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givemethatgold · 3 years

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate.

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods.

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game.

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang.

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband.

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it.

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable.

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile.

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments

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ladyideal · 3 years

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Ficmas~ Day 22

Pairing: John Kennex x Detective!Reader

Word Count: 1365

Warnings: Uh. Mild jealousy.

Summary: You and John go to a party hosted by the Captain.

Requested By: @writerdee1701

A/n: wow 22nd already. December really flies by fast.

"So how was Angry 101?" You asked, greeting John as he stepped out of his group therapy session.

"I feel good, better. All thanks to you," The detective planted an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

You grinned, avoiding Dorian's curious glance. "Come on. We've only got half an hour to change, and get our ass over to the Captain's party."

"Thirty seven minutes and forty two seconds," Your MX piped up.

"Thanks Sofia, but you might want to shut it. John here is known for blowing up MXs," You shook your head, trying not to laugh. "Your suit's in the back. We can change at my place."

"You've thought of everything."

John was like that. After losing his girlfriend and betrayed, you understood he was a lot more careful with romantic relationships. So it was quite a surprise when he came up to you with a gift:

His phone number and a piece of bubblegum.

No one said that in the precinct that co workers couldn't date one another. Clearly, the Captain didn't mind either. Secretly, you wondered if she too was rooting for you and Kennex. But he took it slow at first like you wanted.

"So how do I look?" You finished the last of your makeup and hair.

"Beautiful," John adjusted his tie one more time before putting on his blazer. "You sure this isn't a casual event?"

"Yes, I'm sure," You nodded. "I don't think the captain would appreciate us going there with jeans and a t-shirt."

"Correct," Dorian emerged, looking the same as he's always been. "We should get going, John."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"Can I take a sip from it before we leave?"

"Don't you dare, John."

The car ride was mostly silent. It had been a great eight months together, and you honestly hoped that he would be the one. Yet despite all the honesty and transparency within the relationship, something was being held back. Understandably so, John was very reluctant in talking about the day when his team went down, and he himself rounded up in a seventeen month coma.

You wanted to help him as much as you could, as a partner and now significant other would. However, you trusted him. There must be something deeper connected to the attacks that he was keeping you in the dark.

To protect you? Probably.

Children sleeping

Snow is softly falling

Dreams are calling

Likes bells in the distance

We were dreamers

Not so long ago

But one by one

We all had to grow up

"Have you always wanted to join the force as a kid?" You asked, shutting the car door behind you and bundling your scarf tighter around your neck.

"Fight the bad guys," John nodded, stepping in front of the front door.

Knock knock.

"Detectives! So glad you could make it. Come in, come in. It's freezing out there," An unfamiliar man opened the door.

With a round of thanks, you and the group trudged in, making sure to keep the snow out and not into the house. Once within, you rubbed your hands together, taking in the grandeur of the entryway and the chatters from within.

"Detectives, Dorian, Sofia, hope the drive wasn't too bad," A rather proud looking Captain Maldonado appeared by her husband.

"Happy holiday, Captain. Thank you for inviting us," You greeted as your boyfriend handed over the bottle of red wine.

"Oh! A present, you shouldn't have," Her husband turned it over in his hands. "Look at this, sweetie, pinot noir. Perfect with finger food and snacks."

"Please make yourselves at home," Maldonado smiled, thanking you for the gift and leaving to greet the next set of guests that walked in from behind.

"Wow, look at that. At least half of the precinct is here," You mumbled.

People and their MXs milled about, most with a glass of alcohol in hand. With a glance, you recognized some. The Christmas tree stood in the distant corner, quietly flickering through its light sequence. The dining table was filled with snacks of all sorts from crackers to fruit. Furthermore, you swore you could smell hot chocolate, eggnog, and an assortment of other festivity drinks.

"Want something to drink?" John darkly spoke, frowning when he saw Richard among the crowd.

"Yeah. A hard apple cider if they have some. If not, hot chocolate works too," You mumbled, greeting some of those that waved at you.

"Oh Y/L/N, I didn't know you got invited too. Come here by yourself?" Richard swaggered up to you.

Taking a step back, you shook your head. "Not quite. John came with me."

"Kennex?" He laughed. "Did you not hear? His whole team got killed, while he survived. Don't you think something fishy happened there? You could do so much better. What do you say we go, fish some fish?"

"No thanks. I'm here with my boyfriend. Enjoy the party, Paul," You roughly brushed past him, ignoring his surprised squawk. "And maybe grow a pair, jerk."

He was interested in you, way before John did. Despite his good standing as an officer, his personality was nowhere near as nice. When John returned to the force, his jealousy inflated his ego. You didn't quite like him. He was just a dick.

"Paul giving you troubles?" Your boyfriend reemerged by your side, handing over your mug of cider and eyeing the other detective.

"No more than usual. He's been crabby ever since you started taking interest in me. Didn't help that Stahl started giving me the stink eye every time I mention you in anything." You snorted, taking a long draught.

"And speak of the devil, here she comes," He indicated at the detective approaching.

"Detective Kennex," She smiled, then falling slightly at you. "Detective Y/L/N. Good to see you two here. How's the eggnog?"

"Bland, rum could be stronger," John answered.

Before the blonde could answer, the White Elephant gift exchange was starting. Politely excusing you and himself, John practically dragged you away from her after watching you give her death daggers.

"Jealous much?"

"Hmph. Being a Chrome, genetically modified won't give her all the upper hand," You grumbled, placing your presents into the center and drawing two numbers.

Fourth and ninth.

"Let's see what's in store this year."

As more people gathered around, Maldonado cleared her throat. "White Elephant rules are still the same. 3 steals, and the present is out. Understood?"

All heads nodded.

"If you may start, Jenks."

You watched with a smug grin as the first person chose yours, before being stolen by the second, and then stolen again by John who went fourth. Good thing you bought the present while on a grocery run, or he would've known what it was. When it was your turn, you gave everyone a death glare, clinging onto your present, daring anyone to challenge you.

Wisely, no one did.

"Not giving it up?" He teased as you teared it open, revealing an advent calendar full of chocolates.

"Fuck no."

He laughed. "Save some for me alright?"

"No promises."

As the party dwindled and people left, you and John thank the Captain once more before heading home. "That was fun."

"Sure was."

As you got out of the car, you realized that you forgot to grab John's gift on the way out. "John?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you grab your advent on the way out? I can't find-. Oh here it is," You fished out the gift and frowned at the lack of chocolates within. "Who ate all the advent calendar chocolates?"

In the silence, you turned to him, jaw dropping at the sight in front.

"What chocolate?" The detective quickly swiped away the last remnant of chocolate on the edges of his mouth. "I didn't see any chocolate."

You rose an eyebrow, and grinned. "So you, Detective Kennex, is saying that despite the incriminating evidence on your hand and face, that you've not seen nor tasted any chocolate."

"Yes, Detective Y/L/N. That is correct."

"And that you are knowingly lying to an officer of the law."

"Sounds right," And before you could retort a smart ass reply, pulled you in for a kiss. "Happy Holidays."

Believe in what you feel inside

And give your dreams the wings to fly

You have everything you need

If you just believe

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @bluesclues-1234 @mournthewicked @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @lykxzandlove @also-fangirlinsweden @keijibum @groovyfluxie @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @mayday1284 @supergeekfangirl @sayanythingcreations @your-sparklywinnercollection

Urban: @yueci @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash

#john kennex #john kennex x reader #almost human #detective kennex #x reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #31 days of ficmas #ficmas2020 #deb writes

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pressedinthepages · 3 years

Text

Love

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Ciri & Eskel (Platonic/Familial), Geralt/Eskel, Lambert/Aiden

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: No request this time, just wanted to write something soft.

thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a great beta/idea machine/friend :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, softer than a freshly washed puppy, ~yearning~

Ciri asks about love.

“Hey, Uncle Eskel?”

Ciri’s voice, smooth and level with her age, rings over the ramparts from which Eskel currently hangs. Vesemir has given them all a chore for the afternoon, and Eskel is finishing closing a gaping maw in the structure of the inner wall of the keep. He is just barely perched on a scaffold, reaching to place the last stone in a spot that’s *just* outside of his reach.

Eskel turns to look down at Ciri, her ashen hair shining bright in the waning sun. He huffs as the breeze catches his dark hair and flops it down into his eyes. Ciri giggles, a sweet sound that she has yet to grow out of. Gods, I hope she never does, Eskel thinks.

“Yes, Swallow?” Eskel is pretty proud that of all the dumb things Lambert and Geralt tried to nickname Ciri, his was the one that stuck.

Ciri crosses her arms over her chest, looking all the world like Geralt whenever he has his mind set on something that is almost certainly an inconvenience for Eskel. “After supper, I would appreciate your insight on some personal matters.” Ciri winks, her proper tone eclipsed by a chuckle just under her breath.

Eskel grins a bit, thinking back on their previous discussions. She’s grown up quite a bit, still on the earlier side of twenty, but her mind is sharp as a blade, and her tongue even sharper. “Of course, it would be an honor.” Eskel bows where he hangs, making his position even more precarious. He hears the quick intake of breath from Ciri and sits back up, smiling wide even as his scar pulls at his lip.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Eskel says, switching the stone to his other hand before leaning back to the hole. “You’ll not get rid of me that easily.”

Shortly after, Eskel and Ciri get to the supper table just as Lambert is serving. He’s on cooking duty all week, which works out well for everyone. He’s got the most agreeable palette, and he uses it well. However, next in the rotation is Geralt. He has the most sensitive nose out of all of them so he doesn’t season, and can’t cook a bird for shit. Eskel plans on appreciating his younger brother’s cooking as much as he can before the next week of bland meat and undercooked bread.

“Eat up, fuckers.” Lambert sets a large dish on the table, a hearty roast full of venison and root vegetables that had been stored away before the frost set in. A layer of lightly spiced shortcrust covers the top, and is served alongside tankards of ale and a hunk of dark bread.

“Smells delicious, Lambert,” Ciri calls after his retreating form. Eskel sees how the tips of his ears blush as he pours some of his “vodka” (which is really just shitty leftover potion water) into his tankard, but Eskel only smiles down into his plate. Vesemir joins them too, and the four of them tuck into the generous offering.

