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duskholland · 3 years

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The Fame Game (Part Ten) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Tom is straight-up not having a good time right now.

Word count ↠ 3.9k

Warnings ↠ The romantic cliché of your dreams, alcohol, references to past intimate times, swearing. Pretty tame overall though!

A/N ↠ I can’t believe we’re at the end of the series! V (mischiefandi) gave me some really good ideas for this part with Tessa - I hope you’ll like what I did there lmao. I’m going to leave my extended thank yous for the epilogue, but just know that I am so grateful for everyone who’s stuck with the series from the beginning until now... Thank you for reading and coming on this journey with me. I hope you’ll like the final official part! Epilogue next week :’))

TEN: Come Home (T)

As the front door to Tom’s house shuts behind you, Tom finds himself slumping against the wooden frame, grief overcoming his senses. He’s tired and his arms hurt, everything hurts, but he peers up through the windowpane at the top of the door and watches as you run out through the sheets of rain. Paparazzi flashes illuminate his garden, capturing you as you stride purposefully to your car, duck down and enter it. A moment later, the car pulls away from the pavement and disappears.

Tom kicks at the door.

“Fuck!”

His hands curl into fists as he turns around and leans with his back against the door, frustrated eyes falling onto his jacket and his keys. For a moment he contemplates picking them up and making a mad dash after you, reckoning he could probably beat you to Heathrow if he drove recklessly enough, but then he sags.

Tom has to give you space. You’ve asked for space. He has to respect it.

His hand twitches as he walks out of the porch, as if his very fingers can feel how badly he wants to reach out and grab the keys, but he leaves them. Instead, Tom climbs the stairs and walks straight into the spare room, throwing himself down onto the bed and burrowing his head in the pillows. He groans - loudly.

It was always a long shot - telling you how he felt. And in some ways, Tom’s admission of love had gone quite well. You reciprocate his feelings, which, really, is the most essential part of it all. But that reciprocation is only the tip of the iceberg, and it goes far deeper than that - because you still left. Tom is still alone, curled up on the bed that smells distantly of you, clenching his fingers feebly around the sheets that he’d refused to let Harrison change, even months after you’d left. Your perfume lingers on the cotton.

There’s the small pattering sound of paws moving over wooden floors, and Tom’s lips quirk up ever so slightly as he pulls his face from the pillows just to see Tessa trot into the bedroom. She plods towards the bed but hesitates, sniffing around the wardrobe. One of the doors hangs half-open, and Tom notices that you’ve left it barren.

Tessa whines.

“I know, I know, girl.” Tom looks at the dog, smiling sadly. Tessa looks miserable. “I miss her too, yeah? But it’s going to be okay.” His words hitch, and Tom reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he feels his heart clench. “It… It’s a bit fucked up, but it’ll be okay. She… She loves me, at least.” He breaks off, laughing awkwardly. “And she knows now, too, that I love her. And yeah, she still left, but… Maybe one day I’ll see her again.” Tom sighs. “Probably not, though. Bloody hell, I’m so… I’m so stupid, Tess.”

Tessa looks up at Tom. Tom sighs.

“And now I’m talking to my dog like a lunatic,” he mutters. Tom sits back against the pillows, hands settling over his stomach. “This is actually pathetic.”

Tessa emits a loud whine before jumping up onto the bed, her wet nose jutting into Tom’s neck. He sighs, smiling as he reaches up to run his hands all over her sleek body.

“You wouldn’t leave me, eh, Tess?” He mutters. “You love me?” He’s sitting up properly, smiling as Tessa basks in the cuddles, releasing happy yips. “Thought so.”

Tom stays in the spare room - your room - for almost an hour, cuddling with Tessa, pondering his predicament. He’s wallowing in it, miserably staring at the ceiling and torturing himself with the ins and outs of the conversation he’d had with you. He loves you, but he understands why you wouldn’t believe him. Tom understands that he’s hurt you and that he needs to respect your choice to leave, but that doesn’t make it any less gutting.

With a sigh, Tom stands from the bed. Tessa whines, and he rubs her head fondly before walking down into the kitchen. He spots his phone on the counter and picks it up, his heart clenching as his lockscreen pops up.

It’s a photo of you both, from many months ago. It feels like a distant memory now, but when you’d first been in London, you’d gone out bowling with Tom’s family. Afterwards, you’d all retreated to the pub, and you’d shared pints all evening. At some point, Sam had taken a photo of Tom with his arm wrapped around you. You have your cheek on his shoulder, and though it’s a little blurry, it has to be his favourite photo of you together. The way you’re looking up at him is with warmth in your eyes, and it makes Tom’s heart skip a beat to remember how nice it was to be resting at your side.

Swallowing down the resentful lump in his throat, Tom opens up his texts and clicks on your contact. With cold fingers, he types out a message, altering and adding bits for a shameful amount of time before sending off the completed thing.

Tom: Have a safe flight. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. I love you and I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure it out. I love you. Xxxxxxxxxx

With that done, Tom takes himself off into the living room and throws himself onto the sofa. He grumbles as he grabs a pillow and wraps his arms around it, holding it close. He keeps checking his phone, wondering if you’ll reply. The message changes to read almost as soon as he’s sent it, but after that, nothing. It only makes his heart ache more.

So, with nothing else to do but wallow in his misery, Tom closes his eyes. He tries to sleep, and after a while, Tessa curls up beside him. Slowly but surely, the noise in his head and the pain in his chest ease off enough for him to rest, and Tom lets the world of heartbreak drift away.

Knock knock.

Tom stirs, slowly.

Knock knock knock.

“Eh?”

Knockknockknock.

Tom sits up, disorientated and dizzy. It’s dark outside, but through the blinds in the living room, he can make out that the front light is on. Someone is at the door.

With a grunt, Tom stands up. Tessa wriggles around, and he pats her head softly as he stumbles towards the porch, frowning as he tries to remember if he’s ordered anything recently. He doesn’t think he has, but maybe Harrison’s been making impulse purchases in Liverpool. Tom hopes it’s something he can eat. Fuck, he’s hungry. How long has he been asleep?

Tom pulls the door open without a second thought, still groggy and tired from his nap, and he gets the shock of his life when his eyes catch sight of the person standing nervously on his doorstep.

You.

Before he can get a word in, you’re surging forward, your arms wrapping around Tom’s figure before he can process it. A short huff leaves his chest as you hug him tightly, continuing to push him until Tom’s back is up against the wall. You kick the door shut behind you, coat dripping rain onto the floor, and then you grab his face and kiss him.

Tom kisses you back, his brain waking up the moment your lips touch his. He’s slow, but he matches your movements eagerly, his palms going to your shoulders as he kisses you messily. You’re practically vibrating, your mouth curving into a smile so prominent that Tom can feel it brushing up against his face.

You came back.

Tom pulls away, his eyes prickling with tears of surprise. “Wh-What?” He stammers, smiling when you laugh. “But your flight?”

You shake your head softly. “I couldn’t do it,” you say. “I couldn’t leave, Tom.” You brush a hand through his hair. “I love you too.”

Tom kisses you again, his hands going to your face. He cradles your cheeks as he presses his lips to your mouth, over and over again, dazzled by the lightness in his chest. His heart has never felt so warm before.

“You are spectacular,” he mumbles, gushing mindlessly against your lips. “You are- you are wonderful. You are brilliant.” He breaks off as you giggle, pausing in his dialogue to kiss you again. “You are my favourite person.” Tom pulls back, looking at you fondly. His eyes trail the familiar lines of your face and he swoons, overcome with positive emotion. “I love you.”

You kiss his cheek softly. “I’m also very wet,” you say, shaking off a dripping arm. A sheepish expression crosses your face. “I, um, might need to borrow some clothes,” you murmur. “I kind of just… Turned around and ran out of the airport.” You grin nervously. “I think my suitcase is halfway to America by now.”

Tom scoffs, nodding. “That’s okay, love. I’m just so happy that you’re here.” So happy that you came back, that you don’t hate him. So happy that you love him too.

Tom reaches out and takes your hand, kissing over your knuckles gently. A thousand stars seem to twinkle in your eyes as you look at him.

“I’m happy too.”

An hour later, you’re both sitting on Tom’s living room floor, boxes of empty takeaway stacked around haphazardly. Tom’s leaning up against the sofa, legs outstretched in front of him. His arm is wrapped around you, and you have your head resting on his shoulder, and he feels more content than he’s ever felt in his life.

“I can’t believe you left your suitcases on the plane,” he murmurs, voice gentle. You’ve been sitting together and talking all evening. He’s been spacing every few sentences with another kiss to your temple, enjoying the expressions of fondness that find your face each time his lips touch your skin. You look very cute in one of his oversized hoodies. “Did you tell anyone that you left?”

“Nah.” You sit up, stretching suddenly and yawning. You turn around to look at Tom, eyes flickering out over him until you smile mischievously. You move closer, swinging one leg over Tom’s thighs before settling in his lap, your hands falling to his shoulders. A wave of your perfume washes over him, and Tom sighs contentedly as you kiss him quickly. “I told the flight attendants, but they couldn’t get my stuff off the plane. I thought it was worth it, though.”

“Oh, definitely.” Tom can’t stop kissing you. The urge to press his lips to yours whenever he wants is too powerful to ignore. “I’ll replace it all for you, if you want,” he mutters, distracted by your mouth. “I’d buy you a whole bloody house if you wanted, darling.”

You laugh against his lips. “That’s unnecessary, Tom, but very sweet.” You pause, pulling away with a bewildered expression on your face. “My lease expired on my flat,” you say, processing the words, “So I actually don’t have anywhere to stay.”

Tom wiggles his eyebrows. “Well, luckily for you, I know someone who just so happens to have a house all to himself.” He walks his fingers over your shoulder, smiling at you. “You might be able to convince him to let you stay. I hear he’s a very generous landlord.”

“Oh yeah? Happen to know where I can find him?”

He nods, grinning. “He’s right here, love.”

Tom goes back to kissing you for a while, both of you growing giddy off chaste pecks. His lips are numb and puffy but he loves it, loves the ache and the way the back of his neck hurts from all the tugging of his hair.

There’s a phone ringing, out in the porch. Both of you ignore it, even as it rings a second and a third time. When it dies after the fourth, you pull away from Tom’s lips to roll your eyes.

“It’s mine,” you mutter, “Just ignore it. I don’t care about whatever it is.” There’s a hunger in your eyes, and Tom smiles.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he teases, earning himself a flick on the shoulder.

“Don’t call me your boss,” you scowl, scrunching up your nose. “I’m not your boss.”

“Oh, do you want me to be the boss, then?” Tom returns.

You glare at him. “No. You’re not my boss. You’re…” You trail off, and Tom tilts his head to the side, smiling softly.

“What am I, darling?”

A smile curves out across your lips. “You’re my boyfriend.”

The warmth that unfurls in Tom’s chest as he hears those words almost brings tears of relief to his eyes.

“Yeah.” He brings a hand to your face and you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. “I am.” He kisses you, softly. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, boyfriend.” You look at him for a moment before tilting your head and kissing the flat of his palm. “I am overjoyed to be your girlfriend. Your real girlfriend.”

Tom laughs, nodding his head in quick agreement. “Yeah, I-”

His phone starts ringing. It vibrates over the glass coffee table, clattering noisily, and a shadow of irritation passes over his face. You turn around, craning your neck and screwing your eyes together as you get a read on the screen.

“Shit,” you mutter, grabbing the phone and passing it to him. “It’s Rebecca.”

Tom feels his mood sink. “Fantastic.” He looks at his phone before glancing up at you. “Should I answer it?”

You sigh as you nod. “She’ll just keep phoning.”

Rather reluctantly, Tom swipes his finger over the screen, accepting the call and then putting the device on speakerphone.

“Hello?” He says.

The line crackles for a moment. “Oh, hi there, Tom,” Rebecca says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Tom glances at you. You clear your throat before replying.

“Yes, I’m here. You’re on speaker.”

Rebecca swallows so loudly that it’s audible. “What have you done?” She whispers. “Paps got you leaving the airport.”

“I changed my mind,” you say. Tom reaches down and takes your hands in his, squeezing your fingers when he hears the waver in your voice. “I didn’t want to go back to LA.”

“They also got you going back to Tom’s house. The tabloids are going crazy. Nobody knows what’s going on.” Rebecca pauses, and then sighs, deeply. “What is going on?”

“I’m staying in London,” you tell her, eyes on Tom’s face. Your lips curl into a nervous smile, and you continue to look at Tom as you speak. “We’re not… We’re not breaking up, Rebecca. I don’t care if it’s not part of the plan.”

“So… You’re actually dating?”

You hum. “Yes.”

There’s a tense few moments. The sound of rustling papers comes down the line, and Tom tries to ease you by rolling his thumb over the back of your hand. He can see the nerves in your shoulders, understands that for you, the prospect of being scolded, and possibly even dropped by your management is terrifying. He knows just as well as you how much power they have over you.

“Okay.” Rebecca sighs. “Tom?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll take care of Y/N in London?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” There’s a brief moment’s pause. “I’ll get someone from the office to call you tomorrow, Y/N. You’ll need to come back to LA to shoot your next film, but I don’t see why that needs to be immediately.”

A relieved smile splits across your face, and Tom exhales.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” you say. You lean down to rest your forehead on Tom’s shoulder, and he rubs a hand over your back. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do,” she responds. “Congratulations, you two. For what it’s worth, I think you make a lovely couple.”

The line disconnects and Tom grins, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You squeal as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, kissing the base of your neck over and over again. He works his way up to your lips, pausing briefly only to suck a light hickey just below your ear, and by the time he reaches your mouth, you’re pushing back against him, eager.

“I can’t believe that this has worked out,” he says. Tom lets you pad your thumb through his ruffled eyebrow.

“Neither,” you admit. “Feels almost anti-climactic. Every other part of this relationship has been so dramatic.”

“Oh, don’t tempt fate,” Tom says, eyes wide. “We’ve had enough drama.”

You laugh, nodding in fast agreement. “You certainly have a point there.”

