How do you know the sabbath is today and not Sunday
Through studying the word and research. Even dictionary.com will tell you Saturday is the seventh day, not Sunday.
the seventh day of the week, following Friday.
Exodus 31:15 “Six days may work be done; but in the seventh is the sabbath of rest, holy to the LORD: whosoever doeth any work in the sabbath day, he shall surely be put to death.”
Matthew 28:1 “In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.”
Nehemiah 13:19 “And it came to pass, that when the gates of Jerusalem began to be dark before the sabbath, I commanded that the gates should be shut, and charged that they should not be opened till after the sabbath: and some of my servants set I at the gates, that there should no burden be brought in on the sabbath day.”
Days don’t start at midnight like this world has taught us, when the sun goes down that’s the start of a new day. Friday sundown is when the sabbath starts, and ends Saturday sundown. That’s one full day. Believe it or not, its prophesied in the Bible that the last empire before Christ returns (which we are in now), would try to change the laws and times so we would be thrown off of our Sabbaths and holy days.
Daniel 7:25 “And he shall speak great words against the most High, and shall wear out the saints of the most High, and think to change times and laws: and they shall be given into his hand until a time and times and the dividing of time.”
Genesis 1:5 “And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.”
When the sun goes down, that’s the start of a new day.
It’s been so long since the last update and I feel terrible that I make you guys wait
This is probably going to end up WAY longer than I planned and it might just work out better split up
It’s my birthday this Saturday and I wanted to post something before the weekend, since I plan to be a lazy bum for the rest of the day and just rest
The second part will be posted in next couple of days - probably at Wednesday [but might be sooner, if I manage to pull my shit together].
As always, this wasn’t beta-read yet but will be before it’s eventually posted to AO3.
I tweaked some of the facts a little bit to fit more into the canon of both TV shows instead of the books. ‘Coming of age’ is reaching eighteenth birthday, not sixteenth. There are also some ideas from the TTG video game thrown in.
Also, have I spent WAY too much time browsing through my “A Feast of Ice and Fire” cookbook? Yes. Yes, I have.
* Morghon/Morghot - “Death” in High Valyrian
CLICK ‘KEEP READING’ FOR THE REST OF THE FIC.)
Alec stands next to his father in the great hall, discussing the possible terms of the trade they are going to settle when a messenger interrupts their meeting. The delegation from Dorne has been spotted at the bottom of the winding path that leads up to Idris castle. It won’t be long before they make it to the top, so Robert orders his family out to the courtyard to wait for their guests and greet them properly.
The castle is a buzz of activity, people running back and forth. The staff is in a mild state of panic - they have been for couple of days now - not only because of the arriving guests, but also due to Alec’s eighteenth name day celebration that is a little over two weeks away. Alec really, really doesn’t think that any kind of festivity is required just for his coming of age, but it’s a tradition and Lightwoods are - if nothing else - traditionalists.
Alec stands on his father’s right side, Isabelle on his left, then Max. His mother would have stood by his father’s side, but giving birth to Max proved to be too much for her body and she passed away after bringing him to this world. At the end of the line is Jace, whose father was assassinated years ago and Robert took in his friend’s son as his ward.
The Dornish party is over forty people strong, but only a dozen or so come up to the castle and the rest sets up camp at the village below. Alec stands up a little taller as the visitors enter the courtyard, the sound of horses announcing their arrival even before they entered the gates. Alec has seen Dornishmen before, so their dark skin and exotic looks aren’t that much of a surprise. They arrive on sand steeds, the breed easily recognizable and breathtakingly beautiful. There is a handful of guards mixed in the party and at the head of it is the ruling Prince of Dorne, Ragnor Fell. Alec has never met him, but with hair as white as snow - so atypical for Dornish people - he can’t be mistaken for anyone else. He is a tall man, with strong, chiseled jaw and bushy eyebrows. There is a sword strapped to his side that swings slightly as he descends from his horse and he’s wearing black and gold travelling cloak - they all do, actually. It’s still the middle of summer and it’s actually pretty warm for their climate, but Alec supposes that when you lived among deserts for your entire life, even summer weather in the North must seem freezing cold.
Prince Vlad entered the familiar hovel his eyes not drifting too far back where a bed lay a bed he had once lain in. The Matron of the home was Baba Yaga and she sat a chain in hand, at the end of which swung a stone.
“Did you bring it?” She asked her eyebrow raising.
He nodded and presented her with the heart of the first animal he had caught in the forest.
She cut it letting the blood flow from it on the stone. After some words in the language of the ancients she let the stone swing slowly. The blood did not drip till the stone moved over the section of the map. A dot of blood splattered over the Nightmare Kingdom.
“In the Nightmare Kingdom?” He frowned. “They are evil though.” He sneered.
“Please you were one innocent, diavol.” Devil.