Their peace is short-lived though, cut off by the abrupt clang of the great doors flying open. Geralt stomps into the common area where they all sit, and Eskel wrinkles his nose. Geralt is soaked head to toe, and he smells like a mix between a decaying fish and a little bit of vomit after too much spicy food.

Lambert clearly picks up on it too, offering Geralt a sip of his drink. “Drowner duty?”

Geralt grunts as he sits across from Ciri, bumping Eskel’s shoulder as he helps himself to the dinner. Geralt moans a bit as he takes the first bite, and Eskel shudders at the sound. He’s always been weak for Geralt’s voice, especially with how rarely he actually uses it.

They eat quickly now, forced to scarf it down in an effort to escape the devastating scent that Geralt brought to the table. Eskel drains the last of his ale and grabs an apple, slicing it in half and handing some to Ciri. She whips out her own dagger and cuts away the core before portioning it neatly into several smaller mouthfuls.

Geralt sighs before pushing himself to stand, a whole new waft of nauseating aroma settling with the sudden movement. “I’m going to wash.”

“Thank Melitele’s sweet tits, I thought you were just gonna make that part of your ~look~ now, pretty boy.” Lambert leans back with his boots kicked up on the table, carving a crude drawing into a pear from the table. Geralt walks quietly away from the table before turning abruptly and swinging his leg wide, catching Lambert’s chair and yanking it out from under him. He flails wildly before his ass hits the ground and he turns to grab at Geralt’s ankle. But he has already torn off towards the baths, and Lambert huffs before scrabbling to his feet and chasing after him, his pear long forgotten.

Vesemir sighs in the now much quieter room, also standing and picking up his plate. “Well done on that wall today Eskel. Looks much better.”

“Thanks, wasn’t anything too difficult.”

“Maybe so, but I still appreciate it.” Eskel smiles as Vesemir walks away, letting himself revel in the praise for a moment.

Ciri clears her throat, bringing Eskel back to the matter at hand. “Library?” She asks, and Eskel nods. He takes Ciri’s plate and sets them into the washbasin for a later time. They trek up the stairs and push open the heavy wooden door. Eskel lights the fire with a flick of his fingers and the room instantly warms, the air light and swirling around them.

Eskel watches as Ciri plops down onto the dense fur in front of the fire, warming her hands as the orange light dances over her face. He walks over to his trusty copy of the Beastiary, only to pick it up and find it much lighter than he would expect. He opens it, and instead of his glass bottle of White Gull, there is a note in the hollowed-out hole.

‘Maybe pick a less obvious hiding place, douche-canoe.’

The handwriting is scrappy and small, just like the younger witcher that wrote it. Eskel sighs before turning to another bookcase, finding a heavy tome that Jaskier had left for him a few years prior. He flips this one open and finds two small flasks of Toussaint wine, which is certainly better than nothing.

Eskel walks silently over to Ciri and hands her one of the glasses before sprawling out beside her. They sit in silence for a while, as has become tradition while Ciri gathers her thoughts. They both sip at the wine, and Eskel needs to remember to write a letter to Jaskier at Oxenfurt for saving his ass tonight.

“I have to warn you Eskel,” Ciri murmurs, and Eskel looks over to her with a crook of his brow. “This isn’t going to be an easy one.”

Eskel hums, taking another sip of wine. “Never is, kid.”

Ciri takes in a deep breath, steeling herself with a long chug of the alcohol in her grasp. “How do you know if you’re in love with someone?”

Eskel’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and he can feel how his heart skips a beat. “Damn Ciri,” he chuckles, “you weren’t kidding when you said this wouldn’t be easy.”

Ciri only shrugs with a smirk. Eskel shifts a bit, partially to get himself more comfortable, and partially to give himself more time to think. He can only wiggle around for so long before it gets weird for everyone though, so he just ends up tucking his legs underneath him and taking another long drink of wine.

“Well, I-”

“Have you ever been in love, Eskel?” Ciri turns to him, her bright gaze shocking on even the best days. Now they bore straight through Eskel, and he feels like she is peeling away the layers of mortar he has so carefully laid around his heart for the past, oh, century or so. Eskel thinks back, trying to remember the moment that he knew what love was.

And then he tries to figure out how to tell Ciri that he knows what love is like because of her father. Geralt showed him what it was like to feel out of breath whenever they were more than a hairs’ breadth apart. And then the all-encompassing relief that sang through his bones whenever they reunited. They showed each other how to accept this part of their lives that had been so desperately ignored, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But that’s a lot. Geralt is terrible with words and feelings, and Eskel is not much better. Ciri looks at him expectantly, with all of the air of royalty running low on patience. Ciri is eternally patient though, especially with all of the practice she has had with Geralt.

Eskel is just about to open his mouth when he hears stomping down the hallway, and he waits until Lambert pushes open the old door with enough force to send the snow into an avalanche over the mountains. He, now, is soaking wet, though instead of drowner guts he only smells of the clean mineral water that flows into the springs beneath the keep. Eskel smirks up at him as he traipses over to where the two of them sit, dropping himself unceremoniously into one of the soft chairs that rests not far from the fire. “Geralt throw you in?”

Lambert hums in the affirmative, seemingly harboring no further ill-will towards him. “What are you two chucklefucks talking about?”

Ciri pipes up, seemingly (for whatever reason) interested in Lambert’s opinion. “I asked Eskel what it feels like to be in love.”

Lambert’s face looks as though he was just violently slapped with a fish, glancing over to Eskel who only offers a shrug in return. Eskel is expecting a long-winded rant about how ‘Witchers don’t love, it makes you soft, and a soft Witcher is a dead Witcher…’ blah blah blah, but that’s not what he gets. Instead, Lambert kind of sinks further into his seat and his eyes turn tender, and Eskel realizes that he’s getting a glimpse into the Lambert that the world so rarely sees.

“Wanna know what I think about love, little beetle butt?”

Ciri nods, turning more fully towards Lambert. Eskel does the same, curious to see what his youngest brother has to say. Eskel holds out his half-empty flask, handing it to Lambert in a silent offer of support. Lambert drains the remainder of the wine in one gulp, the bastard, before he smiles a bit as he loses himself in his thoughts.

“I think that love is-” Lambert sighs, searching for the right words, “love is indescribable. You don’t know what it is until you have it, and then you never want to let it go.”

Eskel nods at Lambert’s words, letting them resonate in his mind. He never quite feels right anymore without Geralt at his side, his body and soul yearning for their other half in a way that cannot be depicted with mere words.

“Ciri, I haven’t got a clue about whatever you’ve got going on,” Lambert wags his finger in the air, and Eskel can see just how influenced the youngest of them was by Vesemir. “But life, especially human life, is too short to dwell on shit that will fester and bubble under your skin if you don’t let it out.”

“But how do I know?” Ciri whispers, and Eskel’s heart breaks for her. Gods, he has spent decades asking himself that exact same question, and he still doesn’t really have an answer.

“You’ll know when it’s not a question anymore.” Lambert stares off into the fire, watching the flames lick up into the air, chasing the wayward embers into the dark of the ceiling. Eskel is kind of stuck, Lambert’s words ringing through his head. When it’s not a question anymore. Fuck, when did the little prick actually get smart?

Ciri rolls over, pressing a gentle kiss to Eskel’s cheek, right over the angriest of his scars. “Thank you, Uncle Eskel. And you, Uncle Lambert,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek as well, and leaves them alone to their thoughts.

Eskel looks over at Lambert, seeing in bright relief the decades that have worn this man raw, and wonders just how he can still have room for love in his heart. “Who is it?”

Lambert sighs, hanging his head a bit. “I met him on the Path. We’ve been...traveling together now for a couple of years. He’s uh-he’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

Eskel smiles wide once more, scooching closer to where Lambert sits. “I’m happy for you, Wolf. Why haven’t you told us?”

“He’s another Witcher, and a Cat no less.” Eskel blinks at this, but the way that Lambert looks at him, vulnerable and exposed, shuts up any errant thoughts he may have had. “Besides, like you have room to talk. You’ve been pining after Geralt for how long? A century? Two?”

Eskel throws his shoe at Lambert, catching him on the shoulder. Fuck, I need to work on my aim. “Shut up. I’m working on it.”

Lambert scoffs as he stands up, chucking Eskel’s boot back over his shoulder. “Right, well. Once you figure it out, let me know. By that point, I’ll be retired on the coast with a whorehouse next door. You’ll know where to find me.”

Lambert is almost to the door when Eskel’s arms wrap around him, strong enough to bruise a rib if he wasn’t a Witcher. “Shit, Eskel! Let go of me, you great oaf!”

Eskel gives one last squeeze before he relents, grabbing Lambert by the arm before he can take off running. “Thank you, Lambert, and I promise. I won’t tell anyone before you’re ready.”

Lambert glances down to the ground with a great breath in, his golden eyes catching Eskel’s when they return. “Thanks, brother.”

“Of course, Wolf.”

#uncle!eskel #eskel & ciri #gereskel #aiden x lambert #the pining is real with this one

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konako · 4 years

Note

Red Queen (For the ask sentence thing): Ruby is trying to make Regina dinner for her birthday, but in the process has screwed it up, and there is icing all over Regina's pristine kitchen.

Ruby is trying to make Regina dinner for her birthday, but in the process has screwed it up, and there is icing all over Regina's pristine kitchen.

Stay calm, Ruby tells herself, looking around at the pink and white disaster. You’ve made bigger messes than this, and blood is much harder to clean. She breathes in deeply, glancing back at the unfinished, bare cake sitting on the counter. It’s crooked and ugly, slumped down in a tired arch as if pitying Ruby.

“What are you looking at?” She mumbles to the depressing desert staring back at her. “I tried my best,” she adds, and a sigh escapes her lungs.

Granny would be so disappointed. An entire life watching her grandmother cook the most beautiful cakes, and Ruby couldn’t even handle the easiest recipe in her book. How hard was it to put eggs and flour in a bowl and stir? And how is there icing on the ceiling? How did it get there? Did something blow up? What the hell?

The end result is truly saddening -- to Ruby’s self-esteem, to Granny’s legacy, to Regina’s kitchen. Specially to Regina’s kitchen. And on her birthday!

Regina is going to kill her. This is it. This is the end of the line. Two different lifetimes fighting against the wrath of the Evil Queen, a long and epic battle across lands and time, opposing a sadistic witch and a scary mayor, and it’s her girlfriend who will defeat her in the end. And over a messy kitchen. Who could have known.