You crack open a few beers and end up chatting in the kitchen together, the hours slipping away. Tom sits across from you, holding your hand as you talk, and talk, and talk, covering every topic beneath the sun. There have been so many taboo subjects that neither of you have felt confident enough to bring up over the course of your fake relationship, and you take the time to work them through - together.

Tom finally admits that he’s had a crush on you since you first met. You tell him that you’d only suggested the one night stand because you’d wanted to be close to him. He counters that by opening up about how stressed he’d been before his failed revelation of love.

You laugh together, you cry together. Then you move on, together.

“C’mon, Tom.” You stand up, smiling, and walk around the table to pull him up. Tom gets to his feet, his body full of a nice, lulling buzz from the beers he’d drank. You lean in and peck his cheek before tugging him towards the patio doors. “It’s too hot in here, isn’t it?”

Tom hums. He can feel the red flush to his cheeks. “We could go shower.”

You turn around to grin at him. “Or…” Dropping his hand, you twirl the lock on the patio doors and pull them open. You look back at Tom, smiling. “Care to take a dance in the rain with me, lover?”

Tom blinks a few times, looking at you curiously. “Sure,” he agrees. As you pull off your hoodie, he pulls out his phone and then turns on one of the bluetooth speakers that sits by the door. “What do you want to listen to?”

“Something romantic,” you respond.

There’s a frown of concentration on Tom’s face as he scrolls through his Spotify, but it clears when he finds a playlist of some classic love songs. He shuffles it and Elvis drifts through the air as he puts down his phone and shakes off his hoodie.

“This is very random,” he tells you, accepting your hand. You tug him out onto the patio, into the night sky, and Tom feels his t-shirt begin to dampen. It’s no longer pouring with rain, but it’s still drizzling enough to be noticeable.

“Well, I had a reason,” you murmur. Together, you do a bit of a dance. Tom grins as you spin around, laughing brightly as droplets of water stick to your face. You have fun for a while, and you even spin Tom around too, but then you both get dizzy and settle back into a loose slow-dance position, your arms around his neck as Tom perches his hands on your waist. Your foreheads press together. “I used to think about this,” you admit.

“Dancing in the rain?”

“No, no.” You pause to kiss him. Your lips are warm against his skin. “We’d used to see one another at all the shows. Oscars, BAFTA, Golden Globes… And we’d argue, or brood, and just generally be miserable.”

“I’m following.”

“Well.” You shift your face into the crook of Tom’s shoulder, kissing his neck a few times. “I always wondered what it’d be like to sneak off with you, and just… Have fun. Do something crazy. Have a couple drinks and dance. I didn’t… I didn’t like you, but I always thought we’d be able to have fun together. If you weren’t always such a dick.”

Tom hums, resting a hand on the back of your head. Raindrops pour down his face, but it’s nice. He can feel the weight of his heart pouring onto the ground, swept away with the water.

“Well, I hope we can have many fun nights together, love.”

You pull back to look up at him, water droplets clinging to your eyelashes. Both of your hands shift to Tom’s face, and you smile. It really is very romantic, swaying together in the rain, soft romantic tones in the air. You feel so warm wrapped up in his arms.

“I hope so too.” You have mascara running down your cheeks. “Plenty more nights in London like this, please.”

Tom nods. “Plenty more nights together.” He brings you back in, hand soft on the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest. Tom lets his lips rest against your head. “I love you,” he says. He can’t seem to stop saying it, thinks you must be fed up with the number of times he’s sprinkled the three special words into conversation. He just can’t help it. Now he’s open with his heart, he wants you to know, completely and without any shred of doubt, that he loves you. He never wants you to question it again.

Your hands sink into his hair, and Tom sighs happily as you play with his wet curls.

“Love you too.”

The two of you last another ten minutes before getting too cold, and then you take a shower together. Tom lays you down in his bed and you kiss some more, before things get a little raunchier. He tells you that he loves you in every way he can, and it feels like the two of you have knitted your souls together as he holds you afterwards, the bedroom full of a tranquil glow.

Tom’s hand is on your cheek, fingers stroking gently over the soft skin of your face. You look so beautiful, hair a mess, eyes bright.

“Isn’t it funny,” you say, softly, “how we’ve ended up like this?”

Tom hums, his pinky nudging against your hair. “We’re lucky. Such a mad world we live in.”

You release a warm chuckle, nodding. “Our world is crazy. Fame is… Insane.” You pause for a moment. “It’s the whole reason this happened. Management wanted me to stay on top, didn’t want my image to get shattered because of that kiss. They wanted me to win the game.”

Tom tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“The fame game,” you reply, smiling. You inch nearer to kiss him quickly, and Tom finds himself chasing your lips. For a few moments, you’re both distracted, and you further intertwine, Tom’s arms hooking around your waist as he holds you close.

“The fame game,” Tom repeats, nose nudging yours. “That’s a funny way to put it.”

You shrug. “Just the way I like to think about it. Making it seem like a game made it easier when this started. It was all just a performance until it became real.”

“I like that.”

“Me too.” Your hands are on his shoulders, fingers trailing Tom’s warm skin. “The game always has its winners and its losers, Tom.”

“And what are we?”

You kiss him, softly. Your lips linger against his. Tom feels so much gratitude and love for you that his eyes prick with tears.

“The winners, of course.”

↠ EPILOGUE

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #i feel so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#yes i cried. and what about it.#tfg #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Note

I've been thinking about your Ruthari angst prompts and idk if that's even allowed 😅 but what do you think about a mixture of 3 and 11? 👀

Okay, so I wanted to play with the arranged marriage au for a bit, and these two lines landed like they might be part of negotiations. So here you go:

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” and “How am I supposed to go on?”

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Runaan paced slowly at Ethari’s side as they circled the fog-shrouded gardens of the Silvergrove Council House for the seventh time, matching the craftsman’s easy amble. The assassin had begun their negotiations with his hands clasped behind his back as they trod the well-worn path just inside the pale filigree wall that ringed the grounds. Now they hung loose at his sides, after over an hour of conversation that gradually found its rhythm. Ethari was surprisingly easy to converse with, so far. Runaan wasn’t certain he really approved of the taller elf’s playful mindset, but his easy forgiveness and acceptance had soothed away a lot of Runaan’s initial worries.

Runaan kept his face carefully forward as they walked, not wishing to indicate any weakness by glancing Ethari’s way too often, but he kept Ethari’s boots in the corner of his eye so he didn’t walk too fast and leave him behind.

I could. I could leave him behind. I’m faster, stronger. But my life has never been mine to direct. It belongs to Xadia. And so does my heart. Runaan took a slow breath as Ethari thoughtfully contemplated his reply, nibbling at his lip. My heart for Xadia. So, my heart for Ethari, as much as I can manage it.

“I suppose,” Ethari began slowly, “I would do whatever the council wished me to do.”

That was the best answer Runaan could have expected. Ethari had a deep sense of duty that overrode his personal feelings, just as Runaan did. Another thread of tension loosened in his shoulders. No one understood duty like an assassin, but the council had selected Ethari from among all the eligible craftsmen in the Silvergrove. He was the best they could find. But Runaan was the one who’d marry him, and he needed to be sure, too. And now, to his relief, he was sure. Ethari was willing to do his duty, no matter what.

Good. He’ll need that as much as I do.

“Would they make me marry the next assassin leader, too, do you suppose?” Ethari continued. He looked further ahead on their circular path, as if he could see such a dark future already looming.

Runaan blinked in surprise. He shifted himself out of the equation--an easy habit of long practice--and considered the idea. “It depends on what sort of match we have, I think.”

“How do you mean?” Ethari’s voice was carefully distant, unwilling to give any indication of interest either way.

Runaan pouted thoughtfully. “Well, if we match well in skill, if your crafting is of high quality and I perform admirably with your weapons, then the council will be inclined to match you with another assassin so you can continue to perform your valuable services.”

“Hmm.”

Runaan glanced over from beneath a single raised brow at Ethari’s noncommittal noise. “You don’t agree?”

“Does the council take feelings into consideration in situations like that?” Ethari asked.

“Feelings?” Runaan scoffed lightly. Feelings never protected anyone from anything. They were more likely to cause chaos than bring order.

Ethari shot him an uncertain glance. “Yes, feelings. What if...?” He looked away abruptly.

“You worry they would match you with a woman?” Runaan guessed.

A tiny smile flickered at the corner of Ethari’s lips and vanished. “That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh. What, then?”

Ethari glanced across the gardens, to where the lacy arches of the Council House faded into the mist. “Can I ask you for a favor, Runaan?”

Runaan’s spine straightened. A personal request from his intended? This was the sort of thing he would be expected to agree to, wasn’t it? They were to be partners, allies, for the protection of Xadia and the Silvergrove. But soft subjects were merely practice for the important things. That was Runaan’s takeaway after Tiadrin sat him down and gave him a thorough talking-to, anyway. “Of course,” he responded. He had no idea what to expect, but he was intensely curious what could prompt Ethari to ask for a personal boon just then. “Anything you like.”

The craftsman’s eyes scanned the foggy garden until he spotted something that met with his approval. He held out a broad-palmed hand toward Runaan. “Will you come with me for a moment?”

Runaan stilled, studying the outstretched hand so easily offered. I suppose I should get used to this elf’s touch sooner rather than later, he reasoned. Slowly, he placed his gloved hand in Ethari’s, resting it there as lightly as a landing bird.

Ethari grinned warmly and gave Runaan’s hand a gentle squeeze. Then he towed him past a couple of short fruit trees that were just budding their spring leaves, until they were entirely hidden from sight, against the outer wall of the gardens. He pulled Runaan to face him and gave him a secretive smile. “Here, this’ll do.”

Runaan glanced around uncertainly. “For what?”

Ethari glanced down, suddenly bashful. “I, I thought we should kiss. To get used to it. They’ll expect it of us in public from time to time.”

Runaan’s brows lowered. “We don’t have to kiss.”

Ethari’s shoulders slumped a little. “Do you mean right now, or... ever...?”

Runaan’s expression tightened as he struggled with these unfamiliar notions Ethari was creating in him. “We are to be wed for the good of the SIlvergrove, Ethari. You are a craftsman of immense skill, and I am to become the leader of the assassins. Our union will stabilize the chaos of the past few years and ensure a brighter future for everyone. Kissing...” Runaan shook his head slowly, baffled. “Kissing doesn’t enter into it.”

“Kissing doesn’t--?” Ethari blurted. “Runaan...”

Perplexed at Ethari’s sudden outburst, the assassin took a moment to look him up and down, seeking some reason for his intense reaction. But he saw only a tall, frustrated craftsman before him, clearly in on some secret Runaan did not possess. It seemed he’d have to ask out loud for it. “What?”

“You fool.” Ethari’s hands were on his cheeks in a heartbeat, pulling him closer. Runaan’s sound of protest was trapped in his mouth as Ethari’s lips found his, hard and urgent, driving him back against the garden wall. Runaan backed into it with enough force to draw a grunt from his chest.

Ethari chased him there, pressing himself flush against Runaan, pinning him with writhing eagerness. At the sound of Runaan’s grunt, he let out a low, grinding moan to match, sieving his fingers into the assassin’s hair.

Don’t stab him. Do not stab him. He wouldn’t understand. This is for Xadia. The thought flared red in Runaan’s mind, tangled and fragmented by a truly frightening amount of heated sensations that burst out of nowhere and swarmed him like a cloud of moon moths seeking escape, finding none. What is... what is he doing to me... what is this...

A stifled groan slipped through Runaan’s teeth. Instead of shoving Ethari away as he felt would be proper for such an uninvited assault, Runaan found his hands knotting in Ethari’s shirt and tugging him closer still. He wrapped a leg around Ethari’s ass and snugged their bodies together, lost in the grip of unreasoning neediness.

“Nnngh.” Ethari’s moan nibbled its way along Runaan’s jaw and nipped at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Runaan arched against his lips, tilting his chin up, bucking his hips forward with a soft cry.

Ethari steadied himself with a grip on a swirly amid the pattern in the filigree wall. His other hand teased beneath the lower edge of Runaan’s shirt, and his words rang breathlessly in Runaan’s ear. “Runaan... I’ve always loved you... always... You make me so happy, this is a dream come true...”

“Aah!” Runaan tore himself away and stumbled a couple of steps sideways, panting heavily. His body throbbed in all the best places, his skin was flushed, his pupils blown. But he held out a hand to ward Ethari off. “You tricked the council?” he puffed. “You lied to them?”

Bereft, shocked, Ethari made an abortive reach toward Runaan and then stopped. “What? No!”

“They asked me if I had any attachments.” Runaan’s voice was cold, but why wouldn’t Runaan’s heart settle? It insisted on galloping across the Forest like a wild moonstrider. “I said no, so I was approved for consideration. And it was the truth.”

“I... Runaan, it wasn’t a lie! I’d never told you. There was no attachment to lie about.”

“There was in your heart.”

Baffled, breathless, desperate, Ethari took a step forward with his hands out pleadingly. “How is that a bad thing? I told them nothing of my feelings. I let them decide, for the good of the Silvergrove. And now that it’s decided, I’m telling you the truth! Isn’t that what couples do when they trust each other?”

Runaan’s brows drew down, and he thought searchingly through the wild storm of his feelings, seeking the hard edges of something reliable. Ah. There. He tucked his hands behind his back--the better to keep them off this deceptively charming elf before him--and straightened up into a formal assassin pose. “That’s just it, Ethari. I don’t trust you. We don’t know each other that well. And we’re not a couple. We’re a team--or trying to be--serving Xadia first and foremost. And you just admitted that you’re capable of deceiving the whole village council--and me--to get what you want. You told me you’d marry whoever the council paired you with, if I fell, but that’s not true, is it? You’ve put your needs above those of the many. And that, I cannot abide.”

Genuine fear bled across Ethari’s face as Runaan’s words sank in. “Runaan, please don’t... Are you calling this off?” His bottom lip trembled, and he pressed a shaking fist against his mouth. “Please don’t tell me I’ve ruined everything, please, please...” He closed his eyes and stood there, vulnerable, exposed. “You’re right. You’re right. It probably isn’t true. If I lose you to the humans someday, I won’t want to marry another. I just want to be with you. If...” His sunset eyes searched the mists for answers and flew back to meet Runaan’s stern gaze. “If I lose you--later, or right now--how am I supposed to go on?”

