeling to that person like too large of an emotional drain. Which would in turn set them on a negative cycle of moving on from relationship to relationship as each one found themselves unable or unwilling to keep up with the extreme emotional demand on their end.

It is to note that ashen would likely be the rarest form of quadrant abuse of the three, as it would take much effort on the culler’s part in order to set up the kind of scenarios that would lead to the desired outcome.

In general, there’s a brief summary that can be used to explain each type of culler to cullee abuse with their actions and goals as I see it.

Pale - Force submission via positivity-associated, nonsexual means and control with this alone.

Red - Force submission by sexual means, and taking advantage of natural reactions to control via guilt.

Black - Force submission through violence and threats (sexual and physical), and control by fear.

Ashen - Create submission by manipulation until they WANT to be controlled through artificial adoration.

These types of abuse are, of course, not always the case, but culled trolls are at risk of this regardless simply depending on what type of culler they wind up under. However, some of the most at risk cullees are the very young, whom a culler might manipulate from that age in order to suit themselves and condition the cullee for what they want them for; or older cullees who grew up normally, but acquired physical or mental damage which slated them for culling, and which makes them potentially more vulnerable to be taken advantage of by an abusive culler. Abusive cullers may even become serial abusers, taking in new cullees each time the old one has passed on due to their lifespan being shorter than the culler’s.

#homestuck #kankri vantas #beforus #beforus culling #culling #kankri #text #abuse #emotional abuse #verbal abuse #physical abuse #gaslighting

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years

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THE HOLY GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST, ACCORDING TO ST. MATTHEW from the Latin Vulgate Bible

Chapter 27 - Part 3:

19. And as he was sitting on the judgment-seat, his wife sent to him, saying: Have thou nothing to do with that just man. For I have suffered many things this day in a dream on account of him.

Ver. 19. In a dream. We must remark, that these kind of dreams were not unusual among the Gentiles, being sent by God for some just and necessary reason; as on this occasion, that there might be a public testimony from the Gentiles, of the justice and innocence of Christ. (St. Jerome)

20. But the chief priests and ancients persuaded the people, that they should ask Barabbas, and make Jesus away.

Ver. 20. That they should ask Barabbas. All, therefore, that resemble the Jews in either theory or practice, desire to have Barabbas loosed to them; all, therefore, that seek after iniquity, ask for Barabbas, and put Jesus away. But all who walk in the paths of virtue, ask for Jesus, and destroy Barabbas. Pilate wishing on this occasion to shew the Jews the enormity of their crime, again puts the question, which will you have of the two? And again, What shall I do with Jesus, who is called Christ? But, they being enraged that Pilate should declare Jesus to be the Christ, all in the frantic fury exclaimed, Let him be crucified. (Origen)

21. And the governor answering, said to them: Which will you of the two to be released unto you? But they said, Barabbas.

Ver. 21. Which ... of the two, said Pilate to them, will you have released? St. Mark tells us, that at the instigation of the priests, the people petitioned for Barabbas. It was no small disappointment to Pilate. What then, said he, shall I do with Jesus? They all answer, let him be crucified. In St. Luke, crucify him, crucify him. What evil hath he done? replied Pilate; and this he repeated thrice, according to St. Luke, xxiii. 22. --- Here in order followed the cruel scourging of our blessed Saviour, which Pilate consented to, in hopes to move the people to compassion. This was executed with the utmost cruelty. For they assembled the whole band of soldiers, commonly about 600. And they made him one wound from head to foot. Then a scarlet or purple coat was thrown over his shoulders: and platting or wreathing a crown of thorns, i.e. twisting sharp thorns, with some resemblance of a crown, they violently pressed it down on his head; and struck him at their pleasure with a reed, or cane, which they had placed in his hand, instead of a sceptre; and kneeling in derision, said, Hail, king of the Jews. --- When the soldiers had treated Jesus in this barbarous manner, Pilate himself presented him in this condition to the people saying, Behold the man. He imagined their fury would now be changed into pity: but they still cried out, Crucify him! crucify him! Take him you, said Pilate, and crucify him; for I find no crime in him. The Jews then answered: We have a law: and according to our law, he must die; because he hath made himself the Son of God. At this Pilate was more afraid, lest perhaps he should be of the progeny of the gods, as the Romans fancied their heroes to be. He returned back to the palace and asked Jesus again: whence art thou? Jesus gave him no direct answer, yet told him, he could have not power over him, unless it had been granted him from above. Pilate was still very desirous to set him at liberty, especially when his wife sent a message to him to have nothing to do with that just man, for that she had suffered much in a dream on his account. (Matthew xxvii. 19.) --- The Jews perceived Pilate's great inclination to set Jesus at liberty: they therefore tell him in plain terms, that if he doth dismiss this man, he is no friend to Cæsar: for every one, say they, that pretends to be a king, contradicts Cæsar. This moved Pilate more than any thing whatsoever, and prevailed with him both against justice and his own conscience, to condemn Jesus. He feared lest some private information might be presented against him to Tiberius Cæsar. He presently mounted the judgment-seat in a public place, and said to the Jews: behold your king. They cry out, away with him, crucify him. Shall I crucify your king? said Pilate. They reply: we have no king but Cæsar; thus renouncing their Messias. At this Pilate yielded; and (ver. 24,) washed his hands, and said: I am innocent of the blood of this just man: look you to it. (Witham)

22. Pilate saith to them: What shall I do then with Jesus that is called Christ? They all say: Let him be crucified.

Ver. 22. No explanation given.

23. The governor said to them: Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying: Let him be crucified.

Ver. 23. No explanation given.

24. And Pilate seeing that he prevailed nothing, but that rather a tumult was made; having taken water, washed his hands before the people, saying: I am innocent of the blood of this just man: look you to it.

Ver. 24. Taken water. It was the custom of the ancients, when they wished to shew themselves innocent of any alleged crime, to take water and wash their hands in public. (St. Remigius) --- Because the element of water naturally signifies purity. See Virgil, Æneid xi. ver. 718.