Ruby is just starting to mentally organize her own funeral (she’ll probably be thoroughly cremated, on way or another, so she doesn’t have to worry about a casket) when she hears the familiar heeled steps, walking down the sidewalk.

Fuck.

She uses her speed the best way she can, trying her hardest not to knock anything over, as she wipes the dirty surfaces with the first clean towel she can find. She hopes Regina doesn’t look up to find the stain on the ceiling, because right now Ruby doesn’t have time to climb on anything and address that mess.

The keys clink together and the door knob turns.

Ruby tries to think of some nice final words to say. Something heroic and noble, that can inspire people. Will they print her obituary on the front page? Probably, right? She’s Snow’s friend, so it will be the talk of the town for a week. That’s okay. That’s good enough for Ruby.

She can smell Regina before she even enters the kitchen. Ruby stops in her place and recomposes herself. “Happy Birthday”, those will be her final words. A bit silly, but it will make an interesting tale.

Ruby turns around to face Regina.

The woman stops abruptly, the tip of the high heels inches shy of a large icing spot on the ground that Ruby must have overlooked.

“What,” Regina’s wide eyes scan the entire kitchen, and Ruby can tell by the tension in her shoulders that she is trying her best not to raise her voice. “What is this?”

“Um,” Ruby swallows, lowering her head. “I tried baking you a cake”, she forces a smile, as her hand shoots up instinctively to tug the wild loose strand of hair behind her ear. Seconds too late, she remembers her fingers are covered in cake.

“I can see that,” Regina is still not looking at Ruby, brown eyes still accessing the damage. “Were you in your wolf form, by any chance?”

“No,” Ruby knows she didn’t have to answer it, but fear makes you surprisingly dumb. “Just... um, clumsy human hands”

“Gods, what a mess,” Regina finally moves forward, putting down the newspaper and her bag down on the tall chair by her side. “Henry’s parties were tidier than this”

Ruby sighs, “I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you on your birthday”

Regina smiles, deep red lips drawing a beautiful, unexpected curve to soften all her tension. “I am definitely surprised”

“I-I’ll clean it up!”

Regina’s smile is still on, and Ruby feels oddly nervous at her tranquility. “No need,” she says, moving her hand in a small circle in front of her body. The magic is silent, and the clear energy travels between the spaces in the kitchen, wiping every single drop, rearranging upturned bowls and returning spoons and cups to their original place.

“Oh,” is all that Ruby can say, “That’s faster”

“So,” Regina’s voice is deep, calling Ruby’s attention back to her. And when green eyes meet her figure, it’s nothing like Ruby had been preparing for. No murderous intent, no anger, no fire. Well, maybe a different kind of fire. “You wanted to give me a birthday gift?”

Ruby’s nerves tickle the back of her neck, and this time she is confident it’s not fear. “Yeah,” is her answer.

And Regina approaches her slowly, crossing the small distance from the door to the sink, where Ruby is leaning against -- pale fingers and white knuckles griping the stone with enough strength to leave a dent. The steps sound less threatening now, but they still promise unmistakable danger.

Her feet come to a stop as they reach Ruby’s boots. Regina’s scent envelops Ruby’s senses. Apples, wine and magic.

Her arms slide over Ruby’s shoulders and her hands rest on the back of her neck. The red lips are inches away from Ruby’s mouth, and the warm breath tickles her chin.

“I have a different gift in mind,” Regina whispers against the soft skin of Ruby’s cheek.

Liquid fire drowns the pale chest, as the taller woman struggles not to stutter.

“What can I do?” Ruby asks, finding her own hands around Regina’s waist.

“Let’s just say...” Regina breathes out, leaning her weight forward, until her body is pressed completely against Ruby’s. The wolf’s warmth seeps through her clothes, tempting and contagious. “I wouldn’t mind another mess”

#i am an extra bitch who writes too much and i don't mind it im sorry #red queen ouat #ruby x regina #ouat #relentlessriott

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mountainpoem · 3 years

Text

The Lotos-Eaters by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land, "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. The charmed sunset linger'd low adown In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale; A land where all things always seem'd the same! And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whoso did receive of them, And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, And music in his ears his beating heart did make. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Between the sun and moon upon the shore; And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. Then some one said, "We will return no more"; And all at once they sang, "Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam." CHORIC SONG I There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep." II Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm!" Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? III Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow Falls, and floats adown the air. Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. IV Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. V How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heap'd over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass! VI Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change: For surely now our household hearths are cold, Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange: And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Or else the island princes over-bold Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. Is there confusion in the little isle? Let what is broken so remain. The Gods are hard to reconcile: 'Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. VII But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) With half-dropt eyelid still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. VIII The Lotos blooms below the barren peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world: Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer—some, 'tis whisper'd—down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

#alfred lord tennyson #the lotos-eaters #poem #poetry #beauty #love

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angel-ranger · 4 years

Note

for the cute asks can you do all of them? i saw you do it before but if you cant pick out your favorite ones

you’re in luck, I somehow have nothing to do! ever! (I had some other asks but then I got this one and figured I’d do them all in one).

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

I try to have more cereal than milk but I always end up with more milk than cereal, which is fine ‘cause I like milk.

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

love it!

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

receipts or random scraps of paper.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

milk with two sugars for both.

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

oh, definitely.

6: do you keep plants?

I can barely keep myself, so no.

7: do you name your plants?

my housemate named a plant jessica. I think I’d name one goliath.

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

does making spotify playlists count? (I also do some writing and poetry).

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

yeah!

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

side.

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

ham rolls.

12: what’s your favorite planet?

saturn.

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

I got to see all of my grandparents doing food deliveries. it was really nice.

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

open plan kitchen and living room, maybe a counter to have a little separation? big couch! there will be a nintendo wii! lots of ikea furniture, lmao, and light but not overbearing colours.

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

there's floating water in space!

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

spaghetti.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

I’d like to dye the rest of it purple but I have been informed that is unwise. maybe blue!

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

fell down some icy stairs once when I was very drunk with my hands full of: my phone, a mcdonald’s, and a coffee, and I didn’t drop a thing! until I got home.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

nope.

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

Hazel? I’m not overly fussed.

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

I… don’t have a favourite bag??

22: are you a morning person?

Sometimes, it depends on how my sleeping pattern is going. I can be.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

literally do nothing. Just chill out in bed watching films.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

no.

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

I’ve done a lot of accidental trespassing onto farms #countrysidelyfe.

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

I always buy tan boots.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

apple.

28: sunrise or sunset?

sunset.

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

ramble.

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

Yes. don’t even have to think very hard.

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

I love socks! possibly my favourite article of clothing. I buy colourful socks, patterned socks white socks, black socks, ankle socks, trainer socks, knee high socks, socks you can’t see. I just love socks.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

there was a bird. in my bathroom. I was not sober in many ways. the trauma lives on.

33: what’s your fave pastry?

sausage rolls.

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

I had one of those monkeys that had velcro on its hands so you could wrap it around your shoulders like a cape. he was called stanley after the cartoon and i still have him.

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

I like them but i rarely use them.

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

right now? the wallows, perhaps.

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

clean. tidy room tidy mind.

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

I don’t like loud chewing or gulping. “well, actually…”. men who can’t take instruction from a woman in charge. leaving doors open.

39: what color do you wear the most?

muted ones, blues, beiges, pinks, some white, grey, and black.

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

I have a star necklace that my mum gave me. It has meaning but I would like to keep that to myself.

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

The Princess Diarist by Carrie Fisher.

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

not really.

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

God, a handful of people from camp, we just lay on some bleachers one night and had a lil gossip session under the stars.

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

Uhhhhh, most times.

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

I’ll have to give that question a good old punder as I have too many.

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

chewy yoghurt! no!

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

the weeping angels from doctor who and the dark. I’m still scared of the dark.

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

I love buying records! the last one I actually bought for myself was either fleetwood mac or kacey musgraves, I can’t remember.

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

I means, I collect coins and pop vinyls but they’re not really odd.

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

my best friend: ‘last resort’ by papa roach.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

the gossip girl meme, hands down.

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

yes. no. no.yes; great. idk. idk. eh.

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

My gramps earlier today.

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

you’re going to have to be more specific. I do a lot of dramatic things.

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

laughter, any odd quirks, rambling, how they talk about things they love, how they take their tea/coffee, reasons for things they hate.

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

felt like i went on a journey, as always. who doesn’t dramatically reenact the lyrics? either you’re that scene from wayne’s world or you’re doing it wrong.

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? Why?

I’m the vodka aunt. in fact we’re all vodka aunts, it’s a mess. help.

59: what’s your favorite myth?

any one of the mabinogi, to be honest. branwen and blodeuwedd are classics, though.

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

I like it but i don’t read it much.

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

I got my gramps, who does some birdwatching, a mug with fake bird poop on it.

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

Not really, but if I did it would either be orange or apple and mango.

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

I put my books in size order and then alphabetise my music by last names.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

pretty grey, though some blue is peeking through.

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

bitch we’re in lockdown, of course.

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

thorny.

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

melancholic.

68: what’s winter like where you live?

cold and wet, sometimes there’s snow.

69: what are your favorite board games?

monopoly and articulate.

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

no, but I would like to!

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

breakfast tea or peach iced tea.

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

yup.

73: what are some of your worst habits?

leaving things until the last minute. being judgmental. eating and drinking junk. not listening. my stubbornness and need to be right. not doing the things i enjoy. giving up if i don’t get it right on the first try.

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

they’re a good person at heart, we have gone through so many arguments and friendship break ups and distance but we’ve since grown up and always make time for each other, even if it’s just going for a drive. we actually have good chats about everything and nothing and have a healthy respect for each other, but we;re not afraid to call out bad behaviour in each other.

75: tell us about your pets!

big ball of energy! he’s a greedy guts who stole my pizza three weeks ago and i’m not over it! he’s fifteen and a half but you’d think he was younger and he’s one of my best friends and i love him. hims stinky though.

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

If the circumstances were normal i’d be starting my summer job right about now.

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

to drink? yellow. to write about? pink. iykyk.

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

no club.

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

I loathe to think about them but my old flatmates had decorated our flat with a bunch of bunting and balloons and surprised me on my birthday two years ago.

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

blue. yes. I like blue.