Runaan’s jaw worked as he stared at the pleading craftsman. His touch had been electric, dazzling. Runaan craved it again already. But such neediness would be an imbalance that could cost him in a critical moment--and if he fell, then his entire purpose was at risk. His head scrambled for distance even as his heart thrummed with eager heat. “I cannot trust you, Ethari. That must be the base tenet of this relationship, or we cannot serve Xadia as it requires.”

In true distress, Ethari grabbed his own horns and turned away, pacing erratically, muttering “No, no, no” through his teeth. Then he whirled back to face Runaan. “Please, I promise you, I won’t give you any further cause to doubt me. Let me prove myself. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.”

Runaan stalked closer until they stood nose to nose. “I need you to give your heart to Xadia. Not to me.”

“Done,” Ethari blurted. His gaze clung to Runaan’s face, and he trembled with tension, his fate hanging in the balance.

Runaan’s gaze betrayed him, falling for a single moment from those urgent eyes to his intended’s full lips, before snapping back up. He gritted his teeth, tugged his shirt smooth of Ethari’s recent elfhandling, and added roughly, “And don’t you dare kiss me again. You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Ethari looked down. “I’m sorry. It... won’t happen again.” His voice faded to a whisper like a wounded animal crawling into the shadows to die.

“How am I supposed to go on?” Ethari’s words echoed in Runaan’s mind, and he relented a little. “Wait. This is to be an alliance. I must consider your feelings, however... misguided, if we are to make this work, yes?” Ethari will make a solid ally, at least. I cannot say the same for every craftsman in the Silvergrove. I may never find an easier or stronger connection than this.

Ethari looked up from beneath his downcast brows, curious but not hopeful. “I suppose so,” he allowed uncertainly.

Runaan nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do the kissing, when it’s appropriate. You were right: they will expect it from time to time. Does this meet with your satisfaction?”

Ethari stared at him for a long moment and sighed dully. “I’ll take it.“

Runaan’s brows drew together. He’d expected Ethari to be delighted, grateful, that Runaan had considered his feelings and made allowances. Wasn’t that how these negotiations were supposed to work? Moon help me, I may just be making this worse... is it too late to take it all back and just let him kiss me again? That was... hnnngh...

Runaan opened his mouth to admit he was wrong, but Ethari spoke first.

“My heart for Xadia.” The craftsman offered his hand again, hesitantly.

Runaan studied that open palm again. Holding hands. A decent compromise in itself. He took it softly and nodded.

Together, hand in hand and worlds apart, the betrothed elves made their way through the mists to the Council House. For Xadia.

#ruthari angst #tdp angst #ruthari arranged marriage au #runaan #ethari #ruthari #my writing #tdp ficlet #tdp fanfic #HI HELLO WOW THIS IS ANGSTY AND I KIND OF LOVE IT #THE PINING GUYS THE PINING #RUNAAN SLOWLY FALLING IN LOVE #AND NOT WILLING TO ADMIT IT #ETHARI FEELING UNLOVED AND BEING SO SO WRONG #HELP MEEEEE

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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The Fight (Bit 10)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10

Gordon took over this one. I have no idea what is going on. This is complete blather with no direction at all. I give up ::throws hands up in the air and stalks off::

1126 words

-o-o-o-

She spoilt herself that night. A nice long bath, takeaway and a good book curled up in bed. She desperately needed to distract her mind from the expression on Rory’s face.

There were tears. A few for release, some of sorrow and a couple due to frustration at trying to work out how to help her student.

At one point she found herself searching the net regarding his father. What she found was minimal but far from encouraging.

She had to put it aside and leave it for work tomorrow.

As expected, neither boy was at school for several days. Alan handed in his work via email with a reassuring word that he would be back the following week and that his Grandma said his eye should be better within a fortnight.

Anna stared at the letters on the screen for a full minute wondering exactly where Alan was writing from. His and Gordon’s enrolment listed them as both residents of Kumeu.

Yet she knew IR was in the South Pacific somewhere. Rockets just didn’t fit in suburban backyards.

She had jogged past the house they claimed to own and it was nice enough. Perfect garden, a little bigger than average, neat and tidy. Alan did walk home after school and she had no doubt that was where he went. But she had never seen a guardian other than Scott since Mr Tracy’s passing. Maybe that was where their grandmother lived? Three days later while on her morning jog the sight of Kyrano standing in that perfect garden, eyes tracking her as she approached, gave her an answer...and the heebee-jeebies. She waved a little hesitantly and received a single nod in return.

His eyes tracked her until she could no longer see him.

So Alan stayed with Kyrano? She was so deep in thought she didn’t even see the person she collided with until she did.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Neither of them had fallen, but she had hit hard.

Taking a step back she realised she had nearly bowled over Gordon Tracy.

“Hey, Ms K!”

“Gordon?” Her muscles sung with blood flow, her chest panting just enough to know she was getting the exercise level she needed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Eh, my fault, too. Was thinking. How are you doing?”

A blink. “I’m good. How is Alan?”

“Sporting one hell of a shiner. He has documented it extensively.”

“Documented?”

“Well, there comes a time in a boy’s life where he earns his first shiner...”

“Gordon!”

“What?”

Her flat-eyed glare communicated enough. He had a lot of experience reading it.

“Hey, what did I do?”

“I can guess.”

He grinned with just enough mischief to know that he had probably convinced Alan that a black eye was a medal of honour or some such.

“You are incorrigible.”

That just made his grin widen. “Yeah. I am.”

He was wearing the ever predictable tracksuit and carrying a bag no doubt full of swimwear and accessories. “How goes the training?”

“Perfectly. Your excellent Aotearoa has world class training facilities just a few miles thataway and I am making extensive use of them.”

“So, you are staying here with Mr Kyrano?”

“Kyrano? Yeah, me, Tin and Allie hang together when Scott, Virg and Johnny are being all heroic. Kyrano puts up with us.” He frowned. “Have you met Kyrano? He’s not one for easy introduction.”

She could agree with that.

“Yes, he appeared at the school after the altercation between your brothers and Mr MacIntyre.”

Gordon grunted at that.

“How’s Virgil?”

“Making me glad I’m on this Island and not that one.”

Her query must have appeared on her face because he followed up that statement immediately. “Virgil hates being grounded and grounded he is. Which means he is a cranky ass. John’s had to come down to assist Scott and isn’t any happier. Scott’s worried about Virgil, Alan and now John as well because...” A frown. “...well, because he is John and not Virgil, I guess. But in any case, Tracy Island is cranky Island and I’m quite happy to be here, thank you very much.”

Blink. “So, Alan is on the Island.”

“Yep, leaving me and Tin to some blissful peace and quiet.” Gordon appeared very happy about that.

She had no idea who Tin was and she wasn’t going to ask.

“If you see any of them, give them my best. I’m looking forward to having Alan back in class.”

“Sure, will do. And same to you Ms K.” Gordon’s grin was truly an infectious thing.

“Thank you, Gordon.”

His grin just got wider as he turned to resume his walk towards that house. “Nice seeing you again.” He spun around and started walking backwards. She suddenly had waggly finger guns waving at her. “You know, don’t be a stranger. You were one of the cool ones.” A pause punctuated by distracted finger firearms. “You know what, you should ask Virg to show you some of his fireworks. That would help him out of his grump and add a whole new dimension to science class.”

She smiled. “We’ve already done that component for this year, Gordon. Alan showed me the recording of you running down the beach with your pants on fire.”

The finger guns froze. “He did?” He eyed her. “You or the whole class?”

Her smile split into a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His flat eyed glare showed that she had managed to teach him at least something at some point. “I guess he still has one eye available.”

“Gordon.” His name was pure warning.

“I’m kidding.”

“You better be.”

“Hmph.”

She may have to email Alan a heads up.

“Okay then, invite Virg in to discuss the eco-internal combustion engine. The grease monkey would love it.” His eyes widened. “Or the theory of clockwork. Big bro is a secret steampunk. Give him some cogs and gears and he’ll play all day. All that engineering design stuff is his jam.”

“Because he’s an engineer?”

“Well, yeah, but mostly because he could do with a distraction.”

“He’s injured.”

“One broken rib.”

“Isn’t one enough?”

Gordon shrugged. “Not enough to stop him from driving everyone up the wall.”

“He was protecting your brother.”

“Of course he was. And now he is doing his best to convince Scott and everyone else that life is no longer worth living.”

“Gordon...”

“Hey, it’s only a suggestion. Get him out of our hair, give you a free demonstration. He even has a clockwork chicken.”

“A clockwork chicken?”

“Yeah, he said he needed something to cross the road.” Gordon’s grin was massive.

Anna just stared at him.

“What?” All grinning innocence.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you.”

His grin just got wider.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Anna Kent

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megashadowdragon · 3 years

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It has been called many things- the unwalkable disease, gutta (drop), podagra, arthritis of the rich, and the disease of kings (which sounded suitably dramatic for a title).

But we more commonly call it gout.

Doran Martell suffers from an advanced stage of gout, perhaps even exaggerated, since he has had his movement restricted to such a degree that nearly all motion is difficult without severe pain. (I'm not a doctor so, I can't say for certain)

Gout as a Facet of Doran's Character

We know that Doran is in constant pain, that it prevents sleep, and he finds no hope in medical treatment curing his disease.

The prince turned his chair laboriously to face her. Though he was but two-and-fifty, Doran Martell seemed much older. His body was soft and shapeless beneath his linen robes, and his legs were hard to look upon. The gout had swollen and reddened his joints grotesquely; his left knee was an apple, his right a melon, and his toes had turned to dark red grapes, so ripe it seemed as though a touch would burst them. Even the weight of a coverlet could make him shudder, though he bore the pain without complaint.

For comparison here is a testimony from a patient with gout in a single leg:

"The patient goes to bed and sleeps quietly until about two in the morning when he is awakened by a pain which usually seizes the great toe, but sometimes the heel, the calf of the leg or the ankle. The pain resembles that of a dislocated bone ... and this is immediately succeeded by a chillness, shivering and a slight fever ... the pain ..., which is mild in the beginning ..., grows gradually more violent every hour ... so exquisitely painful as not to endure the weight of the clothes nor the shaking of the room from a person walking briskly therein."

That is what Doran endures each day, constantly. Even the weight of a sheet would make the man shudder.

It is no wonder to me that he loves watching the little children splash and laugh and play in the Water Gardens. I imagine each glance must be bittersweet- imaging a time when he could run and splash with the other children, or watching Oberyn and Elia do the same. Knowing that now, his mobility, his autonomy has been taken from him, just as his siblings have been taken, leaving him unable to move, and unable to act.

Doran must be quite aware of how the children view him, and he takes special care to put them at ease, even at his own increased pain.

Then nought would do but he must say farewell to several of the children who had become especial favorites... Doran kept a splendid Myrish blanket over his legs as he spoke with them, to spare the young ones the sight of his swollen, bandaged joints

That splendid Myrish blanket sounds heavy with adornment (or even fabric) knowing that even a light coverlet's pressure pained him before this must be agony. It is my opinion that this blanket is as much for Prince Doran as it is for the children. He invites many children to the Water Gardens, a virtual safe haven free from class differences, a near oasis, the Prince entertains them, and it seems he must speak with them and come to know many of them. So much so, that he must say good bye.

Prince Doran carefully guards his image, this is part of the reason they left Sunspear nearly two years ago- he was getting sicker and needed to retreat from the whispers that filled the Shadow City. In the Water Garden's he is better able to project strength and wellness- his people clearly are unaware of how far his gout has progressed.

That this performance also extends to the children speaks to some form of painful self awareness on Doran's part- he doesn't want to expose his legs and upset them. I think he also doesn't want to see the children's faces and face their questions if they saw his legs.

Mobility and Autonomy

Something as simple as walking, is a thing we often take for granted. Doran can't get up to pour a glass of water, he needs help sitting up each day, he cannot support his weight enough to stand. It's paralyzing, it shrinks your perspective down to minute motions where every move is weighed by how much pain it will cause.

I think we can see this same restriction in his political moves as well- a painful reflection of his limited physical autonomy.

Hotah slid his longaxe into its sling across his back and gathered the prince into his arms, tenderly so as not to jar his swollen joints. Even so, Doran Martell bit back a gasp of pain... Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome

The Prince of Dorne had to be carried from his seat, in the arms of his guard, up the steps of a tower to his bedroom. For a man in such a medieval martial society, that frames its conceptions of strength over acts of physical strength and war, which scorns physical disability, this must be a humiliating experience.

A Thimble of Poppy

It's after this day of bad news, of constant increasing pain, that we finally see a true crack in Doran Martell's armor. First the letter, which brought news of his brother's death, then his nieces repeated threats and calls for war (Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene), and humiliation from each we see him ask for a thimble of milk of the poppy. I'm not certain why, but these words (even after watching Maester Caelotte worry over possible poisoning) were very sad to read.

Doran has reached a wall, a point where he doesn't care anymore about keeping a clear head and frame of mind. He just wants relief, that constant spike in every joint, to be muted and fade to the background for a while.

Treatment

It seems that his gout has grown quite worse in the last few years:

Two years ago, when they had left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step

Although gout has been treated in our own history for more than 2,000 years, it does not appear that the more advanced medicine of westeros (compared to our medieval history) has developed even basic treatments.

Since the time of Hippocrates we have known that gout was linked to lifestyle, and since Galen we've known that there are genetic factors associated with its development. For both of these periods gout was treated with a flower called the Autumn crocus- a powerful purgative (colchicine) was derived from it.

Strangely, there doesn't appear to be much help for it in westeros.

Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?” The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?” “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?” “No. I need my wits about me

In my opinion, this implies that the treatment automatically given is milk of the poppy. A pain reliever which would impair Doran's judgement- and milk of the poppy seems to fit (barring a more specific remedy we haven't heard of).