Me bello è tanto digressum, et cæde recenti

Attractare nefas, donec me flumine vivo

Abluero.

25. And all the people answering, said: His blood be upon us, and upon our children.

Ver. 25. All the people answered: his blood be upon us, and upon our children which continues, saith St. Jerome, to this day. Then Pilate delivered to them Jesus to be crucified. (Witham) --- This blasphemous prayer continues to this day, and will continue a protracted curse upon the Jews, and upon their posterity. (Origen) --- Behold the insanity of the Jews! Their passion and pertinacious obstinacy will not suffer them to see and understand: they draw down curses upon themselves in these terrible imprecations: his blood be upon us and upon our children. Still the God of all mercies did not literally comply with their impious prayer. For, of these children he selected some for himself; amongst the rest even Paul, and many thousands who were converted at Jerusalem. (St. Chrysostom)

#gospelofmatthew

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preachbvne · 4 years

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***DON'T MISS THIS MESSAGE BELOVED*** Set The Reminder! *Prophetic Word* Make my Speech&Deceit To Be Their Wound & Stripes JUDITH (Weapon of Countenance) Give TO Thy Daughter the Power I have Conceived https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ng14odsA2qE

**Destroy Their Stateliness By The Hand **Make My Speech and Deceit be their Wound and Stripes

The King OZIAS Set a Time Limit on Waiting on The Lord (Error) Judith 7:29-32 29Then there was great weeping with one consent in the midst of the assembly; and they cried unto the Lord God with a loud voice. 30Then said Ozi´as to them, Brethren, be of good courage, Let Us Yet Endure Five Days, in the which space the Lord our God may turn his mercy toward us; for he will not forsake us utterly. 31 And if these days pass, and there come no help unto us, I will do according to your word. 32And he dispersed the people, every one to their own charge; and they went unto the walls and towers of their city, and sent the women and children into their houses: and they were very low brought in the city.

Judith Widow full of Counsel and Gift of Beauty Judith 8:7-8 7She was also of a goodly countenance, and very beautiful to behold: and her husband Manass´es had left her gold, and silver, and menservants, and maidservants, and cattle, and lands; and she remained upon them. 8And there was none that gave her an ill word; for she feared God greatly.

Warns Ozias; Error and Evil in their Words Judith 8: 9-11 9Now when she heard the evil words of the people against the governor, that they fainted for lack of water; for Judith had heard all the words that Ozi´as had spoken unto them, and that he had sworn to deliver the city unto the Assyrians after five days; 10then she sent Her Waiting Woman, that had the government of all things that she had, to call Ozi´as and Chabris and Charmis, the ancients of the city. 11And they came unto her, and she said unto them, Hear Me Now, O Ye Governors Of The inhabitants of Bethu´lia: for your words That Ye Have Spoken Before The People This Day Are Not Right, touching this oath which ye made and pronounced between God and you, and have promised to deliver the city to our enemies, unless within these days the Lord turn to help you. Do Not Bind the Counsels of the Lord- HE IS Not as Man Judith 8:12-17 12 And now who are ye that have tempted God this day, and stand instead of God among the children of men? 13And now try the Lord Almighty, but ye shall never know any thing. 14 For ye cannot find the depth of the heart of man, neither can ye perceive the things that he thinketh: then how can ye search out God, that hath made all these things, and know his mind, or comprehend his purpose? Nay, my brethren, provoke not the Lord our God to anger. 15For if he will not help us within these five days, he hath power to defend us when he will, even every day, or to destroy us before our enemies. 16 Do not bind the counsels of the Lord our God: for God is not as man, that he may be threatened; neither is he as the son of man, that he should be wavering. 17Therefore let us wait for salvation of him, and call upon him to help us, and he will hear our voice, if it please him.

***Prayer- The POWER I have Conceived- SMITE BY MY LIPS*** Judith 9:6-7 6Yea, what things thou didst determine were ready at hand, and said, Lo, we are here: for all thy ways are prepared, and thy judgments are in thy foreknowledge. 7 For, behold, the Assyrians are multiplied in their power; they are exalted with horse and man; they glory in the strength of their footmen; they trust in shield, and spear, and bow, and sling; and know not that thou art the Lord that breakest the battles: the Lord is thy name. Judith 9:8-11

***Give to Me the POWER I HAVE CONCEIVED*** 8Throw down their strength in thy power, and bring down their force in thy wrath: for they have purposed to defile thy sanctuary, and to pollute the tabernacle where thy glorious name resteth, and to cast down with sword the horn of thy altar. 9Behold Their Pride, and send thy wrath upon their heads: give into mine hand, which am a widow, The Power That I Have Conceived. 10 Smite by the deceit of my lips the servant with the prince, and the prince with the servant: break down their stateliness by the hand of a woman. 11For thy power standeth not in multitude, nor thy might in strong men: for thou art a God of the afflicted, an helper of the oppressed, an upholder of the weak, a protector of the forlorn, a Saviour of them that are without hope. ****I Pray The Oh Lord *** 12I pray thee, I pray thee, O God of my father, and God of the inheritance of Israel, Lord of the heavens and earth, Creator of the waters, King of every creature, hear thou my prayer:

Make My Speech and Deceit be their Wound and Stripes Judith 9:13-14 ***Make My Speech and Deceit Be their Wounds***** 13and make my speech and deceit to be their wound and stripe, who have purposed cruel things against thy covenant, and thy hallowed house, and against the top of Zion, and against the house of the possession of thy children. 14And make every nation and tribe to acknowledge that thou art the God of all power and might, and that there is none other that protecteth the people of Israel but thou.