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

ice glacier.

82: are/were you good in school?

I was good in school. I am now struggling to even be mediocre.

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

You ruined new york city for me by fletcher, dirty computer by janelle monae, and melodrama by lorde.

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

i’m planning on getting a giraffe and a spider-gwen themed one.

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

yeah! I like most spider-man variations (miles and gwen’s being favourites), fantastic four, wonder woman, and more recently captain marvel.

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

I love dirty computer (shoutout again to janelle’s artistry).

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

power rangers 2017.

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

I like surrealism and photorealism, and perhaps some fauvism.

89: are you close to your parents?

I’m close with my mum.

90: talk about one of your favorite cities.

i have a favourite memory attached to paris. my friend and I had taken a mini roadtrip and on our way back we accidentally ended up in paris? (we were trying to avoid it because of emissions laws) we didn’t realise until we saw the eiffel tower lit up in the distance so we decided to ride it out and put paris by the chainsmokers on. lmao. so by association its now one of my favourite cities.

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

Hahahahahahaha. florida next year.

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

depends on the pasta, I am both.

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

either straightened or in a low bun with some bangs.

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

my oldest sister.

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

nothing.

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

procrastinate them a lot. like, a lot a lot.

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

intj, taurus, all of them at this point (gryffinclaw)

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

no idea.

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

hypersonic missiles by sam fender, strangers by fletcher, promises by naomi scott, hello my loneliness by delaney jane, cry baby by the neighbourhood.

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? Why?

time doesn’t exist.

#someone has been infected with cat #also nearly pulled a ness and forgot about this #lmao

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thesquireofcheddar · 5 years

Text

A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

The charmed sunset linger'd low adown In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale; A land where all things always seem'd the same! And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whoso did receive of them, And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Between the sun and moon upon the shore; And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. Then some one said, "We will return no more"; And all at once they sang, "Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam."

CHORIC SONG I There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep."

II Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm!" Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

III Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow Falls, and floats adown the air. Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

IV Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

V How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heap'd over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

VI Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change: For surely now our household hearths are cold, Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange: And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Or else the island princes over-bold Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. Is there confusion in the little isle? Let what is broken so remain. The Gods are hard to reconcile: 'Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.

VII But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) With half-dropt eyelid still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.

VIII The Lotos blooms below the barren peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world: Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer—some, 'tis whisper'd—down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

#lit

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lotus0kid · 7 years

Note

Happy 5th anniversary!!!! 🎆🎆🎉I have a prompt, Belle is pregnant and while out on a date( or just out of their house) with her husband Rumple, her water breaks.

OUaT: Anniversary Fic the 12th

((Thanks for prompting! Hope this works for you.))

“Are you warm enough?”

It must be the sixth time he’s asked, but Belle’s endlesspatience allows her to reply, “Perfectly.”

Rumpel still peers over the top of her head at the smallspace heater placed on the back porch, where they sit beneath a blanket ofstars. It’s growing colder at thebeginning of October, but he’ll do whatever it takes to allow Belle tocomfortably venture out into the open, breathe fresh air and feel the wideworld around her. She’s been in far toomany cages.

Moderately assured that all is well, he settles beside her,curling his arm a little more firmly around her shoulders. His other hand hovers near her hip. Without even looking, she catches his wristand lays his hand over her round belly. An automatic smile lights Rumpel’s face, even as an undercurrent of fearcontinues to flow, whispering that this won’t last, it’s too wonderful, it’llget snatched away, he’ll ruin it, just wait and see. He draws in and releases a deep breath, anddrowns the whispers in a bath of stars.

A cloud sails by and slowly reveals a shining crescentmoon. Beside him, Belle lets out a smallhum.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, filled withcuriosity.

“Just an old story, from home. About where stars come from.”

“Yes?”

“They’re the children of Umera, the goddess of night. She places them in a cradle, which is thecrescent moon. When the moon grows full,they go out into the sky, as stars.”

“A child every month, that’s a large family. Is there a father?”

Belle smiles and dips her chin. “Yes. Vinaos, the god of the day.” Belle turns to fix her eyes on Rumpel. “He brings light to Umera’s darkness.”

Beneath Rumpel’s hand, he feels the tap of a tiny kickingfoot. He grins, “I think the little onelikes that story.”

Belle’s chuckle is full of warmth and love as she pressesher hand over Rumpel’s. “Not long beforewe get to meet them.”

“No, not long.”

Belle rests her head on Rumpel’s shoulder, and they wait forthe future to arrive together.

---

Rumor has it that Rumpelstiltskin is working on some new objectof terrible dark magic. The shop hasn’tbeen open for days, though a brave soul snuck around back and peeked through awindow to see him bent over his arcane work. The spy could only say it seemed to be made of black fabric and that hewas sewing something into it with fierce concentration. It was decided that no move would be madeagainst the sorcerer, not yet.

Currently, said sorcerer is having a cup of tea and readinga book one evening when his wife returns from the library. At this point in Belle’s pregnancy, Rumpel isready to beg her to stay home, but she simply promises not to do any heavylifting and goes her own way. He mustadmit that the library is her first child, and she will care for it as long asshe’s able.

She joins him on the couch and holds out a small rectangleof stiff paper. “Look what Snow droppedoff today.”

It’s an invitation to a Halloween party, Rumpel reads. “Well,” he says, “I’m not sure why shethought you’d be interested in a party that late in the month. Or that shewould, for that matter.” Thequeen-turned-bandit-turned-teacher has already had one child and will soon bewelcoming her second, so she ought to know better. She and Belle have actually bonded somewhatduring their nearly concurrent pregnancies. Rumpel and David have tried not to make much eye-contact with eachother.

He looks at Belle, but doesn’t find the agreement heexpects. “What if I am interested?” sheinquires.

Feeling metaphorical tremors in the ground below his feet,he swiftly replies, “Then I’d say have a lovely time, dear.”

It’s not the correct answer. Her face falls into a pout, “You wouldn’t come with me?”

“I, well, that is...” Rumpel sputters, “No one’s ever beenhappy when I’ve turned up at a party.”

“And they never will if you don’t try,” Belle counters,“We’re all in this together now, Rumpel, we need to make an effort to geton. Besides that, Snow and David arefamily now, thanks to Henry. Can I writeyou down as my guest?”

Well, if nothing else, Belle’s looming due date must betaken into consideration. He’ll likelybe a bundle of nerves, but he won’t leave his wife’s side. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

Belle gives him a brilliant beam, only for it to quicklyfade. “Hm, well, now I have to think ofa costume. Gods, what would evenfit?” She gestures at her ponderousabdomen.

“Actually, about that... Hang on.”

He climbs to his feet and heads for his office to fetch the gifthe luckily just finished today. He’sspent hours upon hours fussing over it- it’s probably for the best he can giveit to her now. He strides back to theliving room and sits down, presenting Belle’s gift with a flourish.

Her mouth falls open as she carefully takes the black dressfrom him. “Rumpel, this is amazing,” shebreathes as her fingertips explore the minutely detailed embroidery of acrescent moon that decorates the stomach area of the dress. Every crater, mare, and rill is represented,until all fades into shadow.

“I did what I could,” he replies humbly, “I liked your starstory too.” He leans over to kissBelle’s cheek, only to find it wet with streaming tears.

At his concerned hum, she gives him a wide if waterysmile. “It’s so beautiful, Rumpel. Thank you.” She leans in for a kiss he is happy to collect, despite the tang ofsalt. Then she’s levering herself offthe sofa and marching away, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m trying it on rightnow.”

Rumpel holds his breath until she returns, then lets it outin a sigh of relief as he sees the dress’s perfect fit, especially in thedecoration, which cradles the curve of Belle’s stomach on the lower right side. “I love it!” she cries, spinning to make theskirt flare around her thighs. Then shepauses and faces Rumpel. “What aboutyour costume? Vinaos might be a littleobscure.”

“Not to worry,” he replies. A purple cloud bubbles up in his hands and dissolves to reveal anastronaut’s helmet, complete with a visor coated with opaque gold. He puts it on and flicks the visor down,hiding his face. “In case anyone getsannoying,” he explains.

Belle giggles even as she shakes her head at him, then goes totake off her new costume and put it away until it’s needed.

---

The final few weeks before Belle’s due date are even worsethan Rumpel imagined. He hardly sleeps,which is more of a problem than he anticipated. Back home where the Dark Curse is strong it sustains his everyneed. Out here amidst the imported magicof Storybrooke, he needs to help it along. But that’s becoming steadily more difficult as the days go by, and thevicious whispers command him to be on guard every second for someto-be-determined doom.

Belle is restless as well, but in a surly, frustrated wayRumpel knows he can’t begin to understand. He does catch her whispering furiously at her stomach, “Get out, justget out, I know you’re ready, so get on with it!”

By the time Snow and David’s Halloween party rolls around,Belle’s raring to go just to burn off excess energy. Rumpel is too addled from lack of sleep to domore than trail after her in his astronaut helmet and a gray jumpsuit.

They’re fashionably late mostly because of Belle’s two emergencybathroom visits. When they reach theapartment building, she marches stolidly up the stairs, though she needs torest on Rumpel’s arm halfway up.

“If you’re tired...” he begins, stopping when Belle giveshim a severe glare she belatedly twists into a smile.

“I want to do this. Let’s go.”

They make it to the landing, where Belle takes a long momentto collect herself before pushing the doorbell. The door soon swings open to reveal Snow White wearing a ring of brownfrills around her hips with her belly painted robin’s egg blue complete withspeckles on top. Her jumper has a row offeathers down each arm and a construction paper bird’s beak is tied over hernose. She smiles wide and cries, “Belle,you made it! Come in!” That smile shrinks as her gaze moves overBelle’s shoulder and lands on Rumpel. “Oh,hello, Rumpelstiltskin. Thank you forcoming.”

As if she never locked him in a subterranean prison andthrew away the key. As if he neverconspired with her greatest enemy to ruin her happy ending. Life is a funny thing. “Good evening,” he responds, and sidles inbehind Belle.

“I love your costume,” Snow exclaims at Belle, “The moon,that’s so great, why didn’t I think of that?”

Belle finds a true smile as she looks down at herdress. “Rumpel made it.”

“Oh,” Snow says, a shadow flickering over her face beforeshe brightens again, “Oh! Okay, so that’s... Anyway, this detail is amazing. What kind of spell does that?”