We also have reference to:

the maester helped Doran Martell to bathe and bandaged up his swollen joints in linen wraps soaked with soothing lotions

Although, I don't expect Hotah to be knowledgeable about the exact methods the maester uses to treat Doran- Hotah is in the third best position to know how the Prince is being treated (after Maester Caelotte, and Doran himself).

Lifestyle

Doran does not appear to have been given treatment options regarding his lifestyle.

A serving man brought him a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste. He ate a bit of it, and drank a cup of the sweet, heavy strongwine that he loved. When it was empty, he filled it once again.

This is, perhaps, the worst dinner Doran could have eaten in regards to his gout. Yet, it also is terribly mundane (by which I mean- likely a meal consumed regularly and not an indulgence). It is a staple meal- flatbread, cheese, and hummus. Simple, and certainly not King's Landing fare. But it is loaded with sugar, salt, and alcohol. All things which make gout worse- much worse.

We have another example:

He had decided to break his fast before he went, with a blood orange and a plate of gull’s eggs diced with bits of ham and fiery peppers

This is just as bad- sugar and meat- another food which exasperates his condition. One of the first lifestyle changes used as treatment was the elimination of alcohol, sweet foods from the diet.

It doesn't appear that Doran is remaining sick with gout to raise his popularity (as it was in our own history)

Gout (Everyone's Doing it These Days)

"The common cold is well named – but the gout seems instantly to raise the patient's social status", and to another in Punch in 1964, "In keeping with the spirit of more democratic times, gout is becoming less upper-class and is now open to all ... It is ridiculous that a man should be barred from enjoying gout because he went to the wrong school."

Nor does it appear that the gout is being used to ward off other more serious diseases (the gout seems extremely concerning)

In earlier times, attacks of gout were also seen as a prophylactic against more serious diseases. According to the writer Horace Walpole, gout "prevents other illnesses and prolongs life ... could I cure that gout, should not I have a fever, a palsy, or an apoplexy?"

My Takeaway:

I took a course on the intersection of disease, medicine, and history a while ago as a fun class- after reading this chapter again (Hotah I AFFC) I don't find him boring or lackluster anymore. If anything, Doran is incredibly human, and extremely relatable once you break him down.

He lives very much inside his own mind, I imagine wherever he is, Doran is always in the Water Garden's in his own head, seeing himself, Elia, and Oberyn shouting and splashing, as they were never able in childhood.

(Note: This is all said in the context of this one chapter, I haven't reread the next in the Dorne storyline yet.)

comments : I am not a medical student, so probably take my words with a grain of salt. Based on the source I listed below, it’s very universally known that sweets, alcohol, and meat (even sugar from fruit) exacerbate gout. The “drops” (Uric acid that builds into crystals in joints) is worsened by large amounts of sugar. (Like in the strongwine that Doran enjoys)Cherries do have sugar, not as much as other fruit, but I think they might have been referring to a combination of cherries and allopurinol which is used to reduce the amount of uric acid.Some older treatments of gout (that originated in the 19th c) basically attempted to purge the body of uric acid through urine. To my knowledge they use other methods today, but it must have been at least mildly effective (I remember reading about negative effects of such purgative treatment- so I’m not entirely sure).

#asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #doran martell #asoiaf meta

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Highland Destiny Chapter 10 ~Spring Has Sprung~

"Ah, Jamie come in, come in...take a seat." Ned Gowan motioned with a wave of his hands as Jamie was ushered into his office by his secretary. "I'm so glad ye can come. I will try and make this as quick as possible."

Ned Gowan, Fraser's family lawyer, had called early Monday morning after the weekend of the ball, urging James Fraser to see him as soon as possible.

"Ned, ye said it's an emergency?" Jamie shook the elderly man's hand before sitting down.

Ned Gowan took some papers from his desk drawer and stacked them neatly in a row in front of him. "Aye, it concerns Château Cheval Blanc. I personally think ye should put off the sales of yer shares...weel at least for now until I can establish the validity of my theory. I have reason to believe that our mystery shareholder may soon surface. But before I proceed, I do have a question...do ye know or have ye heard of the name Jonathan Edward Randall? Or if by any chance your uncle mentioned the name in the past."

"Jonathan...Jonathan," Jamie's brow furrowed in concentration as he uttered the name. "Aye, uncle mentioned that name a few times when I worked in his winery as a young lad. An old foe he once said...set on destroying him...I believe that's what uncle said. I understand that this person has been deceased for some time."

Ned's eyes lit up and quickly leafed through one of the stacks of papers. "Hmmm, interesting ye should say that. Firstly, we have a couple of the late Jonathan Edward Randall's lawyers enquiring about yer shares, and I find that quite suspicious considering Randall is long dead. Secondly, not too long ago, we dug up some old business records from Frédéric de Marillac. And as it turned out, Jonathan Edward Randall was once his business associate and long-standing friend. They go a long way back when they were students in Oxford. From your statement, there is a high probability that Frédéric de Marillac had been buying the shares for Jonathan Edward Randall. We have found a copy of one particular shareholder agreement. This contract was especially drawn-up for de Marillac, meaning this did not apply to all shareholders. There are two paragraphs I find highly interesting in de Marillac's contract. First one is, it states here, he may assign a successor to his shares without the approval of the other shareholders and the second one states here that upon the death of the shareholder, the deceased shareholder stocks are to be bequeathed to the next of kin. Yer uncle must have been quite desperate to sign such a contract. Now, Jonathan Edward Randall's next of kin was Franklin Wolverton Randall or also known as Frank Randall."

His thoughts were on Claire and were only half-listening to Ned Gowan when Jamie suddenly sat straight up. "Frank Randall?"

Ned ignored the interruption and carried on. "Now Frank Randall died five years ago and left behind a widow. At the moment we cannot find any documents of the widow's name. It's as if her identity has been erased overnight. This should have been a public record, but we cannot find Frank Randall's marriage certificate. But we did find phone records of de Marillac contacting Frank Randall's former residence. But there are no records of that contact reciprocated. And last but not least, we were able to acquire a bank transfer statement with a substantial amount of money sent to de Marillac. And this money came from Jonathan Edward Randall. To summarise the hypothesis, the money transferred, we believe was used to buy the shares. And because of the agreement signed between your uncle and de Marillac, we have reason to believe that Frank Randall's widow is our elusive shareholder by default. She is Frank Randall's next of kin."

Dhia Claire! Jamie was dumbfounded. "What is the probability that yer theory is correct? I thought the secret shareholder hold only 15% of the share."

Ned Gowan leaned back on his chair and smiled, looking satisfied with himself. "We found in some old records that the 15% share was under Frank Randall's name, making the probability of my theory very high, but I have a few people investigating and will confirm in the next few days. The good news is if the widow does surface, and we can prove that de Marillac's shares are legally hers, ye can make an attempt to buy it from her. With yer charm and popularity with the ladies, I don't think that should be too difficult for ye. So Jamie lad, what do you propose we do next once we have established the name of our secret shareholder?"

"Sell my shares to the secret shareholder at a fraction of the price, " Jamie answered, his face expressionless.

"What!?!"

..........

Claire got out of her car. She had been expecting the garden to be unkempt and over-grown, but instead, found a well-kept yard with arrays of wildflowers, herbs and spring flowers in full bloom. It had been three weeks since she was last at the cottage and it was on the night before she left for the St. Agnes Charity Ball. Claire had been staying at Joe's, and he was kind enough to let her stay in his apartment, considering he lived half the time at Gail's townhouse. He had insisted Claire stayed for as long as she needed knowing she wasn't in the right place to be alone in the cottage.

Ever since the night she walked away from Jamie, he had been continually trying to reach her via phone, messages, emails and sometimes through her friends. It took a lot of willpower not to succumb to his pleas, but Claire knew she needed the time and space for herself to heal and to sort out her feelings. She had been astounded at the force of her anger and intensity of her pain during that disastrous night. She knew she never wanted to feel that way again.

Geillis had been a blessing throughout the past few weeks. She had taken upon herself to take care of Claire's needs: retrieving a few of her clothes from the cottage and her car, admonishing Jamie for his stupidity and acting as their mediator. Geillis had found out the whole truth after hollering and shouting all sorts of abuse at Jamie when she came to the cottage. He had been silent, contrite and close to tears which was very much a far cry from the self-assured and cocky Jamie she knew from all the years she had known him. And of course, there was that headline news from the Daily Mail, much to the horror of Claire, plastered on the front page, DISTILLERY KING DITCHES FIANCEE FOR LADY IN RED. There were two photos under the headline. One was of a scowling Jamie dragging Annalise and another of Claire and Jamie kissing. Bloody tacky journalistic piece of shit! She had thought then.

"Claire, what do ye want to do? Ye cannae hide here forever. Do ye love him?" Geillis had asked one evening over takeaway dinner.

"Oh, I do Geillis. I wouldn't be in this mess if I didn't. But I'm scared... too scared..."

"Och come here." Geillis had gathered Claire to her arms. "Listen, hen, it's reasonable to be scared, but runnin' away wilnae help. I've known Jamie since he was a wee laddie. Ah ken he'd done a lot of stupid things in th' past, but he'd done a lot of good too, like puttin' a lot of money in St. Agnes' restoration an' other stuff like that. He's got a big heart, an' th' media hae portrayed him a playboy. Sure he had other women in th' past, but ah have ne'er seen him in such a state before. He's in love wi' ye, Claire, an' it breaks mah heart that both of ye are sufferin' like this."

Claire had given Geillis' words a lot of thought, and she knew she had to confront Jamie sooner or later. So it was on one untypical warm spring day, on the way to the garden centre when she decided to stop by the cottage. It was on the spur of the moment decision as if some force of nature was guiding her. She was dressed in jean shorts, a white sweatshirt with a Union Jack print and white sneakers. She had been planning on taking a walk in the open fields after plant shopping.

The cottage was tranquil when she arrived, and she didn't see Jamie's vehicle or noticed any presence. She had quickly gotten out of the car before she could change her mind but not before taking an A4 size envelope she meant to give to Jamie from the compartment. She knew Jamie had stayed in the cottage all that while and he had told Geillis he will only leave if Claire wished it. Secretly, Claire was glad he stayed.

Walking through the front garden, she was amazed at how beautiful it had turned out to be. It had been her plan ever since she arrived to plant some medicinal herbs and wildflowers and put a trellis on the cottage exterior wall for some climbing plants. It seemed someone had already done the job for her.

Inside the cottage, everything was spic and span, and in every room, there was a vase with a bouquet of wildflowers in assorted colours. She was just placing the envelope on the coffee table in the living room when she felt a presence from the doorway. She turned around and saw a very stunned Jamie standing there. Claire didn't even hear him come in.

"Sassenach..." His voice was almost a whisper. Jamie's hair was a tad bit longer and curlier from his usual wavy locks, and he had several days old beard, making him look like some medieval Norse warrior. He was wearing a black shirt, and grey sweat pants and his skin was very bronzed, probably from working in the garden or running.

"Hi, Jamie," Claire stammered, "I'm sorry for coming unannounced...I was just driving by..., and I thought I'd stop and...I didn't see your car, and I thought ..."

Jamie took a few steps forward as if to reach out but stopped himself midway. "Claire, what are ye talking about? This is yer home," he said softly. He then ran his hand through his hair, quite unsure what to do next, he took a deep breath and muttered, "Christ Sassenach I've missed ye so much. Would ye mind verra much if I kiss and hug ye?" His eyes were full of yearning, but he was very cautious.

Looking at his beautiful deep blue eyes, all doubts seemed to dissipate. "No, I don't mind Jamie but..." Before she could finish her sentence, Jamie had Claire in his arms, kissing her with so much tenderness. The kiss was not one of seduction, nor of demand. It was a kiss full of longing and outpouring of love. Claire gave in and put her arms around his neck as a single tear ran down her cheek. He smelled of sweat, fresh air and tasted of mint, and she loved the feel of his stubble against her skin.

"Oh Christ Claire, I'm so verra sorry for everything," Jamie murmured in between air. "I don't ever want to lose ye again. So so sorry..." He rained kisses all around her face before kissing her deeply once again.

As his hands wandered up from under her sweatshirt, Claire stopped him. "Jamie, please..." She gently placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him. Like his, her breathing had become shallow. Although she didn't want the kiss to end, there were still a lot of unanswered questions.

Confused, Jamie searched her face. "Don't ye want me anymore, Sassenach?"

"Jamie, that's not it. We need to talk. We can't just start from where we left off as if nothing happened..."

Still dazed from the kiss, Jamie managed to regain control, "Aye, that's true...come we'll take a seat." Without letting go of her hands, he led her to the sofa. He turned to face her and sighed. "Look Sassenach, everything I've ever told ye was true, but I admit I omitted some parts of the whole story...and as for Annalise, I never told ye about her because the last time I was with her, it was almost 9 months ago. I'm not proud tellin ye this, but our relationship was never one ye can really call a relationship. Geillis must have told ye the whole story surely. And also, I was going to tell ye on the night of the ball about Frisealach, but Annalise happened. I suppose ye know already I own the distillery."

"But why didn't you tell me you owned the distillery? I asked a few times about your job, and you always came up with some feeble answer, such as working in the administration. I suppose that's part of your work, so I guess there's some truth to it. And I don't even know where you live...you only spoke of your family home, but that's a couple hours away from here. I don't suppose you travelled every day from Lallybroch to Inverness."

"I don't know Sassenach why I never told ye the things I should have. There are a lot of things I should have done and not done, but ever since I laid eyes on ye, I haven't been thinking clearly. I haven't been myself. After we made love for the first time, I couldna bear to leave yer side, and before I knew what was happening, I just slotted into yer life. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to be with ye. Before meeting ye, I lived in a luxury apartment in the town centre. Aye it's posh, and it has everything, but it has no soul. I never felt at home in it. With ye here, it's the first time I've ever felt at home outside Lallybroch."

Claire gave him a mock warning look. "Jamie, are you trying to charm your way out of this?"

Jamie smiled and took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. In a serious tone, he answered, "No. I promise you it's the truth. It's like I'm under yer spell and, to be honest, I'm only too happy to remain there."

"How about those string of women in the papers, internet and magazine? I saw photos of you with different women each time..."