Vlad looked way, he was still new to his curse, the way it had affected his Grandfather was well. Unusual. He swallowed. “But we are not like them.” He shook his head. “I think you made it drop there on purpo-”
Baba Yaga stood up and backhanded him. “You ungrateful little wretch of a Prince!” She declared. “Have I not helped you when you needed me? Spared your friend of the curse that twists all you cared about? I warned you about that as well. Now I tell thee, if you miss this chance, you will never find love.”
So now he stood before the gates of dark iron where beyond a great party was in full sway. Beside him his friend Horatio.
Horatio swallowed. “Well at least things can’t get much worse. Your true love is beyond and according to Baba, all you need to do is meet her.”
New Sequel/Spin-Off anounced! It appears to be based on the Epigraph trilogy (ligh novel and manga), which occurs in the last beta worldline, just before the Steins Gate. That being said, it’s the dark future were World War 3 occurs.
12 Days of Kristanna: Day 12 - The Wonder of Christmas
The Warmth of a Promise
Squeaking in just before midnight here ;)
Art by the incredible lissa-42! Thank you so much for agreeing to collaborate with me, sweetheart <3 <3 <3
This one is for picture-of-sophisticated-grace, thank you so much for all of your hard work putting together this great event! You did a wonderful job, sweetpea, we’re so lucky to have you *hugs*
The castle was a blaze of lights, candles lighting up the great hall like stars, glittering off of silver and gold ornaments, shining off of the demurely glossy evergreen needles that formed swags and wreaths and garlands on every possible surface. Warm fires made cheeks glow, and lanterns sparkled off of the snow that gathered on the windowsills and carpeted the ground outside. The air smelled of sweet things, cinnamon and chocolate and gingerbread. There was music and laughter and Anna loved it with all her heart.
“Kristoff, there you are! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It’s amazing,” he said, his hand coming to rest against her back lightly. Anna let her head lean on his shoulder for a moment.
“Thank you, for being here, I mean. I know you don’t really like being stuck with so many strangers.”
He shrugged. “It’s not so bad.” His fingers delicately tucked back a loose curl of ginger hair. “Is it everything you hoped for?”
“It is and so much more,” Anna sighed happily. “I missed Christmas so much.”
“Anna…after everyone leaves, would it be okay if I—if we—would you wait for me? I want to show you something.”
“Okay,” she said. “I mean, of course! If,” she added, “you dance with me, right now.”
Anna smiled up into Kristoff’s face as he draped her cloak around her, fastening the clasp at her collar. The guests had finally gone, and the hundreds of candles were slowly being extinguished, one by one. As a little girl, Anna had always felt so sad to see the lights go out, to know that Christmas was over (always well after her bedtime, of course, but she had always managed to sneak out of her room to watch the Christmas ball, before the gates had been closed). It felt dark and cold after the lights and warmth and music of the holiday, but somehow she didn’t feel that emptiness now. There was still plenty of light from the lantern that Kristoff had lit.
“Are you sure this is warm enough?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. She tucked her hand into his elbow. “Where are we going?”
“Not far. I know it’s late. I just wanted to walk with you for a little while. Unless you’re too cold.”
“I’m not too cold, I promise,” Anna said.
They stepped outside, snow crunching under their feet. Kristoff led her into the gardens, where a white blanket obscured the flower beds and the shapes of topiaries and hedges.
“It’s beautiful,” Anna murmured. “Like the mountain was, remember?” She slid her hand down into his, leaning her head on his arm. “I’m glad that…that winter is still beautiful,” she said softly. His fingers squeezed hers gently.
There had been a few weeks, when the snow first began to fall, that her nightmares had come back. A few times she’d sat up all night, huddled beside the fireplace in her room, afraid to sleep. And then one night the fire had burned out before she woke up, and she’d found herself in the hallway, scared and alone in the dark. She hadn’t been sure if she was awake or if she was lost in one of the nightmares, but she’d knocked on Elsa’s door. Elsa was the one who led her to Kristoff’s room, knocking to wake him up.
‘Anna’s cold,’ she’d said urgently. 'I don't…I don’t know how to light a fire.’
They’d all ended up in Anna’s room, Elsa wrapping her in blankets while Kristoff lit the fire. After that it became routine for them to stay with her until she fell asleep, usually still by the hearth. Anna hadn’t asked, but she could guess how many times Kristoff had needed to carry her to her bed. She was too grateful to be embarrassed. Slowly the nightmares had receded, and when she’d gone out in the snow, determined to remember how much she loved to play in it, she’d found that she still loved to play in it after all. She’d gotten Kristoff in the face with her first snowball.
“I have something for you,” Kristoff said suddenly. “I wanted to wait until we were alone to give it to you, so…here.” He pulled a lumpy bundle wrapped in paper out of his pocket and held it out.