“My two hands, dearie,” Rumpel can’t help sniping, “You knowI can actually breathe without using magic, if I concentrate.”

Snow shrinks back with wide eyes and a pinched mouth. Belle gives him a very subtle jab in theribs. “Rumpel, she’s being nice.”

It’s always been his opinion that Snow being “nice” is halfher problem, but he clears his throat and says, “Indeed. Apologies. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I,uh, I sewed this too.” She plucks at abit of brown frills.

He has to smile at the tiny gleam of hope in her eyes, anddeigns to look over her handiwork. “Verynice,” he decides.

Snow beams, “Thanks. So, anyway, we’re all in here, really informal, just family. There’s snacks, and wine and beer, andsparking apple juice for the two of us...”

She leads Belle and Rumpel toward the living room area,where the sofa and a few chairs are occupied by David, Emma, Regina, andBae. Agonizing though it’s been, Rumpelhas given Bae total control over how much contact to have with him. They see each other fairly regularly, thoughboth are naturally preoccupied with their unique fatherly duties. It still feels like a miracle to see Bae turnto him and smile- not as warm and bright as before, but an unspeakably vastimprovement to the ragged hole he left in Rumpel’s life for so long.

When Rumpel can expand his attention beyond Bae, he findssmiles of varying degrees of friendliness all around the room directed at himand Belle. Wearing his own featheryjumper and bird beak, David says, “Hi, guys! Great costumes!”“Yes!” Snow chimes in, “Isn’t Belle’s great? With the black fabric and the sewing?”

There’s a round of thoughtful nods Rumpel chooses not tointerpret. Emma scoots closer to Reginato let Belle sit at the far end of the sofa. David sets a chair for Rumpel between Belle and Bae.

“Thank you,” he says as he sits, and notices Bae eyeing himfrom beneath a Yankees cap.

He twists the grip of a lowered baseball bat between hispalms and murmurs, “Please tell me you aren’t wearing a suit under there.”

The fact that Bae knows how he customarily dresses is enoughto make Rumpel’s heart glow. He gives hisson a smirk and quips, “Just a linen, very light.”

Bae snorts into his chest and Rumpel feels like a hero. It’s somewhat easier after that to sit andchat a bit, or just listen to the conversations floating around him. Snow hands out ghost-shaped biscuits andpumpkin cupcakes. Rumpel actuallyrelaxes a little, even finds his eyes drifting shut a bit.

“Okay, everyone!” Snow’s cheery declaration startles him tofull awareness. Belle shoots him anamused look as Snow continues, “I was thinking to wrap up our evening, we mightwatch a scary movie. How’s that sound?”

“Fine, as long as it isn’t Rosemary’s Baby,” Regina replies, painted cat’s whiskers curling asshe sneers in Belle’s direction.

“As long as it isn’t TheWicker Man,” Emma retorts before Rumpel can take Regina’s head off with afireball. She adjusts her cowboy hat andleans back so light glints on the silver star pinned to her plaid shirt.

“I was gonna go with Jaws,”Snow pipes up.

“That’s barely ahorror movie,” Regina says, “But it’s acceptable.”

“Why thank you, Your Majesty,” David mutters on his way tothe television.

Belle leans over to Rumpel and whispers, “Do I even want toknow?”

“Ignore her, sweetheart,” he replies, lacing his fingerswith Belle’s firmly.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

He winces, remembering that while Snow and David haveapparently forgiven and forgotten Regina’s wide array of sins, neither of themlanguished as her prisoner for years on end. And Belle wouldn’t have, if you’dbothered to look for her. Ah, that’sright. Rumpel’s sins make Regina’s looklike the mischief of a playground bully. And yet Belle, the best person he knows, has willingly become his wife,and the mother of his child. Life is sovery funny.

While Sheriff Brody is attempting to save his picturesquetown from a killer shark, Rumpel feels Belle’s fingers tense sharply betweenhis. He glances at her and sees she hasher other hand pressed to her stomach. “Belle,are you all right?” he whispers.

“I’m... fine. I justneed to use the toilet. Help me up?”

He leaps to guide Belle off the sofa.

“Excuse me, sorry,” she murmurs to the rest of the group asshe eases out and down the hall to the bathroom.

Rumpel takes his seat, but watches her go with worrychurning his stomach. Eventually hemanages to refocus on the film. He’salmost comprehending dialogue again when Belle’s cry of “RUMPEL!” strikes hisbrain like a bolt of lightning. He’s atthe bathroom in a literal flash. “Belle,I’m here, open the door.”

For an awful moment there’s nothing but a low, torturedmoan. Then the door cracks open. He pushes it open to see Belle hunched over,gripping the sink with a puddle of liquid between her feet. She gives him a tremulous, agonized smile andsays, “Oops.”

“Okay,” Rumpel breathes, attempting to force his paralyzedbrain into functioning. “We need... toget to the car.”

Dismay fills Belle’s face, “Oh, I don’t know if I can do thestairs ag- AH!” Her body tenses hard andRumpel imagines if she were any stronger she’d tear chunks out of thesink. All he can do is lay careful handson her arm and back and let her lean into him until it passes.

“Belle, we need to be home,” he tries to explain, “That wasthe plan, wasn’t it?” Quite honestly, atthis moment he has no idea what their plan was, despite the hours of work thatwent into it. He holds up his hands andpurple smoke starts to swirl around them. “Can I just-?”

“No magic!” she cries, “Not now, I don’t want to travel likethat, when I’m like this. Please?”

The smoke vanishes under her desperate gaze. “Of course, but... I just...” He glances around and notices the group of people standing four feetaway, staring like this is another scene in the film.

Snow steps forward, slipping past Rumpel and moving toBelle’s side. “I guess the baby isn’t afan of Richard Dreyfus, huh?” she remarks gently.

“Who?” Belle asks, but another contraction steals Snow’sanswer as she moans louder than ever and doubles over.

“Okay, it’s okay, just keep breathing...” Snow murmurs asshe rubs Belle’s back. To Rumpel, shesays, “So, poofing her home is out and the stairs are a problem. What does that leave us?”

“How about the tub?” Emma suggests, peering over Rumpel’shead. “Like a water birth.”

The words snap Rumpel’s brain back into action. “Yes! That was the plan. Good. Belle, w-?”

“Let’s do that!”Belle wails.

With a great sweep of his arm, Snow’s narrow tub is replacedby a wide, deep Jacuzzi filled up three-quarters with warm water.

“Wow,” Snow briefly marvels, “Okay, yeah, great. Belle, let’s get you, uh... Oh, hey, I thinkwe need a little privacy now, please?”

To Rumpel’s surprise, Regina turns to the rest of the partyand declares in her most imperious tone, “All right, gawkers, back off. Rumpeland Snow only, let’s give them some space, come on.” She herds Bae, Emma, and David back down thehall.

Snow says to Belle, “We’ll get you in the tub soon,okay? It’ll be nice and warm and you canrelax. Let’s take off these shoes, andget out of the underwear- just lean on Rumpel, that’s fine...”

While Snow does the necessaries, Belle’s head droops towardhis shoulder, only to bump against the bloody astronaut helmet he only just nowrealizes he’s still wearing. “Sorry,sweetheart,” he mumbles, banishing the thing to oblivion where it belongs. Belle presses her damp forehead into thecurve of his neck, and he smooths a hand over her hair.

“Okay, we probably want to get that lovely dress offtoo. Rumpel, if you could unzip theback?”

They ease Belle out of her costume. In a moment of whimsy, Rumpel sends it tohang over the curtain rod by the tub where she’ll be able to see the crescentmoon. He also replaces Belle’s bra witha softer bikini top. With one last wavehe replaces Snow’s costume with dark blue nurse’s scrubs. She shoots him a startled look, but wiselysays nothing. They don’t quite manage toget Belle into the tub before the next contraction hits, and she sags betweenhim and Snow with another bone-deep groan.

“Almost there, Belle,” Snow croons, “A few more steps- canyou take a few more steps?”

“I... okay...” she whimpers.

“I’m here, love,” Rumpel says, “Come on, follow me.”

They inch up a smooth ramp to the edge of the tub where itparts into a short stairwell. Bellesighs as soon as her foot enters the water. Snow has her sit on the edge and part her legs so she can take a look atwhat’s going on.

Holding Belle steady against his chest, Rumpel asks Snow, “Youdo have a fairly clear idea of what you’re doing, yes?”

“Sure. I’ve done thisbefore, albeit from Belle’s end, and anyway we’ve been sharing all ourbooks. I knew she was leaning toward awater birth. Really, they’re so natural,as long as there aren’t any complications my job’s basically just to standthere and catch.”

“And if there are- complications?” Even thinking the word sets off sirens in hishead.

Snow looks him in the eye, “How about you go and call yourmidwife now, just in case?”

Cursing himself for not thinking of that sooner, Rumpelgently shifts Belle into Snow’s waiting arms and steps away from the tub andout of the bathroom. It takes a specialperson to even consider delivering the Dark One’s child, but Mistress Oggseemed downright cheerful about the idea when their paths crossed at thehospital. She seems cheerful about mostthings, but Rumpel and Belle detected a core of iron in the old woman that wasencouraging enough to bring her on.

Once he fumbles his way through phoning her, it takesseveral rings and a strange burst of static until a voice sings out, “Coo-eee,Rum, how are things?” Mistress Ogg’svoice sounds a bit distant, perhaps he’s on speakerphone. Mountain wind whistles down the line.

“Belle’s in labor,” he replies shortly while Snow sneaks outaround him and walks down the hall.

“Ah, a bit early but not bad. How quick are the contractions coming then?”

“I... I’ve no idea.” He curses himself once more for letting panic conquer him so completely.

“To be expected,” Mistress Ogg says breezily. “I’ll be on the road then. Could be a little while though, I’ve a longway to go. She’s in the water now?”

Rumpel wonders just how far away she can be in Storybrooke,but regardless pokes his head into the bathroom to see Belle leaning back withher arms laid along the edge of the tub, eyes closed, face pale but calm. “Yes, she is. And we’re not at home. We’re ata... a friend’s place.”

“Right, I see. Bethere as quick as I can, love, not to fret.” She hangs up before Rumpel can give her Snow’s address. He’s about to call again when a small cryfrom the bathroom has him stuffing his mobile into a pocket and rushing toBelle’s side. She grips the edges of thetub with her face twisted into a grimace. Rumpel sits behind her and smooths his palms down her tense arms. “Deep breaths, love,” he reminds her softly.