"Christ Sassenach, do ye really think I slept with all of them? If I did, I wouldna had time to run my companies. It's a marketing ploy to be seen with the right people and to introduce my whisky in Europe and truth be told, I hated every moment of it. I dinna care for a celebrated lifestyle. Everything about it was very superficial, and ye have to be mindful all the time of what ye say in public. That's no easy thing for me - I grew up in a family that says their mind a lot. No Sassenach, it wasn't for me."

"So, what do you want of me? From us?"

Jamie got off the sofa to kneel in front of Claire. Then taking her hands in both of his, he looked into her eyes. "Claire, I want to be with ye. I have never wanted anyone as much as I wanted ye and I promise there'll only be truth between us." His voice cracked, and his eyes turned to a darker hue. "Ye see Sassenach, whenever I look at ye, my heart starts to pound, when for years, I dinna think it beat at all. I dinna ken what was missing in my life until ye came and filled in the holes and took away the emptiness. And when you're not by my side, the loss is unimaginable. The night I carried ye out from St. Agnes and looked down upon yer face, I knew I was ruined for life. Totally, utterly ruined. I can't be good for anybody now, except for ye. What I'm trying my hardest to say is, I love ye, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. And I am scairt because ye have my heart now in yer hands."

"Jamie.."

"Sssh." He placed a finger on her lips. "Sassenach, may I kiss ye?" Jamie didn't want to hear what Claire had to say in fear she may not feel the same way. Without waiting for her to reply, he pulled her tight against him and kissed her softly, one hand behind her neck as his thumb caressed a sensitive part just under her earlobe. She tasted of warm honey, and her skin as soft as the petals from the flowers. "Claire, will ye stay with me tonight?" he asked hoarsely.

The spell broke when Claire was reminded of her plans for that night. "Oh Jamie, I can't tonight...I've already made arrangements..." Although rattled by his confession, she wanted to stay, but this time she didn't want to rush things between them. One baby step at a time!

Jamie tried to hide his disappointment, and gave her a smile instead, not wanting to rock the boat. "Are ye going out with Geillis?" he asked.

"No, I'm meeting up with Tom tonight." Claire felt him stiffen and gave him an apologetic look, knowing that both men had some sort of disagreement.

"Oh! Are ye seeing him...I mean is it a date?" Jaime was no longer smiling, but he kept his hold on her.

Claire reached out to touch his face and sighed. "No Jaime, it's not like that. It's just for a couple of drinks. I promised him a few days ago that I will see him. And then I have some things I need to do for Joe...medical kinds of stuff."

Feeling slightly heartened, Jamie asked in a hopeful voice, "Errm, Sassenach, can I see ye tomorrow?" His finger was tucking a lock behind her ear.

"How about lunch before I go to work tomorrow...that's if you're not too busy being a boss?" Claire asked, good-humouredly. "I start work late...we have a few shift changes this week."

Thinking that lunch would be a longer wait, he suggested an alternative. "How about breakfast? I will bring it up to ye, so ye didna need to dress." Jamie attempted a wink before giving her a suggestive smile.

Claire laughed. "Alright breakfast then but not too early...I was planning on sleeping in. I'm staying at Joe's apartment. You remember where he lives?"

"Aye." He nodded.

"Oh by the way, before I leave, this is for you." Claire took the brown envelope from the coffee table she had earlier and placed it in Jamie's hand.

"Sassenach," he said, giving her a suspicious look. "This is not a goodbye letter, is it?" He frowned as he weighed it in his hands.

"No Jaime." She gave him a lingering kiss, telling Jamie with her own lips how much she loved him too.

.........

It was probably not a great idea to meet Tom at the Scotch & Rye Pub. It was Saturday, it was loud, it was teeming with employees from Frisealach and Laoghaire MacKenzie was there. Most likely, Jamie could walk in any minute soon. They found an empty high table near the entrance and quickly took it.

"Claire, what would you like to drink?" Tom's soft voice broke into her contemplation.

Distracted, she replied, "Oh, a glass of dry white, please." She had been thinking of what Jamie said earlier in the afternoon.

Claire watched as Tom made his way to the bar. She saw Laoghaire approached him at the counter, smiling sweetly at him as she placed well-manicured painted fingers on his arm. She saw her opened her bag as she continued to chat with him and took a few pound notes from her purse to give to the bartender.

Claire smiled as Tom came back with their drinks, but her smile quickly faded away as she saw Laoghaire was right behind Tom. "Claire, the drinks are from Laoghaire, she says it's a truce and apologies offering."

"Oh! Well then, thank you, Laoghaire, that's very kind of you!" She raised her glass to her. "To truce and forgiveness." Her heart warmed a bit for the girl, but she still felt slightly uneasy about her mannerism.

"Och think nothin' of it. Anyway, I hope ye both enjoy yer date!" Before Claire could protest its not a date, she had turned around sauntering towards the Frisealach employees' table.

Once alone, Tom revealed, "She's a funny girl her. She asked me a week ago, here in the pub, if I fancied ye. I told her it was none of her business." He leaned forward and in a lower voice, he continued, "Stay clear away from her, Claire. She might not seem to be the brightest, but I can't help but feel apprehensive whenever she's around. I think she's a bit of a gossip."

Claire laughed nervously, taking a big gulp of her wine, trying to dismiss the warning. "Don't worry. I think she's just young and full of mischief."

"Don't ye want to find out Claire?"

"Find out wot?" She took another sip of the wine and grimaced at the taste.

Tom leaned forward and smiled at her. "Whether or not I fancy ye?"

Claire thought he had a beautiful smile. "Well, do you?" she asked boldly. Suddenly Claire felt relax and loose-tongued. She stood up from her high chair to lean forward to remove a fluff off Tom's hair when suddenly she felt wobbly.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Feeling the room was spinning out of control, she attempted to sit back but instead ended up slipping into the darkness.

..........

Jamie was just walking into the pub when he saw Claire swayed precariously as she held onto the high table. Before she could fall and Tom could react, he caught her in time before she hit the floor.

He shot Tom an angry look as he propped Claire's head with his hands. "How much has she had to drink? Didn't ye think she might have had enough?"

"She's only had one glass, and she drank it too fast," Tom snapped, as he kneeled down to check Claire's pulse. People were gathering already, and he knew Claire needed air. "Listen, Fraser, I'll deal with this. I'm a doctor, and I'll make sure she gets to the hospital. Go and join yer friends."

Jamie was lifting Claire up already. "She lives with me, so she's practically like my wife, so back off Tommy," he growled, determined not to relinquish his hold. "I'm taking her, my car is just outside."

Unperturbed, Tom let Jamie carry Claire as he held the door open. "I'm coming with ye."

"Suit yersel'"

..........

Both men drove in silence as they headed to the Northern Royal Infirmary. Tom had called Joe and the hospital in advance as Jamie laid Claire in the passenger seat. When they finally got there, they were greeted by Gail, Joe Abernathy's girlfriend, who was the doctor on duty, and Claire was immediately put onto a wheeled stretcher and taken away.

Seeing the concern on both the men's faces, Gail guided them to the waiting area. "Listen, boys, it's probably not serious. Claire has been under a lot of stress, so it's probably just the repercussion rearing its ugly head. Wait here, please. We'll do some test, and I'm quite sure the results shouldn't take very long," she said, smiling warmly.

Quite contrary to what Gail said, both men waited two hours.

When Joe finally arrived in civilian clothes, Jamie and Tom were sat at opposite ends of the waiting area. He had just come out of the operating room when he heard the news about Claire and immediately went to see the doctor attending her. After reading the initial results, Joe volunteered to relay the report to Tom and Jamie. As soon as he appeared in the waiting area, both men stood up and were surprised when they saw he was accompanied by two security guards and two policemen. Joe liked both men, but his main concern was Claire at this very moment.

"Tom, Jamie, we have the result from the initial tests." His voice sounded stern and very professional. "But before I can reveal anything, I want to ask... who was with Claire when she blacked out?"

Tom raised a hand. "I was with her, and we were both on our first drink. She drank the wine rather quickly, and I was surprised that she seemed tipsy all of a sudden," he explained.

Joe closed his eyes before making a formal statement. "We have found traces of Ketamine in Claire's saliva and urine test. Ketamine is also known as Date Rape Drug, and we have a very strong suspicion of an attempted sexual assault." Turning to Tom, he proceeded, "I'm so sorry, Tom, I need to have you detained until further results come in..."

Before Joe could finish his sentence and the police could react, Jamie, with his hands clenched and his face dark red with fury, threw a punch at Tom Christie's face sending him sliding across the hospital floor and knocking him out cold.

Joe had also wanted to tell Jamie that Claire was pregnant, but he guessed it could wait later.

#melodyheart #highlanddestiny #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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born2battle · 3 years

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My Saga in Separated Family Accommodation at Jammu

On receipt of Vivek’s Posting Order to Rajouri, we had to decide about our choice of location for Separated Family Accommodation (SFA) and intimate our decision to the concerned Station HQ for registration of our choice. The options were varied ---- Deolali itself (current location) or Aurangabad (home town) or Jammu. The third location was the closest to Rajouri (only four hours away) but was expected to be difficult due to the law & order situation which was worsening in Jammu. Any new location was going to be a challenge but decision had to be taken urgently to enable further planning. We chose the harder option instead of the easier one.On completion of the Academic Session, we moved to Jammu by train --- our longest train journey!! I had to shoulder the responsibility of packing & sending all the luggage by truck, handing over our accommodation and leaving finally along with our children & my in-laws. It was such a nostalgic feeling leaving the “Home of the Gunners”.

There was a long waiting list for allotment of SFA at Jammu, since it was the preferred location for keeping the families by most of the Units which were deployed in Field areas on the LOC. Luckily, our Unit ( 98 Field Regiment ) was located at BD Bari which was about 25 km from Jammu. We could manage temporary accommodation in the Unit Complex itself, which was certainly helpful initially. We stayed in “Basha” type of accommodation, peculiar for it’s construction as a temporary shelter of mud & brick walls with tin roofs. We took admission for Ashvini & Nandini in Army School at Ratnuchak which was 10 km away. All children travelled by the Army School bus, which was a modified 3 Ton vehicle. In the rainy season. It was quite often that due to heavy rains and flash floods, the water level of the river reached the danger mark enroute to the Army School. Consequently, it resulted in an extended stay in the School itself, for all the teachers & the children of BD Bari. In such situations, the ladies of the Units in Ratnuchak provided all necessary assistance, till the water level subsided. It proved to be the best solution under the circumstances.

It was after a waiting period of three months that we were allotted a civil accommodation in Gandhi Nagar, on rent reimbursement basis. So, the process of packing, moving & unpacking was repeated. Our new House was very spacious but did not have any furniture. Hence, I had to improvise & convert our steel trunks & wooden boxes for utilisation as beds, dining table, chairs, study tables & settee. It was a test of my creativity skills. Even the children had to be transferred to Army School at Satwari, which was about 10 km away from Gandhi Nagar. They had to adjust once again in a new Army School, within the same academic year. Meanwhile, there was migration of Kashmiri Pandits from Srinagar Valley to Jammu. Several refugee camps were being established in Jammu and Akhnoor region. It created a tense situation in Jammu, often resulting in strikes and curfew. It was really tough for me to face this crisis alone, while staying in a civil area and taking care of three children & my elderly in-laws. We eagerly looked forward to meeting Vivek whenever he was able to come down from Rajouri on temporary duty at the Corps HQ.

The situation in Jammu worsened consequent to the agitations & protests against the recommendations of Mandal Commission. This resulted in closure of all schools & colleges. It gave us a welcome opportunity to go to Rajouri and enjoy a well deserved break for almost two months. Our accommodation at Rajouri (named ASHRAM) had all the basic amenities except the kitchen. Hence, we had to depend on the Officers Mess for all our meals.

We planned our own routine in the lap of nature with various activities such as long walks, indoor games, reading & gardening. We also interacted with other families in the Division HQ complex. There was a restriction on our movement outside the Army perimeter. We were very keen to observe the life at the LOC. So, Vivek accompanied us to visit a few forward Posts, only after taking necessary permission. At the time of visit to one of the dominating Posts in Poonch Sector, we heard the exchange of fire between the opposing Posts across Betar Nala. We had to cut short our visit and move to the Administrative Base. This incident gave us the goosebumps!!

On a few occasions, Vivek found time to take us for visits to some popular tourist spots in Poonch, Rajouri & Naushera. We were humbled by the hospitality extended at the Posts & at the Adm Base, despite the adverse weather conditions & war like situation on the LOC. We savoured different cuisine in different Battalions & Regiments. All the Units always ensured provision of the meals, as per the requirement of the class composition of their soldiers. Our journey by Jeep/ Jonga, along the narrow tracks leading to the Posts on the ridge lines was indeed thrilling. This was even more exciting during the snowfall season when any vehicle movement was possible only after fitting the non-skid chains on the tyres. In the peak winters, we were thrilled with the first snowfall and realised the utility of a fireplace and Bukhari at our residence as well as in the Officers Mess. It was again a first time experience.

We returned to Jammu after this memorable vacation when the school session resumed. We looked forward to permission for our subsequent trips as well. We were allotted the SFA in Jai Durge Complex in the Cantonment area, after a waiting period of 18 months. So, we vacated the civil house in Gandhi Nagar & shifted to our entitled accommodation with lot of enthusiasm. The process of settling down was easier in the new house since it was well furnished as per the scales of accommodation. It was destined that while Vivek was shouldering his responsibilities far away in Rajouri, all of us had to face several different problems & medical emergencies during our stay in SFA. These difficulties were overcome with all the help by our neighbours as also by the officers posted in the Units in Jammu. The support by the Army family was really praiseworthy. Most of our relatives visited us in Jammu and were lucky to get permission to visit Rajouri for a short duration. Obviously, I got a chance to accompany them and visit some more interesting sites such as Dhani Dhar Fort which could be seen from our front lawn.