Judith Took His Head -My Countenance has Deceived Him Judith 13:14-17 14Then she said to them with a loud voice, Praise, praise God, praise God, I say, for he hath not taken away his mercy from the house of Israel, but hath destroyed our enemies by mine hands this night. 15 So she took the head out of the bag, and showed it, and said unto them, Behold the head of Holofer´nes, the chief captain of the army of Assyria, and behold the canopy, wherein he did lie in his drunkenness; and the Lord hath smitten him by the hand of a woman. 16 As the Lord liveth, who hath kept me in my way that ***I went, my countenance hath deceived him to his destruction, and yet hath he not committed sin with me, to defile and shame me. ****KEY - JUDITH was Directed*** Judith 13: 17-19 17Then all the people were wonderfully astonished, and bowed themselves, and worshipped God, and said with one accord, Blessed be thou, O our God, which hast this day brought to nought the enemies of thy people. 18 Then said Ozi´as unto her, O daughter, blessed art thou of the most high God above all the women upon the earth; and blessed be the Lord God, which hath created the heavens and the earth, **which hath directed thee to the cutting off of the head of the chief of our enemies. ** 19For this thy confidence shall not depart from the heart of men, which remember the power of God for ever. Deceit Of Beauty Proverbs 31:30 (KJV) 30 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Esther 1:11 (KJV) 11 To bring Vashti the queen before the king with the crown royal, to shew the people and the princes her beauty: for she was fair to look on.

of A Woman7:12 (Judges & 2 Kings) and 2:17(Acts 2:17) Acts 2:17-18 (KJV) 17 And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: 18 And on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy: Deborah The 4th Judge Judges 4:4 (KJV) 4 And Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lapidoth, she judged Israel at that time.

Judges 4:9 (KJV) 9 And she said, I Will Surely Go With Thee: Notwithstanding The Journey That Thou Takest Shall Not Be For Thine Honour; For The Lord Shall Sell Sisera Into The Hand Of A Woman. And Deborah arose, and went with Barak to Kedesh.

The Lord said to me.. What's the 7th and the 12th Book of the Bible Read The 7th Book of the Bible (Judges) Read The 12th Book of the Bible (2 Kings)

He told me: JUDGE KINGS! The Anointing upon me is That of DEBRA Seek for Yours

Notes I took from Sadhu 3 Years ag0-- It came Right Back around to my Understanding 3 Roles of Women - Triple Anointing (Psalms 68:11) Three-Fold Cord -Cannot be easily Broken

1. Miriam Anointing (Prophetic Worship) Prophetess • (To to get Through Her)(Visions-Dreams) • (Family Ministry)(Prophetic Worshipper) • Exodus 15:21 War Songs-Sing To the Lord • Sing to the Lord -Praise the Beauty of Holiness • Receiving New songs... To Then Share Revelation (12:11-12)(12:7-12) • Who do he think he is.. God speaks to us too(Don't make it a Spiritual Battle) • Address the Actions- NOT the OFFICE

2.Deborah Company Anointing • Prophetess and 4th Judge(Judges 4:4) • Wait on God (Communes) • A military strategist • Arts of Warfare(Warrior)(Judges 4:9-10,15) (5:22-23) • Wife • Weeps(Intercessor)(Be Aware of Angels) (Spiritual Sound) • War Cry Songs(Psalms 68) • 3.Anna Company Anointing (Name means Grace/Favor)

Grace Nuggets: (Prophetic Intercession Meaning) (They Pray as Directed by God) One will be the Dominating and one the Undertow

2.Anna Company Anointing

• Extreme Devotion to Fasting and Prayer only • All Night Prayer Visuals • Set Aside to Pray Only for the Church(For the Church to Stand Strong Against Persecution) • (Revelation 8:3) • (Regular Intercessor Meaning) • To Meet and Certain Time- Stand in the Gap- Taking on their Issue upon Yourself • Bring Petition

Scripture of Women as Apostles, Prophets, Deaconess, Warriors and Worshippers • Anna (Isaiah 8:3) Luke 2:36-38) • Phebie was a Deaconess (Romans 16:1-2) (Acts 16:12-15 Lidia) • Pricilla and Aquilla (Romans 16:3 and 1 Cor.16:19) • Apostle Junious and Indonicous(Romans 16:7) Paul called her a Notable Apostle • Maria Woodword-Etta- 1904 • Aimee Semple mcpherson 1950-60 • Kathryn kuhlman

4 Reasons... this will Happen 1) (A Company of Praising and Worship Women and Children go forth, before the Coming of the Lord and another Host Behind Him) 2) (New Methods, New ways- He gives Instructions) 3) (Pray for the Birthing of the End-time company of Saints, Kids, Youth, Toddlers, Pastors and Ministers) 4) (Women will Prophecy in the Last days and have a Call to do so

We will be a Triple Threat says the Lord • A Sword in One Hand • A Tambourine(Timbrel) in the Other • And Incents of Prayer coming from out Mouths...

LEAD CAPTIVITY CAPTIVE Judges 5:12 (KJV) 12 Awake, awake, Deborah: awake, awake, utter a song: arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive, thou son of Abinoam. UTTERLY DESTROY Deuteronomy 20:17 (KJV) 17 But thou shalt utterly destroy them; namely, the Hittites, and the Amorites, the Canaanites, and the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites; as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee:

The Lion has Roared..Who can But Fear?... The Lord has Spoken...I can But Prophesy!

"I Prophesy to the Perplexities and Give the Practicalities!"

The "GOD-With" Ministry

"Not Inspirational Speaking, But Word-Based Preaching!"

TRUTHALITY! Facts are Temporal Truth is Eternal! What is real? The TRUTH that, Nothing is too hard for God!

Preach Be a Voice Not an Echo www.preachbvne.webs.com www.preachbvne.blogspot.com Twitter@Preach_BA_Voice Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/preach_bvne/ Facebook: www.facebook.com/PREACHbeaVoicenotanEcho Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/PreachBVNE/ Youtube Channel:www.youtube.com/c/PREACHbeaVoicenotanEchoMinistry

To Sow into this Ministry Mail to: Shawntrell Davis P.O. BOX 30392 Clarksville, TN 37042 CashApp: $KingdomStewardDavis PayPal: www.paypal.me/SHAWNTRELLDAVIS or Email:[email protected]

Thomas Emmanuel Davis III Shawntrell Davis Ambassadors of the Word of Reconciliation Followers of "The Way"

Distributors of the Revelation! Distributors of the Truth! Distributors of the Release!