Belle drags in and blows out air at a slow, even pace. She relaxes as the contraction passes.

“Mistress Ogg is on her way.”

“Good.”

“How are you?”

“Better, now.” She tiltsher head back and peers up at him to murmur, “Sorry about this. I know we wanted to be at home.”

Rumpel just smiles and cradles the back of Belle’s head inhis palm. “This is perfectly fine, sweetheart. We’re... we’re with family.”

That wins him a smile. He dips a hand in the water to check its temperature, stirring in a bitmore heat. Belle hums and takes a fewmore deep breaths. Her gaze wanders tothe hanging dress and she inquires dreamily, “We still like the name Lucy,right?”

They considered every option in the book, and in severalother books, and that was a particularly strong contender. Though they opted not to learn the genderbeforehand, as her due date has neared Belle’s become thoroughly convincedshe’s having a girl. “I like it if youdo.”

“How about Estelle as a middle name?”

A corner of Rumpel’s mouth curls up. “Lucille Estelle.”

“Our starlight.”

He bends down to kiss the top of Belle’s head. “Sounds perfect to me.”

All that’s really left to do is wait. As the contractions quicken, Snow returns tolift Belle back onto the edge of the tub and check her readiness.

“I... I feel like I might need to push,” Belle whimpers,twisting clenched fists in Rumpel’s jumpsuit.

“Well, I think that’s because you need to push,” Snowreplies, “I can see the head.”

Belle lets out an anxious moan, “But Mistress Ogg isn’there- ah! I have topush!”

“Okay, come back in the water, here we go...” Snow and Rumpel guide Belle into the tub andlet her position herself kneeling with her elbows braced on the edge.

Snow crouches behind her in the tub while Rumpel comes toface Belle on the outside, letting her grab his hands in a vice grip. “It’s too soon,” she whispers, “What ifsomething’s wrong?”

Rumpel rests his forehead against hers. “Then we’ll handle it. Everything will be fine, Belle, Ipromise.” In this moment, despite allevidence, he actually believes that.

Belle manages a tiny smile before it contorts into a grimaceand her whole body strains. After amoment, Snow announces, “The head is out! I don’t feel an umbilical cord. Let’s work on the shoulders now.”

“It hurts...” Belle grits out.

“I know, but keep going, you’ll get through it soon.”

“You can do this, sweetheart,” Rumpel murmurs, “I’m righthere with you. I love you.”

Belle’s eyes lock on his and don’t break contact even as shegroans and pushes with all her strength. Somewhere far away, Snow says one shoulder is out. Belle’s groan intensifies into a powerfulbellow. “That’s it!” Snow cries just asthe bellow stops and Belle’s left panting and trembling, her head falling toRumpel’s shoulder.

Rumpel looks in wonder as Snow gently lifts a tiny, wrinkly,squirming creature out of the water. Shewipes at its nose and mouth, it wriggles a little more and releases a plaintivewail. Belle’s whole body shudders at thesound and she lets out a sob.

“It’s a girl, Rumpelstiltskin,” Snow says with a beam, “Aperfect little girl.”

“She- she’s... okay?” he quavers, halfway to sobbinghimself.

“Seems like it,” Snow replies, wincing a bit at anotherrather piercing cry from the baby, “Let’s have her meet Mom, huh?”

Rumpel helps Belle carefully turn over. She’s still shaking, but her arms are steadyas Snow places the baby in them. Thewailing stops instantly as she snuggles into Belle’s chest.

“She is perfect,” Rumpel whispers in awe, his chin onBelle’s shoulder.

“Hello, Lucy,” Belle murmurs, “How nice to meet you.”

“Our starlight.”

Minutes or perhaps days later, someone bustles into thebathroom saying, “Cheer-o, ducks! Lookslike the little mite beat me to the punch. Let’s see what’s left for me to do.” Mistress Ogg makes quick work of tying off and cutting the umbilicalcord. “There now, how about we have thehappy da bundle up his girl while the afterbirth comes?”

Rumpel has never wanted to do anything more, or been soafraid to do it. Belle shifts Lucy intohis arms like she’s made of glass. Mistress Ogg pops off her boots and socks and climbs into the tub whileSnow lays out a clean, soft towel on the floor. Rumpel kneels down and lays Lucy on it, where she immediately frowns andsquirms against the cold. “Don’t worry,dearest, I’m here,” he whispers while wrapping her up snugly, “There you are, safeand sound.”

He picks her up and holds her to his chest before moving tosit on the closed toilet seat. They gazeat each other with tired eyes. When hersslip shut, he manages to tear his own away and notice Bae standing outside thebathroom, looking more like a nervous teenager than Rumpel would think possible.

“Baelfire, would you like to meet your sister?”

His eyebrows jump and he stuffs his hands into his pockets,but he pads into the room and hunches over to grin down at the baby.

“This is Lucille Estelle Gold. You can call her Lucy.”

“Hey, Lucy. I’m Bae. Or Baelfire. Or Neal. Or whatever.” He and Rumpel chuckle quietly. Lucy’s eyes crack open and blink a few timesbefore closing again. “She’s beautiful,Papa. I can’t believe I’m a bigbrother.”

“Life is very, very funny, son.”

Mistress Ogg has drained the tub, swathed Belle in a severaltowels, and delivered the afterbirth before she suggests Lucy try nursing. Rumpel carries the baby to Belle, and eventhough she seemed quite deeply asleep, she latches on to her mother’s breastquickly.

“Hungry one, isn’t she?” Mistress Ogg remarks, “That’sfine. She doesn’t like wasting time, weknow that much.”

After a while, Belle lets Rumpel perform some very gentlehealing magic so she can get out of the tub at last. He transforms her bikini top into a looseblack dress that shimmers with silver and blue sparkles. Her original dress gets bundled up and pushedinto a pocket of Rumpel’s jumpsuit. Hekeeps one arm firmly wrapped around her waist as they leave the bathroom, Lucyheld close to Belle’s chest. They findthe rest of the party sitting at the kitchen table, looking on curiously.

A wide smile stretches across David’s face before he all butbounds over to them. “What a night,huh? Are you all okay?”

“We’re fine,” Belle replies, “Lucy, this is Prince David,your...” Her gaze jumps to the ceiling as she puzzles out the family tree, “Nephew’sother grandfather.” Emma and Regina havestood and come to flank David. Belle’sgaze moves over them as she says, “And that’s Princess Emma, your nephew’smother. And- Regina, his other mother.”

Emma peers over David’s shoulder and smiles warmly, butdoesn’t seems too interested in getting closer. Regina gives Lucy a smile as well, this one more wistful thananything. “What a sweet little girl,”she says, her voice softer than Rumpel’s ever heard it.

“We’ll be going home now, I think,” Belle says, heading tothe door where Snow stands. “Thank you,”she tells her, “I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Anything you want is yours, Snow,” Rumpel says, “And I domean anything.”

“Oh, no, please, it was the least I could do...” sheinstantly demurs, up until she bites her lip and mutters, “Can we keep thetub?”

Rumpel snorts. “Yes. And you can send me thewater bill.”

“Deal. Thanks forcoming to my little party, guys.”

“We had a... an interesting time,” Belle saysdiplomatically. Rumpel snickers, thenguides his wife and daughter through the door as Snow holds it open. Mistress Ogg follows, coming along to helpthem settle in at home. The small familyheads into the future together.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #fanfiction #once upon a time #poca-staks

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emerysmerkin · 7 years

Text

Cold Fury, Frozen Panic

OTP Idea #747; Imagine Person A trudging through a blizzard because they just really wanna see Person B.

The prompt is from the awesome otpisms. It’s just under 3000 words. Hopefully this will spell us getting back to our normal posting schedule :)

Ash has been pacing all day, she was meant to be back by now but the runes the Yeurtas throw said there was a snow storm coming. He shouldn’t worry he knows, Amy isn’t nearly as stupid as people think and, more importantly, Stefan is with her and he’s cautious, almost to a fault. None of this made him feel any better, these huge bouts of worry he gets about Amy can’t be healthy but he can’t help it. All the time he’s known Amy he’s slowly started pinning his hopes and dreams on her. He’d never tell her that of course, that’s a lot of pressure, especially when you already have a dangerous and stressful line of work.

A knock on the door makes his heart lift and he runs to it, ripping it almost off it’s hinges to to see Stefan on the other side. The halfling looks around at every corner of Ash’s room and between the crack of the door. Normally Ash would be insulted at someone craning their neck into his abode but that’s just the way Stefan is.

“Hullo Ash, I’m here with Amy’s pay for the job. When she didn’t meet me at the ford I assumed her long shanks got here first since I got a little distracted. She gone back out?” The halfling said a lot but it doesn’t explain anything, why weren’t they together? What did Stefan get distracted with? Amy wouldn’t leave him behind so why did he leave her behind.

“Where is she?” Ash says, taking a worried glance out the window, the sky is completely white, that snow will be coming down any moment.

“I thought she was with you. We parted ways in the morning when we came across an orchard around Brunsholden, I wanted to visit a cousin nearby so we parted ways and said we’d meet back on the road but I lost track of time and was late. I just assumed Amy went on ahead. I only just got back, picked up our pay and came straight here.” The halfling looks concerned now, and so he should be, Amy would have waited and gone back for him. Stefan should have done the same.

“Which orchard?”

“Err...the one upstream from Brunsholden.”

Ash remembers where it is, when they were there last it took a full half hour to persuade Amy not to ‘scrump’ the orchard. He grabs his heavy coat and gloves before flying down the stairs.

“I’ll just leave her money in The Shore Leave then!” The halfling calls out.

He could shove the money up his arse for all Ash cares. If finding Amy wasn’t so important he’d have cut him from ear to ear. Rational Ash would have reminded him that Stefan would have put a bolt in him before he even drew a dagger but rational Ash is still pacing upstairs. This is angry, worried and afraid Ash and he’s heading outside as thick flakes of snow mixed with heavy pellets of ice cascade around him.