Meanwhile, I joined as a teacher in a school nearby and also completed my B Ed by correspondence. Life was going on smoothly since we had adjusted so well in the safe environment inside the Cantonment. However, it was destined that we would face serious medical emergencies in quick succession. The first emergency was when Nandini had to be admitted in MH Jammu for investigation urgently. I had to manage her admission in MH , all by myself since Vivek could reach only on the next day. He could not stay longer and returned to Rajouri. Further, I had to be present in the MH at the time of review by the Specialists daily and also stay in the hospital at night. I used public transport for commuting upto the MH. This continued till my daughter was finally discharged after 21 days of treatment. Our neighbours helped us a lot at this stage by always escorting our children upto the pick up point of the School Bus and also provided any logistics support and the meals, as required.

The second emergency occurred when my father- in- law had a sudden paralysis attack. It was an unexpected challenge and I requested for any Army vehicle to rush him to MH Jammu. The first available 1 Ton vehicle was used for escorting him to the MH. There was a bigger problem at the time of admission when I was asked to submit his ID Card & Dependency Card, which I was not aware about. I informed the Medical Specialist that my husband was posted in Rajouri and my father-in-law was a Veteran of Second World War. Hence, I requested them to begin the investigations & the treatment. The report about the admission in MH Jammu was then conveyed to Division HQ in Rajouri. I was not able to communicate directly with Vivek since he was on recce mission to the forward Posts. He could come down only on the third day just for a few days. My father- in -law was finally discharged after 14 days but his right side was partially paralysed. Both these emergencies and other challenges were physically exhaustive & mentally stressful for all of us.

In retrospect, Vivek considers his long innings in Rajouri as the most professionally challenging and satisfying tenure in his career. Personally, myself & our children also learnt so much while facing all the unique challenges in SFA at Jammu. I wish to reiterate our takeaways --- every problem has a solution & every crisis is an experience. Life is about accepting the challenges along the way, choosing to keep moving forward and savoring the Journey!!!

#INDIAN ARMY #life of fauji wife

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 20

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Sunday, cont’d

They entered the house hand in hand, and Rose was grateful for his silent support and the way he took the lead, allowing her to observe for a moment before diving in.

Two men stood waiting just inside the door, bowing the moment they entered. “Lord Gallifrey, Lady Gallifrey,” the closer of the two spoke first, smiling nervously. “Welcome home.” He was an odd-looking man, surprisingly short and nearly as wide, bald, but with a kind air about him. “How was your trip up?”

“Well, Nardole, thank you,” Malcolm answered easily. “Rose, this is Nardole- he’s the butler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Rose offered. “Hello.”

“My lady.” With another slight bow, he turned back to Malcolm. “Shall I see to your things, my lord?”

“Yes, Nardole, thank you.”

He scurried off out the door, and it hadn’t fully shut behind him before she could hear him instructing Ross to unload the car in a firm and authoritative voice she wouldn’t have guessed him capable of. Trying not to smile for fear of seeming rude, she turned to the second man, breath catching. Blimey, he’s gorgeous. He was almost the direct opposite of Nardole; at least six foot, he looked fit and trim, even in somewhat-dorky looking laborer clothing.

“Lord Gallifrey,” he said formally, bowing slightly before turning to face Rose. His eyes widened and a smile grew, and when he said “Lady Gallifrey” it was in a far more flirty tone.

“Hello.” Tamping down a blush, she tried to remain detached, as if she couldn’t get lost in his clear blue eyes, or her fingers weren’t itching to run through his dark locks. “How do you do?”

“Stop that,” Malcolm barked, and she looked at him startled only to find he was staring at the other man with an exasperated expression.

“I’m just saying ‘hello’!” the man protested, stance easing, and she realized that this must be Jack, Malcolm’s American cousin and presumptive heir. He’d explained on the way up that the Estate could only go to male heirs, and when Jack was twenty and causing a ruckus at home, was sent back to the ancestral estate to get his head on right, and stayed. Malcolm had called him a ‘bit of a flirt’ – based on first glances, that seemed to be an understatement. “It’s not illegal!”

Malcolm sighed, a tad overdramatically, and rolled his eyes at Rose. “My cousin, Jack,” he said unnecessarily. “Don’t be fooled by his pretty words- he’s not the long-term relationship type. Meaning twenty-four hours or longer.”

Jack scoffed. “One- not true. My shortest relationship was the amazing long weekend I spent in Rio in college with my roommate and his girlfriend. Two- I am in a relationship, thank you very much.”

“I know- you think just because I’m in London I’m out of the loop? Please.” Malcolm turned to Rose, explaining, “He and our chef, Ianto, have been together for several years now.”

“And to think, you made so many snarky comments about me boinking the staff,” Jack snickered. “Only time will tell indeed.”

Malcolm’s ears turned red, and he coughed. “Anyway, Jack will be taking us through the grounds tomorrow, catching me up and giving you a tour at the same time. For now, though, he has things to see to.”

“Actually-”

A narrowed-eye stare from Malcolm silenced Jack, and with a wink and wave, he slipped around them and disappeared out the back door.

“Now,” Malcolm said, once they were alone, “how about a brief tour while they bring our things in?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

Despite being a rather brief overview, Rose’s head was spinning with information by the time they climbed the main staircase up to the second floor. It was an eclectic mix of old and new, much in the same way the townhouse was; it felt new and strange but like home all at once.

“So, up here are the family rooms,” Malcolm continued, “they’ll be much more modern and familiar. In the eighties Wallace had toyed with opening the house up to the public, or maybe turning it into a bed and breakfast to generate income, and he had some work done to that effect, mainly modernizing the bedrooms, but in the end changed his mind and kept it private. A lot of that had to do with the distillery opening and- well, to be perfectly frank, there’s nothing interesting here. No real draw. Homes like these are a dime a dozen, ones with much more historical interest. We do open the gardens in the winter and spring, though, for a few quid- they decorate for Christmas and Hogmanay, leaving the lights up through Burns Night, then open again when the flowers bloom. It’s beautiful.”

“I bet,” Rose murmured when he paused for breath. “So far, I’m impressed.”

He grinned. “Good.” Dramatically swinging open a door, he said, “And these are the rooms of the lady of the house.”

Rose poked her head in, eyes widening. “It’s gorgeous!” The room was of a reasonable size, but it faced the gardens; even from the door, she could see out the windows to the bright flowers and trees. A four-poster bed sat along the wall backing to the hallway, and she could just imagine waking up and being able to look outside as soon as she opened her eyes – if she were a morning person. More like I’d groan and pull another pillow over my head. She didn’t notice her suitcase, and wasn’t sure if it was already emptied and put away, or if her things were in Malcolm’s room(s?) – he did say ‘lady of the house’.

“Er, anyway,” Malcolm said, as if slightly surprised, “my rooms are next door.” Closing the door behind him he led the way the few meters down the hall, Rose trailing behind him, frowning.

Was he expecting my stuff to be there? Then, a disappointing thought- Was last night a one-time thing? Does he not want to share a room? Then, even worse- He better fucking not think he’s gonna come into my room and ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ and go back to his own. Or that I’ll do that. I’m not a bloody booty call.

“Here we are,” he opened the next door, “and good, our things are here. I think we’ve got about twenty minutes until lunch will be served, so we can freshen up. What do you think?”

Rose followed him into the room; it was similar to ‘hers’, with more of a masculine feel to it, but it still overlooked the gardens. The bed did look inviting, like something out of a historical romance, and she certainly wouldn’t mind getting friendly in it. “Very nice,” she said, when she realized he was waiting for her approval. “I like it.”

Coming around the end of the bed she found his backpack and her carrybag perched on the settee there, and following a hunch, she opened the large armoire to find her clothes already neatly hung up and sharing the space with Malcolm’s. Like a real couple. The thought made her heart flutter, and she turned back to find he was gone.

“Malcolm?”

“Loo,” he called back. “One minute.”

When he exited he joined her at the window, looking out. In the distance, she could see a few people strolling the garden paths. “So, they put your things in here,” he said somewhat awkwardly. “If you’re not comfortable with that, we can have them moved next door.”

“Is there a reason I should be uncomfortable?” She didn’t look at him, but tensed in anticipation of his answer.

A hand gently settled on her shoulder, as if uncertain the touch was welcome. “No, but… I don’t want you to think… After last night…” They were interrupted by a knock, and he sighed in frustration, hand dropping. “Yes?”

“Lunch will be served at your pleasure, my lord,” a female voice called.

“Thank you, we’ll be down shortly.”

Rose turned, but he caught her arm, letting her go almost immediately.

“I don’t have any expectations,” he said quietly. “Just because we- I don’t expect- That’s not- I won’t lie and say I don’t want to, but more than that, I don’t want you to feel any pressure to do anything. I don’t expect sex just because we might sleep in the same bed. I want you to feel happy, and comfortable, and safe here. No expectations. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, before catching her tongue between her teeth. “But you’re also saying that if I jump you, you’re down for it.”

A smile stretched across his face. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Good to know.” Grinning, she turned towards the door. “Now, didn’t you say something about chips?”

As promised lunch was fish and chips (and beer), but it was the fanciest fish and chips she’d ever had. Served on fine china it was still wrapped in newspaper, but the dichotomy was so great she just sat for several moments, staring. “What-”

“It’s good,” Malcolm encouraged, picking his up and biting into it as if they were sitting on the couch in his office with takeaway from the local chippy. “Go on.”

They were seated across from each other, at the center of a long formal dining table, a server standing by the door as if just waiting for the opportunity to serve. Casting him a nervous glance, she leaned forward and whispered to Malcolm, “But it’s so fancy.”

“So?”

As much as Jackie would like to forget, they hadn’t always been rich. Rose had been born to a struggling twenty-year-old couple barely making rent on an Estate flat, and was seven when Pete got lucky with his business, and they were able to move up in life. She’d always been taught that fine things were meant to be saved, to be used sparingly and only for special occasions.

“It just… seems like it should be saved for something special,” she shrugged one shoulder, eyeing the food warily. It almost felt like a test.

Malcolm set his fish down, finishing his bite before leaning towards her. “That’s a valid way of looking at it,” he acknowledged, “and I think that’s one of the differences between new money and old money. How I see it is this- everything is meant to be used. Yes, this is very nice china, but it does no good sitting on a shelf looking pretty and never being touched. It should be enjoyed. And sometimes, using something special on a mundane thing makes the mundane thing special- you’ve had your fair share of fish and chips in your life, but I’ll wager this is an instance you’ll never forget.”

“That’s true,” she agreed hesitantly. “But-”

“The experience you have using the item is worth far more in the long run than the item itself. Now, it’s all getting cold, and it’s the best damn fish and chips you’ll ever have, so- eat up.”

Capitulating, she gingerly lifted the newspaper-wrapped fish to her mouth, and bit in. “Oh my God,” she moaned, “it’s so good.”

“See?”

She opened eyes she didn’t know had closed to find him watching her, looking too self-pleased to suit her. “Shut up.”

He just smirked, popping a chip in his mouth. “As fresh and homemade as it gets- potatoes from the garden, and fish from the Kyle. Caught this morning, I’d wager.”

“Yes, my lord,” the server spoke from his spot in the corner when Malcolm’s glance cut over to him. “I believe Jack caught them himself.”

“I’m sure he did. Thank you.” Malcolm grinned at Rose. “What do you think so far?”

“I think…” Rose stopped chewing, looking around the imposing formal dining room and down at her plate, before smiling back at him. “I think it’s wonderful.”

“So do I.” He lifted his beer towards her in a toast. “Welcome to Scotland, Rose Tyler.”

“Glad to be here.” She really, really was.

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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wonderlands-just-a-pysche-ward · 4 years

Text

Black Swan

I was walking down the long halls of the castle, I still couldn't believe it. This is our home now.

My footsteps walked down the hall. I still felt like I didn't belong in the castle. It was so elegant, old and graceful.

I still didn't know the full story of this place, my dad wasn't telling me much.

I made my way towards my new room, I hadn't dared to move anything. It was beautiful and most likely a girls room, Pictures and drawings of flowers, animals, and beautiful scenery, whoever this room used to be was an amazing artist.

I walked over to the bed, huge and soft.

It looked so comfy, I put the box in my hands down. And slowly left the room to grab more stuff.

It was dinner time. I sat at the table with my dad and younger sister. I still felt like I didn't belong in this castle. Especially since the dinner we we're having was takeaways.

Still it was pretty good. We talked a while about nothing in particular really. Then when dinner was over dad did the dishes, my younger sister went to explore. And I decided to go explore the attic.

I climbed up the ladder and into the dusty attic. I almost immediately started coughing. It was so dusty!

I wiped my eyes but pulled myself up to continue looking around. The floorboards creaked and there was a small window that was covered in so many spiderwebs I could barely see out of it. But the boxes had interesting contents. A beautiful porcelain doll dressed in an elegant tutu. Two black dancing shoes that I didn't dare pick up and only ran one finger down it gently. The fabric was old but still soft. But the most interesting, that was in the best condition, was a beautiful music box shaped like a carousel. I turned the knob gently scared it might break off if I did it too hard. Once I let go it let out a tune that I recognised at London Bridge

'London Bridge is falling down

Falling down, falling down

London Bridge is falling down

My fair lady

Build it up with iron bars

Iron bars, iron bars

Build it up with iron bars

My fair lady'

Once it finished I explored a bit more. But there wasn't that much stuff that I was interested in. The old owner obviously had a unique taste. Glass animals. Scarfs. Games. Paints. Masks. Everything had an antique feel to it. I felt like if I touched it it would break. I decided that I should go set up my room a bit more, casting one more look at the music box. And In a moment of muse. I picked it up gently and carefully carried it back to my room.

Walking back slowly I felt like I was in a daze. I opened the door and a gush of cold wind hit me. I looked around but there was no source. The fan was unplugged and the widow was shut.

I shrugged and sat down on the bed lightly. Still holding the music box in my hand. I screwed the handle again and closed my eyes as the soft melody played.