S.H.I.F.T Suddenly Heaven Invades Forcing Transformation!!

#YesLordIWill #CryLoudAndSpareNot #TheLordMyGodIsWithMe #PartakersofHisGlory #FortifiedBrazenWall #Repent #TheKingdomOfGodIsAtHand

Let the Lord be Magnified! Announcing the Coming of the Glorious Kingdom of God!

2 Corinthians 5:20(KJV) 20 Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.

Matthew 24:14 (KJV) 14 And this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come.

Obadiah 1:1 (KJV) 1 The vision of Obadiah. Thus saith the Lord God concerning Edom; We have heard a rumour from the Lord, and an ambassador is sent among the heathen, Arise ye, and let us rise up against her in battle.(They will Fall)

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folklore-and-fairytales · 4 years

Text

The Story of the Hewn Off Hand

A FREE STORY From “The Oriental Story Book” by Wilhelm Hauff

I WAS born in Constantinople; my father was a Dragoman of the Ottoman Porte, and carried on, besides, a tolerably lucrative trade in essences and silk goods. He gave me a good education, since he partly superintended it himself, and partly had me instructed by one of our priests. At first, he intended that I should one day take charge of his business: but since I displayed greater capacity than he expected, with the advice of his friends, he resolved that I should study medicine; for a physician, if he only knows more than a common quack, can make his fortune in Constantinople.

Many Frenchmen were in the habit of coming to our house, and one of them prevailed upon my father to let me go to the city of Paris, in his fatherland, where one could learn the profession gratuitously, and with the best advantages: he himself would take me with him, at his own expense, when he returned. My father, who in his youth had also been a traveller, consented, and the Frenchman told me to hold myself in readiness in three months. I was beside myself with delight to see foreign lands, and could not wait for the moment in which we should embark. At last the stranger had finished his business, and was ready to start.

On the evening preceding our voyage, my father conducted me into his sleeping apartment; there I saw fine garments and weapons lying on the table; but what most attracted my eye was a large pile of gold, for I had never before seen so much together. My father embraced me, and said,

“See, my son, I have provided thee with garments for thy journey. These weapons are thine; they are those which thy grandfather hung upon me, when I went forth into foreign lands. I know thou canst wield them; but use them not, unless thou art attacked; then, however, lay on with right good-will. My wealth is not great; see! I have divided it into three parts: one is thine; one shall be for my support, and spare money in case of necessity; the third shall be sacred and untouched by me, it may serve thee in the hour of need.” Thus spoke my old father, while tears hung in his eyes, perhaps from a presentiment, for I have never seen him since.

Our voyage was favorable; we soon reached the land of the Franks, and six days’ journey brought us to the large city, Paris. Here my French friend hired me a room, and advised me to be prudent in spending my money, which amounted to two thousand thalers. In this city I lived three years, and learned all that a well-educated physician should know. I would be speaking falsely, however, if I said that I was very happy, for the customs of the people pleased me not; moreover, I had but few good friends among them, but these were young men of nobility.

The longing after my native land at length became irresistible; during the whole time I had heard nothing from my father, and I therefore seized a favorable opportunity to return home. There was going an embassy from France to the Supreme Porte: I agreed to join the train of the ambassador as surgeon, and soon arrived once more at Stamboul (Istanbul).

My father’s dwelling, however, I found closed, and the neighbors, astonished at seeing me, said that my father had been dead for two months. The priest, who had instructed me in youth, brought me the key. Alone and forsaken, I entered the desolate house. I found all as my father had left it; but the gold which he promised to leave to me, was missing. I inquired of the priest respecting it, and he bowed and said:

“Your father died like a holy man, for he left his gold to the Church!”

This was incomprehensible to me; nevertheless, what could I do? I had no proofs against the priest, and could only congratulate myself that he had not also looked upon the house, and wares of my father, in the light of a legacy. This was the first misfortune that met me; but after this came one upon another. My reputation as a physician would not extend itself, because I was ashamed to play the quack; above all, I missed the recommendation of my father, who had introduced me to the richest and most respectable families; but now they thought no more of the poor Zaleukos. Moreover, the wares of my father found no sale, for his customers had been scattered at his death, and new ones came only after a long time. One day, as I was reflecting sorrowfully upon my situation, it occurred to me that in France I had often seen countrymen of mine, who travelled through the land, and exposed their goods at the market-places of the cities: I recollected that people gladly purchased of them, because they came from foreign lands; and that by such a trade, one could make a hundred-fold. My resolution was forthwith taken; I sold my paternal dwelling, gave a portion of the money obtained thereby to a tried friend to preserve for me, and with the remainder purchased such articles as were rare in France,—shawls, silken goods, ointments, and oils; for these I hired a place upon a vessel, and thus began my second voyage to France. It appeared as if fortune became favorable to me, the moment I had the Straits of the Dardanelles upon my back. Our voyage was short and prosperous. I travelled through the cities of France, large and small, and found, in all, ready purchasers for my goods. My friend in Stamboul continually sent me fresh supplies, and I became richer from day to day. At last when I had husbanded so well, that I believed myself able to venture on some more extensive undertaking, I went with my wares into Italy. I must, however, mention something that brought me in no little money; I called my profession also to my assistance. As soon as I arrived in a city I announced, by means of bills, that a Grecian physician was there, who had already cured many; and, truly, my balsam, and my medicines, had brought me in many a zechin.