“For me? Oh, Kristoff, you didn’t have to–Oh,” Anna said, folding the paper back. She blinked. “It's…it’s a rock.” Years of training caught up and she forced the bewildered surprise out of her voice. “How nice! Thank you,” she added quickly.
“Well, it’s not just a rock, it's—here—” Kristoff took the package from her and tipped the stone out onto his hand. The underside of it glowed with a warm golden light, lighting up his face.
“Oooh, it’s a troll crystal, isn’t it?” Anna breathed, clasping her hands together. “It’s beautiful! I don’t remember seeing a yellow crystal before.”
“It probably won’t stay yellow, they change colors as they grow, over time. And this is a special type of crystal, it’s a…well, I’m not sure how to explain it. It's…a sort of promise.”
“A promise? How?”
“It’s a troll thing, so…this is going to sound weird, I guess. But—” he took a deep breath. “Okay. The crystals are kind of…they’re alive. They grow, like plants. This one…” He touched a couple of bumps on the surface lightly. “This type of crystal will grow and split into two, see? And then when the two mature crystals are harvested, they sort of…sense each other. They respond to each other, even when they’re separated. The trolls collect them, and they give one of the two crystals to people that they…that they love. Important people. Brothers and sisters, parents, close friends, and…and husbands and wives. Mostly husbands and wives, really. It’s part of the wedding ceremony, exchanging the crystals.”
“Wait,” Anna said, “but when they tried to marry us—”
“Oh, that, um…” Anna glanced up at his face. He was blushing a little, looking down at the stone in his hand. “That was more of a game, for them. That was what they thought human weddings are like.”
“They think humans get married in holes in the ground?”
“Well, not that part. Or the moss outfits, those are definitely troll things. But a troll ceremony is more about two people making promises just to each other.”
“Oh.” Anna looked down at the glowing shape in Kristoff’s broad hand, biting her lip. “I—Kristoff, I…”
Kristoff touched her cheek lightly. “I’m not…I’m not asking you to make a promise to me, Anna,” he said softly. “This is my promise to you. My promise that I’ll be here, when you’re ready. That if you, someday, want to give a part of this crystal back to me…that I…that I'd…I just…I’ll be here.” His palm curved over her jaw gently. “I’ll always be here.”
Anna folded her hands around the crystal, pressing it to her chest. Its gentle warmth pulsed softly, and after a moment she realized that it was matching the rhythm of her heartbeat. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into Kristoff’s hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She blinked hard, then looked up into his face. “I only got you a scarf,” she said. “It’s not even a very good scarf. It came out all lumpy and lopsided.”
“It’s a beautiful scarf,” he said. “Besides, Anna, you’ve given me so much more than that.” His thumb stroked her lower lip lightly. “May we?” he asked
Anna curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him down to her. “We may,” she breathed as his lips brushed over hers, and then his arm was wrapping around her, pressing her close as he kissed her, so that they could both feel the warmth of the promise between them.
can you write a one shot about abby getting comfort from marcus about clarke?? *_*
“Look at where you are
Look at where you started
The fact that you’re alive is a miracle
Just stay alive, that would be enough . . .”
For the first three weeks, Abby doesn’t sleep.
She doesn’t say anything to anybody, and nobody says anything about it to her. No one is sure what to say, really. It spreads through the camp like wildfire – Clarke Griffin is gone, Clarke Griffin didn’t come home – but in hindsight nobody can remember speaking the words out loud. It’s simply something that everyone knows without knowing how they know it.
And nobody knows why.
There are clues, if you can read them. You can tell from the way a face might shift and change if someone carelessly mentions her name. You might see a quiet, compassionate empathy flicker in Lincoln’s dark eyes – he understands what it’s like to feel the sense of home slip away from you, he understands walking up to the front gate but not being able to cross the threshold – or you might see Jasper Jordan coil up tight as a spring, tense with a cold white anger he has no words for.
You might wonder if Bellamy Blake knows more than he’s saying.
But you would know without a shadow of a doubt – you would know all the way down to your bones – that Abby Griffin does not understand.
It torments her.
She doesn’t sleep.
It’s easy to mask, in the first chaos of homecoming. So many injuries to treat, so much damage to repair. Nobody’s sleeping, then. Everyone’s on edge. But a week goes by, then two, and they begin to catch their breath a bit. They begin to realize the danger’s really over.
Everyone – young and old – has been at war since the moment they landed, and now suddenly they’re not. Now, suddenly, it’s peacetime, and they live here, and it’s time to look ahead.
But the Chancellor can’t sleep at night, and no one knows what to do about it.