A crystal chandelier hung above the empty ballroom. Mirrors covered each wall so no matter where I turned there was an imagine of myself. I turned around but no matter where I looked, I imagined myself walking looking back at myself. Then they started to multiply. More and more reflections then mirrors. I started to panic. And run around the ballroom. Then suddenly in my hand the music box appeared. I threw it at the mirror and it smashed. Then all of them did. I heard a crack and looked up. The chandelier was falling. I fell to the ground and curled up in a ball. A loud smash echoed through the ballroom and then there was silence. I hesitantly looked up. But standing in between the parks of the broken chandelier, was a girl.

She was soaking wet. Her white hair damp and covering her eyes, she seemed to be crying a black goop but she was smiling. She turned her head and her hair fell away from her eyes. I froze. They were pure black except for her blood red pupils. He smiled widened into a sinister grin. She opened her mouth and said

“London bridge is falling down.

She’s lost her crown.

The ladys gone she flew away

Into the water she shall stay

London Bridge is falling down

She tried to scream but there was no sound

Now she stuck ten feet below

It happened so slow

London Bridge is falling down….

My….fair….lady”

She sounded like a siren. It echoed through the hall. She stopped and closed her mouth looking at me. She choked out some water and more goop left her eyes. She started shaking.

“It’s...your...fault..”

Once my eyes finally opened I jumped up, even though I had woken up I still felt her cold hands around my neck. Taking deep quick breaths and squeezed my eyes shut and muttered a cruise under my breath.

It felt so real….

Slowly I got out of bed and ambly made my way toward the big window, pulling the curtain aside I stared at the stars. Searching for any constellations I knew.

After a while of sitting there I felt myself calm down. And I crawled back into bed.

Opening my eyes I sat up slowly. I couldn’t remember my dreams, all I could remember was the music box. Turning around I stared at it. Trying to shake the feeling of unease rising in my gut I decided to go eat something and then explore the gardens more. I got up out of bed and the cold floor didn't agree with my feet as I walked to the kitchen.

After eating I finally was able to go outside, the warm morning sun hit my face and already I felt myself starting to feel more relaxed. Walking over to the fountain I sat on the edge and looked at the lilies floating inside. The water was calm and cool so I dipped my hands into it. I let them rest in it for a while as the sunlight hit my back. But then a chill ran up and though my body and It suddenly didn’t matter how much sunlight was out because the inside of my body was ice cold.

I pulled my arm out quickly and dried it off on my sweater. Cursing under my breath I decided to walk through the garden. I looked up at the sun. and as a cloud passed over it making everything darker, I looked up and at the forest nearby. With one last glance at the blue sky I made my way toward it. Making sure to keep to the stone path I was dead silent in hope I would hear all sorts of cool sounds.

The birds chirped in the background, I could hear a few crickets every now and then and a small river running by.

But the most prominent sound of all was the leaves rustling and the tree branches creaking as they bent in the wind.

I walked and walked until my feet started to hurt and I started to wonder what I was doing. But it was as if I couldn't stop. My body moving all on its own as if some unknown force was pulling me to it like a magnet.

Suddenly my body stopped and whoever was using my body as a marionette puppet must have stopped tugging my strings. I had no idea where I was. It was getting dark and I was far away from home.

As a sudden pang of fear hit me I didn’t know what to do. I could be out here all night! What if I left dad's property already?

In a moment of decision. I ran. Turning back around and sprinting home. For some reason I thought I couldn't stop. I was convinced if I did something would get me. I didn't even look back.

I just kept on running.

Finally bursting out of the bush I kept running through the garden and pulled the door open.

Looking around curiously. Before letting out a sigh of relief as a realise dad wasn't home from work yet. But that realief was replaced by guilt when I realised I had left my younger sister home alone. Luckily it didn't last long as I saw her on the living room floor with her transformers and block houses.

And now my worry was relief again. “Hey Jade” I walked over and sat next to her, she looked at me and from her expression I could tell that she hadn't even noticed that I was gone.

“What are you playing?”

She then began to explain her game to me in great detail and then invited me to play. So I spent the rest of the day making a cringy high pitch voice as I was a barbie doll trying to rebuild my blockhouse and hide from the transformers.

As the mince sizzled in the pan I started to realise what a good idea it was to start cooking dinner. Dad still wouldn't be home in a while and Jade kept yelling that if she had to wait any longer she would eat her own arm. I wouldn't doubt it actually.

“Hang in there” I told her trying to hold back a giggle, the pasta was already boiled and and cheese was grated so all that was left was the mince. As I stirred in some rosemary a tune came to me and I started to hum it. It took me a while to realise that the tune was London Bridge.

I stopped. I didn’t know why but the tune now held something ominous that it didn’t when I was younger and I didn’t know why. Pausing stirring I tried to remember something….but all that came to me was Jades yelling.

I sat down at the table, dad had finally come home and Jade was bouncing in her seat. We held hands and said grace

"We give You thanks for food and drinks and all that You provide: flowers, mountains, stars above, family by our side. Grant that we might hear Your voice and always be our Guide; From now until the end of time may we, in You, abide. Amen."

As I stared at the food on my plate I looked up at my dad,

“Dad...what happened to the old owner of this house?”

He choked on whatever was in his mouth and stared at me, “he sold it”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Because he didn’t want to live in it alone”

“Didn’t he have a daughter though?”

He didn't answer me,

I opened my mouth to ask him something else but he interrupted.

“Lets just enjoy our dinner please”

So I shut up. But I wasn't done questioning things.

I sat crossed legged on my bed. Admiring the music box once again. I turned the knob a few times and once again listened to it. I closed my eyes and tried to picture what this tune reminded me of. But, I couldn't think. With all the walking I did today I was absolutely exhausted.

Slowly I lay down and curled up into bed. With my muscles relaxing I could feel myself fall asleep.

Darkness was all I could see. Nothing. I had no idea if I was walking, running or if I wasn't even moving at all, frantically I looked around. Looking for any sign of someone else being here. Anyone or anything to show me that I wasn’t alone. But I couldn’t see anything. And then suddenly out of nowhere a tune filled my ears.

“London bridge is falling down.

She’s lost her crown.

The ladys gone she flew away

Into the water she shall stay

London Bridge is falling down

She tried to scream but there was no sound

Now she stuck ten feet below

It happened so slow

London Bridge is falling down….

My….fair….lady”

This voice was back and singing. Over and over gradually getting louder until it filled my head and it echoed in my mind and I couldn't hear anything else. Not even my own voice as I tried to scream.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

But I had no idea whether it had actually left my mouth or not. I felt like I was falling and I didn’t know what to do. Desperately flailing I reached out hoping to grab something. Then I abruptly stopped as my body plunged into something cold...and wet...water. It took me a few moments to realise that I couldn’t breath. Panicking I tried to swim up. But no matter how far up I swam I didn’t seem to get any closer to the surface. My lungs started to burn and I started to get desperate. Flailing my arms around I desperately tried to move faster.

My eyes opened and even though I was awake I still felt like I couldnt breath. I threw the streets off of myself and started gasping for air. Sitting there I grabbed my notebook and tried to write down everything I remembered about the dream before it left my head

London Bridge Song

Water (coulndt breath) drowning?

Darkness, nothing.

I stared at the page and tried to remember something else but it was too late. Throwing my book down in frustration I decided then enough was enough. Maybe I missed something in the attic. Maybe there was something there that could tell me what was going on. Getting out of bed, (not even bothering to make it) I pulled on some shoes and made my way towards the attic.

Pushing open the door once again I climbed into the attic and gazed at all the boxes. This was gonna take a while. But I had to know. Picking up the box nearest to me I opened it and started to rifle through the contents.`it took a while but in the fifth box I found something interesting. Old newspaper clippings

𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖊𝖉

𝕭𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕴𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖉! 𝕯𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖞𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉

𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗

𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝕸𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖋 𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗

As I read though all the news articiles a panic grew within me. What the hell. The last owner….drowned his daughter? I started to feel dizzy as I heard a buzz in my ear.

“Dad! Hey dad!” I watched as a young girl ran though the garden towards her father. They were both smiling and laughing, the sun was shining down on them making a golden hue glow. She held her hands out for her dad to pick her up. He looked so tired. I had no idea why but his eyes seemed to be lifeless..

“Arent you getting a little old to be picked up?” he laughed “your fifthteen you know”

She giggled. “Please!”

He gave a dry chuckle and picked her up.

Then the weather seemed to change like someone flipped a switch. Clouds rolled in and rain poured down. She frowned tried to cover herself with her arms.

“Dad can we go inside now?”

He was silent. No smile and his face and his eyes held no sign of emotion. He walked toward the lake slowly. The rain still hammering onto his head. He could barely see a few feat ahead.

“Dad?” she said again

“Ophelia…” he spoke her name once, before stopping at the shoreline for a moment. “I’m so cold…” he dropped her into the lake. When she realised what was going on she started struggling. But he held her head underwater. She couldnt breath. She wanted to scream but her head was underwater. She thrashed around the water and was slowly running out of energy. As she started to sink to the bottom she couldnt hold it in she opened her mouth and let the water in.

As her dad looked at her lifelessly. He said “its all your fault….”

Opening my eyes I stared at the wall….Oh shit….we just did what all white people do in horror movies didnt we. as more panic started to rise in me I froze the moment I heard a famliar tune behind me.

'London Bridge is falling down

Falling down, falling down

London Bridge is falling down

My fair lady

Build it up with iron bars

Iron bars, iron bars

Build it up with iron bars

My fair lady'

Turning around slowly I saw the music box behind me. Now I was terrfied. As If it was going to actually answer me I said shakily.

“What do you want?”

And of course it didnt answer me. I decided to leave it behind this time. And I went outside to try and clear my head. Sitting on the swing I swung slowly and closed my eyes. Trying to understand what happened today. My brain just couldnt process it. I sat on that swing so long even when the sun went down and it became so dark I couldn’t see my own hand. I sat there.

“London bridge is falling down.

She’s lost her crown.

The ladys gone she flew away

Into the water she shall stay

London Bridge is falling down

She tried to scream but there was no sound

Now she stuck ten feet below

It happened so slow

London Bridge is falling down….

My….fair….lady”

I looked up slowly and she stood in front of me again. But this time I knew her name. I knew what she looked like before she died. I was staring at a ghost.

“Ophelia”

She looked at me. I couldn’t tell what emotion she felt. But she looked so different. Soaking wet in wet clothes and wet hair. Black goop dripped from her eyes. She opened her mouth and water spilled out. Her eyes were pure black except for her red iris. Which seemed to glow. She smiled and it was then I knew I wasn’t getting out of there alive. Holding out her hand she said

“It’s...your..fault”

𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖔�� 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕵𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕬𝖗𝖎𝖆

Yesterday Two girls (Jade, 7 and Aria, 14) were found drowned in the lake outside their house by the mailman. Their father has been taken in for questioning by the police but nothing yet has been confirmed. The police have no other suspects in mind and there seems to be no evidence of Suicide or Foul Play. The Castle itself does have a history. A few years ago fifthteen year old Ophelia Whitely was drowned by her father in the very same lake. and after this it is believed by many that the house will not be sold again. An interveiw conducted talking to many people of the town say even if it does go up for sale again. They’re gonna stay far away from it. It is now believed that the castle is taboo.

#creepypastaoc #Creepypasta #Oc #BlackSwan #OpheliaWhitely #fanfiction

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years

Text

OUAT 4X10 - Shattered Sight

Today, Emma and Elsa attempt to break the latest curse to hit Storybrooke! But what will be the prICE of such an action?

...These puns are awful! And they must be a pain in the GLASS for you all to read! XD

Okay, there’s a review under the cut, so be COOL and check it out! (How did it take me ten episodes of this arc to come up with a “cool” pun?)

Main Takeaways

Past

It’s kind of hard to revisit this flashback. And that’s not because I don’t like it. I really do. The story points, actions, and framing hit every note they need to. Emma is completely sympathetic, we can see very clearly how things were going so well for Emma and Ingrid only to fall apart, and the pacing works so well as to make their relationship feel organic.

When I say it’s hard to revisit this episode, it’s because I realize I wanted to ask myself how much Ingrid loves Emma and how much of her actions are driven solely to get herself a sister. It didn’t occur to me until the cocoa scene with Emma and Ingrid that that was something I even needed to think about, but once I did, it became something I didn’t want to ignore either.

Because it is a question worth asking. In so many ways, Ingrid succeeds in making Emma feel loved, valued, and special. She sees what makes Emma tick and addresses those problems and Emma’s life improves as a result. So how much of that was Ingrid loving Emma for just being Emma and how much of it was loving the person that Emma would become.

Obviously, the latter plays into the narrative. There’s a line at the carnival where Ingrid says she wants to be like a big sister to Emma, which, in addition to being an awkward line, does remind the audience that for as much as Ingrid’s making Emma happy, that motivation of her being the third sister is never too far away from the front of her thoughts. And speaking in terms of the broader narrative, Things go wrong when Ingrid focuses too much on the sister Ingrid wants Emma to become and not on who she is and the fact that she’s still growing both as a person and her abilities.

That said, there’s also a scene in the present which segues into the past where Ingrid looks at her stolen memories and lovingly pulls out hers of the moment she announced her intentions to adopt Emma. And when Ingrid gets to know Emma and spends the time really communicating with her (Ex. Giving Emma pranking advice), there seems a genuine growth of love for the person Emma is beyond the magic. And in the end, when Ingrid dies, when she won’t use her as a sister, still calls Emma special in a loving way.

After rewatching the episode, I think it’s a bit more nuanced than 100% of the way one way or the other, but I do lean a little bit towards mostly loving her because she was a sister. It’s a bit more narratively concrete in how its portrayed by the text and it allows for Ingrid’s final revelation regarding Emma as she dies to feel more like her arc’s come full circle.

Present

This is probably the funniest episode of the series. The Shattered Sight curse is both shown to be a force of intimidation but something that’s given liberties to be funny as hell due to the little planning everyone was able to do before it hit. Everyone’s giving their heart and soul into making their performances something so off the walls and hammy that there doesn’t need to be a long-lasting effect of it while still touching upon points that one could reasonably expect them to make. And at the same time, the violence going on both in the police station and out in the streets is effective in painting this curse as something that does need to be stopped while still allowing for us to go along for the ride and enjoy it!

Okay, now let’s move on to the less than fun part of this review.