Thus at last I reached the city of Florence, in Italy. I proposed to myself to remain longer than usual in this place, partly because it pleased me so well, partly, moreover, that I might recover from the fatigues of my journey. I hired myself a shop in the quarter of the city called St. Croce, and in a tavern not far therefrom, took a couple of fine rooms which led out upon a balcony. Immediately I had my bills carried around, which announced me as a physician and merchant. I had no sooner opened my shop than buyers streamed in upon me, and although I asked a tolerably high price, still I sold more than others, because I was attentive and friendly to my customers.

Well satisfied, I had spent four days in Florence, when one evening, after I had shut my shop, and according to custom was examining my stock of ointment-boxes, I found, in one of the smaller ones, a letter which I did not remember to have put in. I opened it and found therein an invitation to repair that night, punctually at twelve, to the bridge called the Ponte Vecchio. For some time I reflected upon this, as to who it could be that had thus invited me; as, however, I knew not a soul in Florence, I thought, as had often happened already, that one wished to lead me privately to some sick person. Accordingly I resolved to go; nevertheless, as a precautionary measure, I put on the sabre which my father had given me. As it was fast approaching midnight, I set out upon my way, and soon arrived at the Ponte Vecchio; I found the bridge forsaken and desolate, and resolved to wait until it should appear who had addressed me.

It was a cold night; the moon shone clear as I looked down upon the waters of the Arno, which sparkled in her light. On the church of the city the twelfth hour was sounding, when I looked up, and before me stood a tall man, entirely covered with a red cloak, a corner of which he held before his face. At this sudden apparition I was at first somewhat startled, but I soon recovered myself and said—

“If you have summoned me hither, tell me, what is your pleasure?”

The Red-mantle turned, and solemnly ejaculated, “Follow!”

My mind was nevertheless somewhat uneasy at the idea of going alone with this Unknown; I stood still and said, “Not so, dear sir; you will first tell me whither; moreover, you may show me your face a little, that I may see whether you have good intentions towards me.”

The Stranger, however, appeared not to be concerned thereat. “If thou wishest it not, Zaleukos, then remain!” answered he, moving away. At this my anger burned.

“Think you,” I cried, “that I will suffer a man to play the fool with me, and wait here this cold night for nothing?” In three bounds I reached him; crying still louder, I seized him by the cloak, laying the other hand upon my sabre; but the mantle remained in my hand, and the Unknown vanished around the nearest corner. My anger gradually cooled; I still had the cloak, and this should furnish the key to this strange adventure. I put it on, and moved towards home. Before I had taken a hundred steps, somebody passed very near, and whispered in the French tongue, “Observe, Count, to-night, we can do nothing.” Before I could look around, this somebody had passed, and I saw only a shadow hovering near the houses. That this exclamation was addressed to the mantle, and not to me, I plainly perceived; nevertheless, this threw no light upon the matter. Next morning I considered what was best to be done. At first I thought of having proclamation made respecting the cloak, that I had found it; but in that case the Unknown could send for it by a third person, and I would have no explanation of the matter. While thus meditating I took a nearer view of the garment. It was of heavy Genoese velvet, of dark red color, bordered with fur from Astrachan, and richly embroidered with gold. The gorgeousness of the cloak suggested to me a plan, which I resolved to put in execution. I carried it to my shop and offered it for sale, taking care, however, to set so high a price upon it, that I would be certain to find no purchaser. My object in this was to fix my eye keenly upon everyone who should come to inquire after it; for the figure of the Unknown, which, after the loss of the mantle, had been exposed to me distinctly though transiently, I could recognise out of thousands. Many merchants came after the cloak, the extraordinary beauty of which drew all eyes upon it; but none bore the slightest resemblance to the Unknown, none would give for it the high price of two hundred zechins. It was surprising to me, that when I asked one and another whether there was a similar mantle in Florence, all answered in the negative, and protested that they had never seen such costly and elegant workmanship.

It was just becoming evening, when at last there came a young man who had often been in there, and had also that very day bid high for the mantle; he threw upon the table a bag of zechins, exclaiming—

“By Heaven! Zaleukos, I must have your mantle, should I be made a beggar by it.” Immediately he began to count out his gold pieces. I was in a great dilemma; I had exposed the mantle, in order thereby to get a sight of my unknown friend, and now came a young simpleton to give the unheard-of price. Nevertheless, what remained for me? I complied, for on the other hand the reflection consoled me, that my night adventure would be so well rewarded. The young man put on the cloak and departed; he turned, however, upon the threshold, while he loosened a paper which was attached to the collar, and threw it towards me, saying, “Here, Zaleukos, hangs something, that does not properly belong to my purchase.” Indifferently, I received the note; but lo! these were the contents:—

“This night, at the hour thou knowest, bring the mantle to the Ponte Vecchio; four hundred zechins await thee!”

I stood as one thunder-struck: thus had I trifled with fortune, and entirely missed my aim. Nevertheless, I reflected not long; catching up the two hundred zechins, I bounded to the side of the young man and said, “Take your zechins again, my good friend, and leave me the cloak; I cannot possibly part with it.”

At first he treated the thing as a jest, but when he saw it was earnest, he fell in a passion at my presumption, and called me a fool; and thus at last we came to blows. I was fortunate enough to seize the mantle in the scuffle, and was already making off with it, when the young man called the police to his assistance, and had both of us carried before a court of justice. The magistrate was much astonished at the accusation, and adjudged the cloak to my opponent. I however, offered the young man twenty, fifty, eighty, at last a hundred, zechins, in addition to his two hundred, if he would surrender it to me. What my entreaties could not accomplish, my gold did. He took my good zechins, while I went off in triumph with the mantle, obliged to be satisfied with being taken for a madman by everyone in Florence. Nevertheless, the opinion of the people was a matter of indifference to me, for I knew better than they, that I would still gain by the bargain.

With impatience I awaited the night; at the same hour as the preceding day, I proceeded to the Ponte Vecchio, the mantle under my arm. With the last stroke of the clock, came the figure out of darkness to my side: beyond a doubt it was the man of the night before.

“Hast thou the cloak?” I was asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, “but it cost me a hundred zechins cash.”