It’s Jackson who finally comes to Kane. Abby’s hands aren’t steady in the operating room, like they used to be, he explains, almost apologetically. Abby’s making mistakes. He’s covered for her as well as he can, but he’s not a surgeon and he knows it. She’s still Abby, he rushes to assure Kane, she’s still the woman she always was. She hasn’t lost it. It’s only that she hasn’t been sleeping. He does what he can; sometimes he can get her to lie down in the afternoon to rest for a few hours when things are slow, but then she’s up all night anyway. And it’s not just insomnia.
There’s a spot near the central bonfire where you can see straight through to the camp’s front gate, and this is where Abby has spent every night since the first one when Clarke didn’t come home.
“I don’t know what to do,” says Jackson, his voice cracking a little with helpless worry, and Kane doesn’t know what to do either but Jackson is looking at him like he ought to so he nods his head and puts a warm strong hand on the younger man’s shoulder and says, “She’s going to be all right, Jackson. I promise.”
It means nothing, those words, it’s not something Kane can promise, but it makes them both feel a little better anyway.
Because she has to be all right.
She has to survive this.
She has to.
She has to.
Neither of them know how to go on if she doesn’t.
That first night, after Jackson comes to see him, he waits until the rest of the camp is in bed, waits until there’s nobody left awake except the night guards and the Chancellor sitting by the fire, and then he sits down on the ground beside her. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. They just sit there, side by side, until the dark night lightens into dawn, watching at the gate for a girl who isn’t coming. As the sun rises over the far horizon, Abby stands, dusts herself off, and goes back inside, without even a backwards look at Kane, and that’s the end of it.
They don’t speak the next night, either, but this time he sits a little closer, and she doesn’t move away. Other than that, it’s the same as before. They watch at the gate all night long, in dark silence, saying nothing, until morning comes and Abby goes back to work.
On the third night he brings out a blanket. She lets him tuck it around her, but still doesn’t speak.
On the fourth night he brings out the same blanket, sits down so close to her that their shoulders are very nearly touching, and spreads the blanket over them both. At one point, he thinks she turns to look at him, but by the time he turns back, the moment is gone.
He takes her hand, on the fifth night. It’s warm by the fire, but Abby is always cold, and her skin feels like ice against his. He squeezes it tightly, willing the warmth of his own hand to flow into hers, wishing there was something more he could do, something more he could give her, but all he has is this.
They sit like that for a long time before a flicker of pressure startles him and he realizes she has squeezed his hand back.
Then she pulls it away, back into her lap. Still she says nothing.
On the sixth night she looks up as he approaches her to sit down, as though she were waiting, as though she were expecting him. He doesn’t reach for her hand again, but he feels her shift in her seat just slightly, moving towards him. They sit all that night with her shoulder resting lightly against his.
Even her shoulder is cold.
Like a princess under a spell, or some mystical creature from an old fairy tale, she doesn’t speak until the seventh night. He sits down beside her, just as before, draping the blanket over them both. He sits a hairsbreadth away, letting her move close enough for their shoulders to brush together again, and for the first few hours it’s the same. They sit in the darkness, they listen to the crackle of the fire, and they watch like sentinels at the gate.
“She’s not coming home, is she,” says Abby, and it isn’t really a question. Her voice is low, almost a whisper, but so unexpected and startling that it shatters the silence anyway, like a rock through broken glass.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I hope so. But I don’t know.”
“Is it – “ she begins to say, then cuts herself off, her voice faltering a little, but his is swift and strong and sure.
“No,” he says immediately, his voice decisive and firm. “No, Abby. It’s not your fault. It’s not anything that you did. This is just … this is something that Clarke has to figure out on her own.”
She doesn’t say anything, but nods, and he feels her collapse a little, leaning her weight against his body. Then, after a long moment, she rests her head on his shoulder. His arm wraps around her, pulling her close, and they’ve never done this before but it feels right, it feels like the only thing right thing in the world. He holds her close and murmurs into her hair, “It’s not your fault.”
“I miss her,” she says, in a hollow voice.
“And I’m afraid.”
“I can’t keep her safe when she’s out there and I’m here,” she says, and it breaks his heart a little. Clarke will be forty years old with children of her own and Abby will still be mothering her, he thinks. Clarke led an army to destroy Mount Weather and her mother still worries about what will happen to her out there in the world on her own.
For a moment he misses Vera Kane so much that his heart stops beating, he can feel the ache of sorrow inside his chest with a palpable weight. The things we don’t say to our parents because we think there’s always more time.
Please come home, Clarke, he calls out to her silently, as Abby’s head rests on his shoulders. Or if you can’t – please, just stay safe.
Just stay alive.
Abby rests her head on his shoulder, and after a moment, he hears her breathing ease and slow and soften.
He pulls her close against his chest, wrapping his warm arms around her small cold body, and he sits in silence as the sun rises in the eastern sky, watching the gates alone.
Please, he prays in silence to God he’s not sure is there or not - praying, in some way, maybe, also to Vera - please, bring her home.