He’s barely out the walls before the storm hits proper and visibility is only a few meters. Rational Ash probably has a scalding for him when he gets back but he needs to get to Amy. Snow has covered him by the time he gets to the ford which thankfully isn’t underwater. What he’s not thankful for is that he’s turning south and into the wind. It stings his face and keeps his eyes from opening fully, his clothes have become heavy and he’s starting to shiver. Through most of his memory Ash has cursed the amount of fire magic stored within him but today he wishes he had more so he can melt away this cursed storm.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking before he sees the first building of what he hopes is Brunsholden. The road had disappeared long ago along with the feeling in his face. The building is a farmhouse from what he can tell, with no smoke coming from the chimney. Either no one's home or they all froze to death in the storm. Ash wonders how people don’t freeze to death in the normal winter weather so the latter is likely. Right now, he’d like nothing more than to go inside, light up the fire and warm up, well almost nothing more, the thought of finding Amy still pushes him forward.

More houses come in and out of view from either side, thank Melora for his sense of direction, all this time he was just hoping he was heading south. These buildings have smoke rising from them, and Ash can almost hear the crackling of fires within. A warm, roaring fire, with a glass of that spiced wine Amy gave him last moon for the Wintersend. He’s on a large, comfortable chair with Amy strewn across him quietly dozing on his lap. This is a happy place. In all the planes, there is nowhere he’d rather be, with wine, warmth, Amy, and his legs in a bucket of ice water.

The cold is painful but it draws him out of his dream. Ash is standing in the middle of the stream that runs through the village. He musters up all his strength to pull himself out of the water but he’s shivering uncontrollably and he can hear his teeth chatter over the wind. He begins his gruelling trudge upstream. Ash remembers clearly thinking as he entered the village how he couldn’t get any colder, apparently, he was wrong. At least he knows the orchard isn’t far from the village, only half a kilometre. Something suddenly occurs to him. Amy won’t be at the orchard, she loves apples but not enough to stay out in a blizzard. Going there is pointless, she could be anywhere, best case scenario, she found shelter, worst whatever happened on the job has put her in a danger they never expected. This is why he should always listen to rational Ash, he’s walking blind through a blizzard, feet soaking wet and shivering constantly, to look for Amy in a place she is definitely not.

He needs to find shelter for himself now, he’d be useless to Amy dead and he still has his duty to OldRed to uphold. He’s such an idiot. Ash turns around and follows the stream back, the wind forces him to keep his head down so all he can see is the stream and his sodden boots. He hasn’t taken two steps before something catches his eye, something metal sticking out where the snow isn’t as thick near a stream. A shuriken! He lets out a puff for frosty breath. Clean, no blood, no dings and more importantly this was dropped on the ground, not thrown. It was left as a marker, not thrown as a weapon. Now he needs to decide on a direction, all that one marker says is that she was here, not where she went. Ash’s mind is fuzzy from the cold but he needs to concentrate, Amy might actually be in trouble and right now he’s the only help she’d get. Wet, shivering help but it might be better than nothing.

His hand heats up and it makes his skin prickle, he’s never used his fire in such cold weather before and the exertion is making his head swim. Ash keeps putting more energy into his hand until the glowing ball of flame is the size of his palm. The drow visualises his fire as a blade, a sword fit for giants cutting through the blizzard and then pushes the energy out. What he imagined only lasts for a moment and looks more like a beam than a sword, it did its purpose either way. His magic leaves a great gouge, over ten meters long, through the snow heading back towards the village. The smoking gap in the white reveals nothing, no shuriken, or any other sign of Amy, just scorched grass.

He has to make a decision, back towards the village or back towards the white unknown. Hardly a decision, assuming Amy lost time gorging herself on apples she would have went inside and she’s likable enough for people just to take her in. Step after painful step Ash drags himself back towards the village proper, cursing his folly of a ‘rescue’. Amy is one of the most capable people he knows and now it looks like he’s going to be the one who needs help.

He sees a tree in the distance. Distance, the word makes him laugh, it’s only a few meters away but in this snow, it feels like kilometres. It’s not much but at least it will be a small reprieve from the blizzard, something to get his bearings on and work out where he is and where he’s going. Ash drags himself under the boughs, even though the branches are bare there are enough of them to protect himself somewhat. Ash leans against the wood in hopes of heat coming from the only living thing he’s seen in hour. Nothing. He knows it’s stupid but he spreads himself out as much as possible around the trunk only to be rewarded by a sharp pain in his hand.

Ash pulls his hand back and looks at the hole in his glove and the sticky blood pouring through the gap, funny it didn’t hurt that much, not enough the bleed anyway. There is nothing he can do with the hand right now, taking off the glove would be stupid, so his best hope is for the blood to freeze shut. Gods, he can already feel the cold cutting into his hand sharper and more painful than whatever caused the injury. What caused the injury? Ash peers around the tree to see a second throwing star embedded in the tree. For a moment, he forgets about the cold, the wet, the numbness and his new bleeding hand. The shuriken is hope. Ash now has two points of reference, he knows a trajectory.

He thinks for a moment, feeling optimistic from his new painful discovery. If he was going to get caught in a blizzard he’d go to the closest house, if they wouldn’t let him in he’d either kill them or move to the next house depending on their manners. He peers into the white abyss, making out barely visible shadows of houses. He knows where he is. Amy tried to ambush him from this tree when they were passing through, behind him is the bridge leading south and in front of him is the main road through. He must have walked past dozens of houses getting here but was too wrapped up in his fantasy to notice. Amy MUST be in one of those houses and knowing her it’ll be marked with another shuriken.

Ash gathers his strength, all he needs to do now is get moving, she’s out there and not even far away. He just needs to move his leg forward, get the first step. It doesn’t respond. He tries his other one, putting all his remaining will into it, but that is being equally resistant. He even tries pushing himself from the tree hoping the forward momentum would get his legs working again but he doesn’t have the strength. The cold has rendered him useless and pathetic, beyond help and hope. He feels weak, the icy hunger of the sky eating at him through the hole in his glove, consuming his strength, and all he wants to do it sit down. That might be a good idea, if he sits down he can restore his strength maybe even close his eyes for a minute or two. He shakes, damn it Ash, it’s only been a few hours and you’re already suffering from that level of hypothermia. City life has made you soft. He’s heard the Yuertan’s tell tales of pushing through terrible conditions through sheer force of will, the thought of family or even revenge. Right now, Ash��s leg moves out of embarrassment, not in the nine hells is he going to be found dead in a tiny village from a snowstorm because he was looking for an apple mad halfling.

Step after step he pushes through, even after a few meters the tree is a distant memory, right now he’s completely focussed on the white silhouette slowly gaining definition in front of him. It’s hard going and ice slowly creeps up his arm. That icy pain and the constant ache in his legs is all he can feel now, everything else has been replaced with the white fluff that’s falling all around him and the image of that house. Closer, he sees smoke rising from the chimney, closer still there is a soft light seeping out of the cracks in the shutters. The storm is stopping him getting there, the storm hates him, the storm wants to eat him bit by bit until there is nothing left. He trudges on, fighting through his arch-nemesis, battling wind and wrestling with snow. A door takes shape in front of him, leaking a warm glow that could have made Ash smile if his lips weren’t frozen and buried right in the frame is a metal disk sharpened to a fine edge. He’s now close enough to hear noises coming from the other side. The sound is amazing, he forgot anything could sound like something other than wind.

Bleeding hand clutched in his arm pit the other tries the door, locked. Ash knocks and there are more noises, footsteps coming towards him. I win storm, fuck you. The clank of metal and the creak of hinges. The door open and heat hits him hard, too hard, his face is burning, it hurts but it’s good. The person behind the door is a young human man, taller than Ash, face looking at him concerned. The man’s mouth moves and sound comes out. Ash can’t make sense of it. He looks into the hot space, a woman, and a fire, crowded with children, lots of infants and an older one. That’s not a child that’s… “Amy?” He says at the rapidly approaching floor.

“Ash? Can you hear me? Ash?”

He’s been blurring in and out of consciousness from somewhere between a few hours and forever. His entire body aches like his bones are trying to turn themselves inside out. He doesn’t know where he is, it’s either too hot or too cold and no matter how he feels he’s constantly damp with the torrent of sweat coming from him. Voices come and go, some familiar, others not. He remembers rough hands and water, he remembers soft hands and soup. He also remembers strange dreams of times long past and comrades long dead. Clashing wooden beasts and deep dark caves leading into the unknown. The voice in his ear at the moment is the first clear word he’s heard in a long time.

“Eugh.” He tries to speak but his throat is closed with dry phlegm and searing pain.

“Hush Ash, here” Warm water dribbles gently into his mouth. “You’re ok. I’ve got you.” Amy is over him; his vision is blurry but he’d recognise those warm brown eyes anywhere.

“Amy?” It sounds more like a gasp than words but it’s the best he can manage

“Shh. Everything is fine. You were caught in the blizzard but you’re safe and warm now. Here, try some more water.” His head is lifted up a little and a warm waterskin is pushed to his lips.

Ash opens his sore lips just enough to let the liquid flow into his mouth. He tries to clear his mind as he swallows the tiny bit of water. Too quickly, the waterskin is taken away.

“Where are we?”

“Brunsholden. Don’t worry about that. You’ve been out for more than a day and you need to rest.” A soft warm cloth is dabbed against his brow.

Brunsholden? Now he remembers, the storm, Amy being missing, Stefan’s impending death. Gods, what was he thinking? He blundered into a storm like some kind of land sprog, if they have such things. Now he’s lying helpless in some stranger's house being looked after by the person he set out to help. The ridiculousness of the situation is not lost on him.

“Are you hungry? I’ve been trying to feed you soup, but you kept throwing it back at me. Quite literally.”

He doesn’t remember any of this, “I am sorry.” He’s such a fool and doesn’t deserve her kindness.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Here, it’s potato. It might ease your throat.” Amy frowns and lifts his head onto her leg. “It’s been warmed a few times.” Before he can say anything, a spoon is placed onto his lips. His stomach is in turmoil from the warm water but he sips at the spoon. It tastes disgusting but he thinks that’s the fever affecting his taste buds.

After a short while of feeding him in silence, Amy speaks. “You had me scared for a while there Ash. Please don’t do that again.”

He feels terrible, not just from the fever but from making her scared and imposing on a family and possibly scaring their children. Ash looks at Amy’s face, beautiful beyond reason, now covered with a mask of concern. His idiocy did this to her.