“I know it,” rejoined he; “look, here are four hundred.” He moved with me to the broad railing of the bridge and counted out the gold pieces; brightly they glimmered in the moonshine, their lustre delighted my heart—ah! it did not foresee that this was to be its last joy. I put the money in my pocket, and then wished to get a good view of the generous stranger, but he had a mask before his face, through which two dark eyes frightfully beamed upon me.

“I thank you, sir, for your kindness,” said I to him; “what further desire you of me? I told you before, however, that it must be nothing evil.”

“Unnecessary trouble,” answered he, throwing the cloak over his shoulders; “I needed your assistance as a physician, nevertheless not for a living, but for a dead person.”

“How can that be?” exclaimed I in amazement.

“I came with my sister from a distant land,” rejoined he, at the same time motioning me to follow him, “and took up my abode with a friend of our family. A sudden disease carried off my sister yesterday, and our relations wished to bury her this morning. According to an old usage of our family, however, all are to repose in the sepulchre of our fathers; many who have died in foreign lands, nevertheless sleep there embalmed. To my relations now I grant the body, but to my father must I bring at least the head of his daughter, that he may see it once again.”

In this custom of severing the head from near relatives there was to me, indeed, something awful; nevertheless, I ventured to say nothing against it, through fear of offending the Unknown. I told him, therefore, that I was well acquainted with the art of embalming the dead, and asked him to lead me to the body. Notwithstanding, I could not keep myself from inquiring why all this must be done so secretly in the night. He answered me that his relations, who considered his purpose inhuman, would prevent him from accomplishing it by day; but only let the head once be cut off, and they could say little more about it: he could, indeed, have brought the head to me, but a natural feeling prevented him from cutting it off himself.

These words brought us to a large splendid house; my companion pointed it out to me as the termination of our nocturnal walk. We passed the principal door, and entering a small gate, which the stranger carefully closed after him, ascended, in the dark, a narrow, winding staircase. This brought us to a dimly-lighted corridor, from which we entered an apartment; a lamp, suspended from the ceiling, shed its brilliant rays around.

In this chamber stood a bed, on which lay the corpse; the Unknown turned away his face, as if wishing to conceal his tears. He beckoned me to the bed, and bidding me set about my business speedily yet carefully, went out by the door.

I seized my knives, which, as a physician, I constantly carried with me, and approached the bed. Only the head of the corpse was visible, but that was so beautiful that the deepest compassion involuntarily came over me. In long braids the dark hair hung down; the face was pale, the eyes closed. At first, I made an incision in the skin, according to the practice of surgeons when they remove a limb. Then I took my sharpest knife and cut entirely through the throat. But, horror! the dead opened her eyes—shut them again—and in a deep sigh seemed now, for the first time, to breathe forth her life! Straightway a stream of hot blood sprang forth from the wound. I was convinced that I had killed the poor girl; for that she was dead there could be no doubt—from such a wound there was no chance of recovering. I stood some moments in anxious wo, thinking on what had happened. Had the Red-mantle deceived me, or was his sister, perhaps, only apparently dead? The latter appeared to me more probable. Yet I dared not tell the brother of the deceased, that, perhaps, a less rash blow would have aroused, without having killed her; therefore I began to sever the head entirely—but once again the dying one groaned, stretched herself out in a convulsion of pain, and breathed her last. Then terror overpowered me, and I rushed shivering out of the apartment.

But outside in the corridor it was dark, for the lamp had died out; no trace of my companion was perceptible, and I was obliged to move along by the wall, at hazard in the dark, in order to reach the winding-stairs. I found them at last, and descended, half falling, half gliding. There was no one below; the door was only latched, and I breathed more freely when I was in the street, out of the uneasy atmosphere of the house. Spurred on by fear, I ran to my dwelling, and buried myself in the pillow of my bed, in order to forget the horrid crime I had committed. But sleep fled my eyelids, and soon morning admonished me again to collect myself. It seemed probable to me, that the man who had led me to this villainous deed, as it now appeared to me, would not denounce me. I immediately resolved to attend to my business in my shop, and to put on as careless an air as possible. But, alas! a new misfortune, which I now for the first time observed, augmented my sorrow. My cap and girdle, as also my knives, were missing; and I knew not whether they had been left in the chamber of the dead, or lost during my flight. Alas! the former seemed more probable, and they could discover in me the murderer.

I opened my shop at the usual time; a neighbor stepped in, as was his custom, being a communicative man. “Ah! what say you to the horrid deed,” he cried, “that was committed last night?” I started as if I knew nothing. “How! know you not that with which the whole city is filled? Know you not that last night, the fairest flower in Florence, Bianca, the daughter of the Governor, was murdered? Ah! only yesterday I saw her walking happily through the streets with her bridegroom, for to-day she would have had her nuptial festival!”

Every word of my neighbor was a dagger to my heart; and how often returned my torments! for each of my customers told me the story, one more frightfully than another; yet not one could tell it half so horribly as it had seemed to me. About mid-day, an officer of justice unexpectedly walked into my shop, and asked me to clear it of the bystanders.

“Signor Zaleukos,” said he, showing me the articles I had lost, “belong these things to you?” I reflected whether I should not entirely disown them; but when I saw through the half-opened door, my landlord and several acquaintances, who could readily testify against me, I determined not to make the matter worse by a falsehood, and acknowledged the articles exhibited as my own. The officer told me to follow him, and conducted me to a spacious building, which I soon recognised as the prison. Then, a little farther on, he showed me into an apartment.

My situation was terrible, as I reflected on it in my solitude. The thought of having committed a murder, even against my wish, returned again and again. Moreover, I could not conceal from myself that the glance of the gold had dazzled my senses; otherwise I would not have fallen so blindly into the snare.

Two hours after my arrest, I was led from my chamber, and after descending several flights of stairs, entered a spacious saloon. Around a long table hung with black, were seated twelve men, mostly gray with age. Along the side of the room, benches were arranged, on which were seated the first people of Florence. In the gallery, which was built quite high, stood the spectators, closely crowded together. As soon as I reached the black table, a man with a gloomy, sorrowful air arose—it was the Governor. He told the audience that, as a father, he could not judge impartially in this matter, and that he, for this occasion, would surrender his seat to the oldest of the senators. The latter was a gray-headed man, of at least ninety years. He arose, stooping beneath the weight of age; his temples were covered with thin white hair, but his eyes still burned brightly, and his voice was strong and steady. He began by asking me whether I confessed the murder. I entreated his attention, and with dauntless, distinct voice, related what I had done and all that I knew. I observed that the Governor during my recital turned first pale, then red, and when I concluded, became furious. “How, wretch!” he cried out to me, “wishest thou thus to lay upon another, the crime thy avarice has committed?”

The Senator rebuked him for his interruption, after having of his own free will resigned his right; moreover, that it was not so clear, that I had done the deed through avarice, for according to his own testimony, nothing had been taken from the corpse. Yes, he went still further; he told the Governor that he must give an account of his daughter’s early life, for in this way only could one conclude whether I had told the truth or not. Immediately he closed the court for that day, for the purpose, as he said, of consulting the papers of the deceased, which the Governor was to give him. I was carried back to my prison, where I passed a sorrowful day, constantly occupied with the ardent hope, that they would in some way discover the connection between the deceased and the Red-mantle.

Full of hope, I proceeded the next day to the justice-hall. Several letters lay upon the table; the old Senator asked whether they were of my writing. I looked at them, and found that they were by the same hand as both the letters that I had received. This I disclosed to the Senator; but he seemed to give but little weight to it, answering that I must have written both, for the name subscribed was unquestionably a Z, the initial of my name. The letters, however, contained menaces against the deceased, and warnings against the marriage which she was on the point of consummating. The Governor seemed to have imparted something strange and untrue, with respect to my person; for I was treated this day with more suspicion and severity. For my justification, I appealed to the papers, which would be found in my room, but I was informed that search had been made and nothing found. Thus, at the close of the court, vanished all my hope; and when, on the third day, I was led again to the hall, the judgment was read aloud, that I was convicted of a premeditated murder, and sentenced to death. To such extremity had I come; forsaken by all that was dear to me on earth, far from my native land, innocent and in the bloom of my years, I was to die by the axe!

On the evening of this terrible day which had decided my fate, I was seated in my lonely dungeon, my hopes past, my thoughts seriously turned upon death, when the door of my prison opened, and a man entered who regarded me long in silence.

“Do I see you again, in this situation, Zaleukos?” he began. By the dim light of my lamp I had not recognised him, but the sound of his voice awoke within me old recollections. It was Valetty, one of the few friends I had made during my studies at Paris. He said that he had casually come to Florence, where his father, a distinguished man, resided; he had heard of my story, and come to see me once more, to inquire with his own lips, how I could have been guilty of such an awful crime. I told him the whole history: he seemed lost in wonder, and conjured me to tell him, my only friend, all the truth, and not to depart with a lie upon my tongue. I swore to him with the most solemn oath, that I had spoken the truth; and that no other guilt could be attached to me, than that, having been blinded by the glance of the gold, I had not seen the improbability of the Stranger’s story. “Then did you not know Bianca?” asked he. I assured him that I had never seen her. Valetty thereupon told me that there was a deep mystery in the matter; that the Governor in great haste had urged my condemnation, and that a report was current among the people, that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had murdered her out of revenge for her intended marriage with another. I informed him that all this was probably true of the Red-mantle, but that I could not prove his participation in the deed. Valetty embraced me, weeping, and promised me to do all that he could; to save my life, if nothing more. I had not much hope; nevertheless, I knew that my friend was a wise man, and well acquainted with the laws, and that he would do all in his power to preserve me.

Two long days was I in suspense; at length Valetty appeared. “I bring consolation, though even that is attended with sorrow. You shall live and be free, but with the loss of a hand!”

Overjoyed, I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the Governor had been inexorable, and would not once look into the matter: that at length, however, rather than appear unjust, he had agreed, if a similar case could be found in the annals of Florentine history, that my penalty should be regulated by the punishment that was then inflicted. He and his father had searched, day and night, in the old books, and had at length found a case similar in every respect to mine; the sentence there ran thus:—

“He shall have his left hand cut off; his goods shall be confiscated, and he himself banished forever!”

Such now was my sentence, also, and I was to prepare for the painful hour that awaited me. I will not bring before your eyes the frightful moment, in which, at the open market-place, I laid my hand upon the block; in which my own blood in thick streams flowed over me!

Valetty took me to his house until I had recovered, and then generously supplied me with money for my journey, for all that I had so laboriously acquired was confiscated to Justice. I went from Florence to Sicily, and thence, by the first ship I could find, to Constantinople. My hopes, which rested on the sum of money I had left with my friend, were not disappointed. I proposed that I should live with him—how astonished was I, when he asked why I occupied not my own house! He told me that a strange man had, in my name, bought a house in the quarter of the Greeks, and told the neighbors that I would soon, myself, return. I immediately proceeded to it with my friend, and was joyfully received by all my old acquaintances. An aged merchant handed me a letter which the man who purchased for me had left. I read:—

“Zaleukos! two hands stand ready to work unceasingly, that thou mayest not feel the loss of one. That house which thou seest and all therein are thine, and every year shalt thou receive so much, that thou shalt be among the rich of thy nation. Mayest thou forgive one who is more unhappy than thyself!”

I could guess who was the writer, and the merchant told me, in answer to my inquiry that it was a man covered with a red cloak, whom he had taken for a Frenchman. I knew enough to convince me that the Unknown was not entirely devoid of generous feeling. In my new house I found all arranged in the best style; a shop, moreover, full of wares, finer than any I had ever had. Ten years have elapsed since then; more in compliance with ancient custom, than because it is necessary, do I continue to travel in foreign lands for purposes of trade, but the land which was so fatal to me I have never seen since. Every year I receive a thousand pieces of gold; but although it rejoices me to know that this Unfortunate is so noble, still can his money never remove wo from my soul, for there lives forever the heart-rending image of the murdered Bianca!