“Amy.” He pushes out of his raw throat. “If you are missing it would take more than a blizzard to stop me from looking for you.”

#otpisms #char: ash #char: amy #char: stefan #blizzard #place: Middenport #hypothermia #Ash is an idiot #winter #snow

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livmoose · 5 years

Text

The Lotos-Eaters

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

CHORIC SONG

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep."

Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm!" Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

III

Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow Falls, and floats adown the air. Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence; ripen, fall and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whisper'd speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heap'd over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change: For surely now our household hearths are cold, Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange: And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Or else the island princes over-bold Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. Is there confusion in the little isle? Let what is broken so remain. The Gods are hard to reconcile: 'Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labour unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.

VII

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) With half-dropt eyelid still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.

VIII

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world: Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer—some, 'tis whisper'd—down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

#poetry #tennyson #long-ish #re: Homer's Odyssey #basically a fanfic #reaching into the minds of weary travelers #slumber is more sweet than toil the shore than labour in the deep mid-ocean wind and wave and oar #two handfuls of white dust shut in an urn of brass

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empirestateofmars · 6 years

Text

A thriller by Hakim, Terminale L

Fairies and Old Age

Hakim TL2

Rope around my neck burns my skin. As ashes fall over my lethargic body, my hand will not kneel before my fear. It keeps on writing my life, scared it would fall into oblivion seas. You, who reads my words, you have not read what comes before this last eulogy. You would have ran away, people tend to do that. You should as well. There will be no redemption, no innocence, no happy-ending and, alas, no more fairies for me. On this day, I, Cynishy Kidiur, hereby pledge to retire in his deathbed. There remains one story to tell, one ending to suffer…

Once upon a time, there was a dandilion, subsisting in a yard, that had never dared to cross the garden wall. The lonesome house the flower lived in was as far away from civilisation as anything could. Its owner had the unhealthy habit of running back and forth in the yard, crossing over the garden wall many times. Each day, at noon, he would sit, a teddybear in his arms, and wait for flying lights to appear. Screaming « Please, fairies, come again ! », the way his joyful face turned into sweet sorrow within a short amount of time, when he understood no fairies would come today, was a hearthbreaking scene the dandilion could not stand anymore. A sacrifice had to be made. When the man came to receive his tribute, he held the flower with tender firmness, thanking it for its support. The man kissed the white flower goodbye and blew it away, covering the garden with a warm coat of snow. The wish he made matters not, for in seconds, he shall receive a kiss of his own from the grim reaper. I said, that day, I wished fairies would take me to their realm. My mom, my dad, my sister, my dogs, my cows, my field, my tree-house, my sky and my stars… Each stated no fairies would unveil their saint body and expose it to my disgusting person. At eight years old, I contemplated fairies, or dull trick of the light, as my village judged. This is not the story I will tell you, nor an introduction of anykind. This is how faith flee my soul, how I have to euthanize myself.

Used to work as private investigator, tracking people. Feed my with gold and I could find anyone, anything, anywhere. For over fifty years, kindness kept me on the right path. I searched for missing children, needed to tell the parents good news when none was to be broken. Two months ago, a man posted a letter. Poorly written, sadly decorated, I knew peasants did this. It filled me in with valuable details about the missing Cando, ten year-old boy. I adorned a horse and galloped straight to the house, not understanding what to make of this. They had a modest home in Green Pineapple Street. I looked at it for an instant. I was warned by my expert intuition. It was necessary for me to abandon feelings, faith and hopes, dreams and expectations, otherwise, detectives wouldn't be as good as humanly possible. I knocked on the door. A feminine voice yelled and opened the door. She was a middle-aged woman, ferocious look, clever look, she threw at me. Behind her, threatening, over protective, the husband and another man. Vilinshya, Cando’s six-year old sister, held her mother’s hand, shaking, frightened. We came in. I sat on an aged gnawed wood chair, facing them. When she offered « wine », I knew how dangerous it would be to refuse. Piscivorous smile, teeth out, threat of an injured animal. She had the maternal instinct to step back when I took the cup. I forced myself to gulp down the bitter beverage. We discussed important matters such as weath for an hour and a half. I went straight up to the point : Cando. During the night, the mother heard her child's bloodcurdling scream. As soon as she could, she entered the room. Nothing. Cando was gone. The mother lead me to the bedroom, like a shepard would with his sheeps. If they get lost, or dare deviate course, the shepard punished, for he sees all. She saw all. Nothing in Cando's bedroom. Clean... Window not broken, lock untouched. The floor was as clean as a peasant house could be. I hurried to find something, anything, a clue... No note under the bed, no blood stain. To focus, I paced around. I suddenly felt a difference between two planks near the bed. I removed one, desperate to escape the stiffling house, full of whispers, expectations and hopes. I didn't have it in me to break another disappointing news and see parents fall. A ticket ! To Disubo Village, about a hundred miles from Green Pineapple Street. It struck me. Disubo Village was known for its offer of safe house, asylum, without distinction of race, religion or age. I hid hit in my backpocket, the safest place I knew. I escaped the spotless bedroom, rushed out, babbling insecere apology : « I haven't found anything, sorry. I will be back soon. » As the Sun was tired, and prepared to bequeath his daily duty to the Moon, I dashed. Wind in my hair, sweat on my forehead, racing all around the city... I was a panicked unstoppable force of thinking nature. In one hour, or less, I got to an inn. Three bedroom, undrinkable muddy beer. Would do for now. A hundred pairs of eyes, hitting me with smirking look, judging how rich I was, where I came from. Then, they remembered a drinking man in an inn as no more origin, skin color. The discussions resumed. Mistake. My work started now, with some spying. All whispers, all discussions, all secret schemes I heard that night. I drank myself to death with apple juice. At last, I could drink something that would not kill me after three gulps. « Unhappy » was a recurrent term to define Cando's behavior. Sick, pale, distracted. This was Cando at his best. Despite the neighbor's warnings to the family, nothing was done. The child wandered during daylight as if a snake bit him perpetually. He had no ennemy. Rage filled my body, I took a sip from the bottle of apple juice, thoughts of horrible suspects appeared. The Sun shone on my shaking hand, a ray of light drew a line for me to cross : wheather or not I was ready to accept the truth. And this truth has never been that painful, that real for a man to hear, alone, in a bar, apple juice in his hand. To be a good detective, forget hope, beliefs, expectations. Drown them in alcohol, burn them and reduce them to the nothingness of mankind. I knew the culprit. I knew where Cando was. It did not occur to me before due to a shield I built for myself. Can't accept human beings as they are, so you see fairies, create the illusion of a « good man ». There is no such thing. I stood up. Touched the floor. Crossed the damn line. I was the carcass of a man, the remains of my childhood. If someone had called me, he would have found no answer to the name « Cynishy ». I sprinted to the family's home, concerned with the possibility I might be forced to interrogate them. I knocked, talked and fought with logical arguments. Three hours passed, I convinced them of the interrogation. I first spoke to the husband and the other man. They were playing chess. Two suspects confirming each other's allibu wouldn't do... Hope the mother had a . She unwillingy sat. No reaction when I mentionned her son could be cut in pieces, dismantled, his cadaver raped and devoured. My experience told me such things happened. But then mothers would cry, flooding the husband's shoulder with tears. Nothing. Hours passed, and with words we battled. Each time I approached the truth, she pushed me away with comments on my private life, my inability to be detective or my mental health. She put up a good fight, outstandingly turning things to her advantage. I, sadly, never have the chance to be wrong. With a magnificent strike, I cruelly put my master card on the damn table : the ticket. There. She smiled with pride. I won. And she knew I won. And all the skies of all the worlds knew I won. However, I lost, on that day. More than my serenity, it was a part of me that broke, turned to dust. When you solve this type of crime in two days, when you accept the truth you are given... End is near. I know I will never see lights flying in the night, breaking the darkness with me, warming my cold dead heart. No more fairies for me. She lost, or won. It was a draw. She had no allibi, asleep in her bed. When she opened the door, screaming at the males, I knew something was wrong. I was trialed with another test when she passed me the beverage. Was I a threat to her ? Then, Cando had the main traits of a beaten child, which I had the misfortune to experience myself. From there, it is easy to say she was beating him. He attempted a first escape. That night, to join Disubo Village, he took the ticket, cautiously hidden under the floor. I learned later Cando was a bastard, born of the union between the mom and her dead fiancé. As the father's purse was full of gold, she kept him : that's the « other » man. The « father » held a grudge toward Cando. All it takes is one bad day, one moment when moral codes fall. The mother was the carcass of a civilized human being. She hated her child as he reminded her of the fiancé. When she got married again, she had two minions to obey her words. In years, the men were slaves. A room was discovered when police searched the body. They found it, along with torture tools, weapons, knives and poison... I couldn't take it. I knew I would find no point in living, working, breathing, eating, sleeping. When I left, wet eyes glanced at me. Innocent, confused and tormented. Tiny drops fell on the ground, washing the soil of the blood, the events and the memories. The half-sister, against a tree, held her head with both her hands, as if she was afraid it would fall. I tenderly took her in my arms, preventing her head to fall and I said : « Don't worry about a thing, every little thing is going to be all right. Cando went to a marvellous place called : « Fairy's Realm ». I went there myself, flying on a white dandilion. There won't be any screaming in the night, nor red scars on his skin. Every little thing is going to be all right. Kind people have accepted you, you are to go to them tommorow. Before that, come. We will drink apple juice all night, celebrating your brave brother. »

There remains no more air to breathe in the world. Changing it could be compared to trying to drink the see in one gulp. I am trying to escape it with a little dignity. The livid shadow of my childhood and I are standing in a madding crowd, both drowning in broken dreams. Isn't it the way ? A haunted detective, drinking, smart, clver, decrepit... Finding burried clues ? Until he breaks the case ? My mast desire is to look at the starts, try to see those lights, those fairies...Pity. No stars. I hoped there would be stars. All I see are lights, spinning. How worthless. No fairies. I thought so. A thousand shining stars are rushing toward me. When my time had come, all I can do is hang myself on a tree, give back everything Earth gave me. For there be no fairies to light up the sky again. To bad these lights in the sky are not fairies. They should stop rushing now. It will only exhaust them. I am Cynishy, the Man Who Saw Them. If you are reading this, I comprehend you have not seen what comes before. You would have run away. Farewell, friends...

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