Thus ended the story of Zaleukos, the Grecian merchant. With great interest had the others listened; the stranger, in particular, seemed to be wrapt up in it: more than once he had drawn a deep sigh, and Muley looked as if he had had tears in his eyes. No one spoke for some time after the recital.

“And hate you not the Unknown, who so basely cost you a noble member of your body, and even put your life in danger?” inquired Selim.

“Perhaps there were hours at first,” answered the Greek, “in which my heart accused him before God, of having brought this misfortune upon me, and embittered my life; but I found consolation in the religion of my fathers, which commanded me to love my enemies. Moreover, he probably is more unhappy than myself.”

“You are a noble man!” exclaimed Selim, cordially pressing the hand of the Greek.

The leader of the escort, however, here interrupted their conversation. He came with a troubled air into the tent, and told them that they could not give themselves up to repose, for this was the place in which Caravans were usually attacked, and his guards imagined they had seen several horsemen in the distance.

The merchants were confounded at this intelligence. Selim, the stranger, however, expressed wonder at their alarm, saying they were so well escorted they need not fear a troop of Arabian robbers.

“Yes, sir,” rejoined to him the leader of the guard; “were he only a common outlaw, we could compose ourselves to rest without anxiety; but for some time back, the frightful Orbasan has shown himself again, and it is well to be upon our guard.”

The stranger inquired who this Orbasan was, and Achmet, the old merchant, answered him:—

“Various rumors are current among the people with respect to this wonderful man. Some hold him to be a supernatural being, because, with only five or six men, he has frequently fallen upon a whole encampment; others regard him as a bold Frenchman, whom misfortune has driven into this region: out of all this, however, thus much alone is certain, that he is an abandoned robber and highwayman.”

“That can you not prove,” answered Lezah, one of the merchants. “Robber as he is, he is still a noble man, and such has he shown himself to my brother, as I can relate to you. He has formed his whole band of well-disciplined men, and as long as he marches through the desert, no other band ventures to show itself. Moreover, he robs not as others, but only exacts a tribute from the caravans; whoever willingly pays this, proceeds without further danger, for Orbasan is lord of the wilderness!”

Thus did the travellers converse together in the tent; the guards, however, who were stationed around the resting-place, began to become uneasy. A tolerably large band of armed horsemen showed themselves at the distance of half a league. They appeared to be riding straight to the encampment; one of the guard came into the tent, to inform them that they would probably be attacked.

The merchants consulted among themselves as to what they should do, whether to march against them, or await the attack. Achmet and the two elder merchants inclined to the latter course; the fiery Muley, however, and Zaleukos desired the former, and summoned the stranger to their assistance. He, however, quietly drew forth from his girdle a little blue cloth spangled with red stars, bound it upon a lance, and commanded one of the slaves to plant it in front of the tent: he would venture his life upon it, he said, that the horsemen, when they saw this signal, would quietly march back again. Muley trusted not the result; still the slave put out the lance in front of the tent. Meanwhile all in the camp had seized their weapons, and were looking upon the horsemen in eager expectation. The latter, however, appeared to have espied the signal; they suddenly swerved from their direct course towards the encampment, and, in a large circle, moved off to the side.

Struck with wonder, the travellers stood some moments, gazing alternately at the horsemen and the stranger. The latter stood in front of the tent quite indifferently, as though nothing had happened, looking upon the plain before him. At last Muley broke the silence.

“Who art thou, mighty stranger,” he exclaimed, “that restrainest with a glance the wild hordes of the desert?”

“You rate my art higher than it deserves,” answered Selim Baruch. “I observed this signal when I fled from captivity; what it means, I know not—only this much I know, that whoever travels with this sign, is under great protection.”

The merchants thanked the stranger, and called him their preserver; indeed, the number of the robbers was so great, that the Caravan could not, probably, for any length of time, have offered an effectual resistance.

With lighter hearts they now gave themselves to sleep; and when the sun began to sink, and the evening wind to pass over the sand-plain, they struck their tents, and marched on. The next day they halted safely, only one day’s journey from the entrance of the desert. When the travellers had once more collected in the large tent, Lezah, the merchant, took up the discourse.

“I told you, yesterday, that the dreaded Orbasan was a noble man; permit me to prove it to you, to-day, by the relation of my brother’s adventure. My father was Cadi of Acara. He had three children; I was the eldest, my brother and sister being much younger than myself. When I was twenty years old, a brother of my father took me under his protection; he made me heir to his property, on condition that I should remain with him until his death. He however had reached an old age, so that before two years I returned to my native land, having known nothing, before, of the misfortune which had meanwhile fallen upon my family, and how Allah had turned it to advantage.”

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The Story of “The Hewn Off Hand” from “The Oriental Story Book” by Wilhelm Hauff

ISBN: 9788835365310

URL: http://bit.ly/2SjdjwG

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KEYWORDS: oriental story book, books for children, Folklore, Fairy Tales, myths, legends, children’s stories, storyteller, fables, lore, Adventure, Action, Caliph, Captain, Caravan, castle, chamber, city, classic fairy tales, cloak, companion, companions, cottage, dagger, dark, earth, eastern, fairytales, far, Fatima, Florence, forgotten stories, fortune, garment, gold, Grand Vizier, great, happiness, Happy ever after, heart, horses, journey, joy, King, Labakan, Little Brother, Little Muck, lord, orient, oriental, mantle, Märchen, merchants, Mighty, mountains, Muley, Mustapha, old fashioned, Omar, Orbasan, palace, physician, poor beggar, prince, Prophet, Queen, Quin, return, rivers, royal, sea, Selim, ship, ship, slaves, strange, stranger, sultan, sultana, tailor, tales, Thiuli, Zaleukos, classic stories,

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