The actual defeat of the Shattered Sight curse...well, there’s no kind way to say it: It kind of sucks. So much gravitas is put on Emma being the one to defeat Ingrid and unlike other subversions of that setup such as the one found in the Zelena arc, it doesn’t work as well here. I get the nucleus of what they were trying to do -- Ingrid’s defeat is supposed to be the culmination of Ingrid’s character, not Emma’s and Ingrid’s problem was the way she refused to accept family that didn’t come equipped with magic and Anna being the one to set her straight sounds right on paper. There is a part of me that likes that decision in that respect and was built up well enough with the message in the bottle from the premiere. It solves Ingrid’s problem. The problem with that approach comes down to two things. First, Ingrid isn’t the character sticking around after this arc: Emma is. Second, it ignores all of the buildup of Emma accepting her magic and makes the resolution feel shallow. While yes, Emma accepted her magic two episodes ago, just the fact that Snow was pointing out how it would be used in defeating Ingrid showed that this arc wasn’t done just yet. And the fact that Emma isn’t the one to take Ingrid down stands out even more in the face of Emma being a large focus of the flashback and the further buildup of her being the Savior that’s been put into nearly every Emma-heavy episode this season thus far. So to not see her magic play a part in some way -- even if it just meant that Emma was the primary supplement to Anna reading the letter by protecting her from Ingrid’s blasts -- feels like a let down. It’s also not helped by the fact that the sequence is stretched out by Ingrid needing to almost knock Anna, Elsa, and Emma out to read the letter, stretching it out.

Stream of Consciousness

-Look at that fabulous mohawk! How much money does that dude need to pour into hair gel every day?!

-I love how the realms of story are so inherently hammy that Ingrid doesn’t even question Madame Faustina’s giant act until she fucks up! XD

-Why is no one attacking Ingrid? XD Like, I’d want to fuck up her shit!

-I gotta wonder how much being a Savior actually pays! XD

-”I don’t believe killing is the answer.” ...Neither does half of this fucking town.

-”If it comes down to her or the town, I’m gonna do what has to be done.” I like how Emma continues to follow the advice Regina gave in the last episode: As a ruler, one has to make difficult choices, ones you might not be okay sitting with, morally speaking, but need to make all the same.

-”This is what I get for being subtle!” That’s right! You get one of the most memorable OUAT performances EVER!

-Damn, I love how Rumple exposits his plan to Killian. I’ve said before how he’s a Magnificent Bastard, and this scene might be the best showing of that yet. Rumple’s going to twist circumstances to make himself the hero without even a shred of guilt and I love it. It’s so Saturday Morning Cartoon Villain-y! XD

-I also love how there’s more than one night where the stars in the sky match up with the stars in the hat.

-Is it bad that I really want to try Carrot Sherbert now? Like, Ingrid’s plan would’ve been exposed in seconds by the same people who try all of the Oreo flavors (Which is me)!

-I wonder, do you think the ribbons also make them immortal?

-I know that on some level, spooking Kevin should be a parenting no-no, but given how much of an asshole that kid is and that the spider was rubber, I am totally on board with this revenge!

-Ingrid looks so cute in her PJ’s!

-Did really no one want to beat up Killian outside of Will Scarlet? XD

-”Those things sound terrible, but they’re also romantic. Can’t you see that?” When did Anna become such an accurate voice of the fandom? XD

-”I killed the Evil Queen’s mommy and I said I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean it.” Is it bad that a large part of me is pretty happy about that considering how bad the handling of the aftermath of that murder was in Season 2 was? XD

-”Maybe without an equal, but not without an opposite equally as strong.” PHYSICS SAVES THE DAYYYYYY!!!!! XD

-”Emma, you’re a bit prickly, but you’re certainly not hatable.” Elsa, you are my girlfriend now! I don’t make the rules! <3

-I love how Emma knows Regina well enough that she knows EXACTLY how to make her hate her enough to destroy the ribbons.

-”This is a great lesson, Emma. If you push yourself and ignore the flickering lights and the distractions of this world, you can accomplish anything.” Okay, I know that this line is played semi-seriously, but how long do you think Ingrid herself was distracted by said flickering lights and distractions? Because Killian and Zelena have had their share of having to adapt to our modern world. I bet Ingrid did too and for far longer since she didn’t have friends to teach her! Like, just imagine Ingrid on a subway for the first time! XD

-Okay, baby Emma’s face as Ingrid tells her she’s gonna be adopted actually makes me cry. Like, this girl has been passed over so many times and finally, she thinks she’s going to get a real home with someone who she loves and loves her. And just knowing that that doesn’t work out makes me lose my shit with tears and feels!

-”The next part should be easy for me.” “What’s that?” “Be prickly.” I love this subtle bit of sass from Emma.

-I like how Emma has to take a pause and process “garden topiary!” XD

-”Dirty? I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” XD This line always gets me.

-I like how Kilian first tries to get through to Henry to open the door before forcing his way in with the potion. That was a nice and subtle way of showing respect for Henry’s judgment.

-Given how many schemes Henry’s put together, need I even ask his favorite movie after such a clear “Home Alone” stunt.

-I like how this scene between Killian and Will is basically a meta-narrative about how the season treats him as a whole. Will’s a funny distraction that takes up time, but is so avoidable and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

-Not gonna lie, I think Harry might actually be more powerful than even Emma at her most adept. Look, I love her, but Harry’s naturally talented and received the education necessary to understand his full potential as a magic-yielder where as Emma’s had a few lessons, but has otherwise mostly been going off of instincts and the odd book she and Belle find.

-Damn, baby Emma coming to the conclusion that Ingrid’s a psychopath is utterly heartbreaking :( .

-I LOVE how Regina pulls David into this for his whining!

-I also love how apparently, the Shattered Sight curse has no effect on anyone’s love for baby Neal! XD

-Dude! Regina has a sword with a black blade! That is the absolute coolest thing ever!

-Damn, Ingrid’s outfit as she enters Storybrooke is ALSO super cute and stylish! Fuck what I said earlier! This woman knows how to adapt!

-I LOVE the spinning camera effect as Ingrid wills herself into Storybrooke! Also, I like the story point that Ingrid, like she advised Emma to do, trusted her instincts as she looked for her third sister before pulling out the scroll, as this scene implies that this was the first time she used it.

-Ingrid, they don’t want to be your sisters! And you’re really more their aunts than anything. STOPPPPP! Girl, you’re looking desperate! XD

-...The most unrealistic thing this show has put in front of me is that Henry’s favorite ice cream flavor is cherry vanilla! What the hell, show?! XD

-”DO NOT WAKE MY BABY.” She might not, but you definitely will screaming like that! XD

-This fight scene between Snow and Regina is so hammy and I love it! Hell, even the music is along for the ride! Listen to how over-the-top it gets!

-”I WAS 10!!!!” BEST LINE!

-Ingrid’s death music is goosebump-inducingly beautiful!

-Okay, Dopey is so fucking adorable throughout this whole episode! He will not get mad at or attack anyone, chooses to stay by his brothers’ sides despite their danger, and when it’s all over, he adorably catches snowflakes! Best dwarf!

-”Well, perhaps you can say my heart wasn’t in it.” A Golden Hook scene with a PUN! Best scene!

-Good job to Killian! Listen, Rumple is just barely hearing him out and he knows it’s already a risk to ask for Emma’s safety, but he goes further and asks for everyone’s safety, risking Merlin knows what from Rumple!

-Rumple is looking to take over the world! He is officially a Saturday Morning Cartoon Villain and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t here for that! XD

Favorite Dynamic

Snow, David, and Regina. The greatest strength of this episode is how funny it is, and no dynamic is better proof of that than these three. Josh, Ginny, and especially Lana go above and beyond to deliver their hammiest performances. And not only that, the writing supplements that hamminess perfectly. Petty and ridiculous complaints are blown up to epic proportions and scathing cuts are made, but the outlandish and over the top way it’s all handled allows for the group laugh ending to make this perfect amount of sense. Additionally, we get to see a kickass sword fight, quips GALORE from all three parties, and we even see bits of the real Snow and David shine through when both their child and each other are threatened. This dynamic is just a spectacle to watch and it really made the episode an unforgettable classic!

Writer

Scott Nimerfro and Tze Chun are our writers for today’s episode. Scott has greatly improved from his debut episode and Tze’s is a solid debut himself. The exaggerated tone of this episode allows for a lower bar to entry for both writers and they absolutely nail it. Regarding that ending, I feel like they really paid attention to the first six episodes and then stopped before “The Snow Queen” got started! XD

Culture

What can I say about Ingrid?

Ingrid’s an interesting character for me. She’s the first villain since honestly Regina that’s set up as entirely Emma’s. It’s not that I haven’t liked less Emma centric villains -- if you’ve been reading these reviews, then you know I ADORE Pan and have gushed about Cora and Zelena in the past, but Ingrid’s relationship to Emma is a big point of mystery for her character and, while denied as the ultimate thing that defeats her, really gets explored throughout the half season. It fills in another tragic aspect of Emma’s past that is just as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking to watch. Additionally, she allows for the show to have an ice villain, capitalizing on the interesting threat that Elsa would’ve brought to the show if she was the villain (And that in itself creates an interesting mystery) as well as serve as a means to explore “The Snow Queen,” the original fairy tale of which Frozen is based off of. I also like her interactions with Rumple too. These two have a good dynamic that makes me think of two gods looming over the masses as if they were their playthings and the way they play chess with the lives of others and cooperate when it suits their needs is interesting.

I like the balance between making Ingrid sympathetic and disturbed. You get the sense that Ingrid really wants the connections she makes with Elsa, Emma, and even Anna in the “Family Business” flashback to be genuine. Not only that, but Ingrid very clearly loves her sisters. She wears her ribbon every day and only trades it away so she can physically join them in the outside world. But at the same time, Ingrid shows she is not above manipulating those she wants to be her sisters into doing the things she wants them to do, whether by threatening their lives or the lives of those they love, forcing the hands of those they love, or setting them up to be framed or put into a dangerous position and this is not framed as a positive thing at any point except arguably when it comes to Ingrid being a foster parent to Emma. And her comeuppance is likewise framed as something that she caused for herself because of the person who she let her powers turn her into. This is all very effective material that’s paints a complicated antagonist.

Finally, the scroll given to her is what allows people to enter Storybrooke and is alongside Anton’s beans as something that revolutionized how people traveled for the rest of the series. It opened the doors once more for people to get in and out, allowing for higher stakes in conflicts and more characters to be explored.

At the same time, she doesn’t rank as highly for me as the original usages of Pan, Zelena, or Cora. Ultimately, I feel like her biggest was in her backstory with her sisters. Ingrid’s entire motivation comes down to the fact that her sisters were unwilling to accept her, so instead, she searched for new ones. She goes on and on about how her original family rejected her and as a result, she does whatever it takes -- up to and including manipulation and murder -- to get new sisters. And we’re supposed to believe that yes, tragically, her sisters feared her. However, because the story was so dead set on Ingrid’s sisters being accepting of her and her magic until Helga’s death -- the tail end of the flashback and Gerda’s reaction to that comes off as a cliffdrop of fear more than anything -- it screws up because Ingrid’s sisters almost never feared her. Had they feared her from the very beginning and stayed with her out of fear more than love, this arc of Ingrid feeling rejected by them and wanting a new family would’ve made more sense. Instead, it makes it seem like Ingrid didn’t appreciate what she had until it was gone and Gerda was an idiot about it.

Overall, Ingrid’s a complicated presence in this series and I do like her a lot. While she’s not as cohesive in a lot of ways, especially compared to some of our past villains, there’s enough good and even great things about her to make her a character to appreciate and even love.

Rating

8/10. Apart from the less than stellar conclusion, this episode really does make all of it’s marks. It’s funny as all hell, allows for the cast to really branch out into off-the-wall over-the-top performances, and its past segment does hit the emotionally tragic core that it needs to.

-----

So while the Frozen Arc wasn’t all fun and games for me, I am going to miss it when it concludes next time. It’s unique and domestic and really funny at its best and introduced some great characters.

Thank you for reading as well as to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales and the awesome @daensarah! See you next time!!!

Season 4 Total (87/230)

Writer Scores:

Adam and Eddy: (16/60)

Jane Espenson: (20/40)

David Goodman and Jerome Schwartz: (30/50)

Andrew Chambliss: (14/50)

Dana Horgan: (6/30)

Kalinda Vazquez: (14/40)

Scott Nimerfro: (14/30)

Tze Chun (8/20)

*Links to the rest of my rewatch will no longer be provided. They take posts with links outside of searches and I spend way too much time on these reviews to not give them that kind of exposure. Sorry for the inconvenience, but they still can be found on my page under Operation Rewatch.

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 4x10 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

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themegfoley · 5 years

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Germany and a Weekend in Paris

From the first day of the month until May 12th, I was exploring central Europe with Kev. There was a couple days of work in there, but mostly we were going to cities like Munich, Berlin, and Paris. The huge takeaways from this trip are that I would love to speak more languages. German is a beautiful language and I really loved the people there. They were passionate about their beer, football, and I found them to be so serious about the Holocaust. It was moving to see the number of memorials to all the people that died. Kev and I went to Dachau and that was extremely moving as well. We saw a lot of beautiful gardens, beer halls, the Munich Olympic Stadium, and more.

In Berlin, we explored the Wall, did a bike tour of the artistic parts of the city, and went to the top of the TV tower. It’s incredible seeing a city from that height, it provides a whole different perspective than from the ground. We sadly had to leave the gorgeous city, with incredible public transportation and beautiful buildings.

Kev got to see my home in Maidenhead and one of the things that meant alot was that everything became real. He got to see where I’ve spent the last four months. It was a short stay, but I got to see him a few days later in Paris.

The City of Love truly was so beautiful for us. It was sunny and we saw so many things. It started with Kev meeting me at Charles De Gaulle, which is pretty far from the city centre. We dropped my stuff off at his hotel and were off. We went to lunch, then the Louvre. After that we went to Ladurée. I absolutely love their macaroons and we had a nice coffee there. The next stop was Le Chalet Savoyard, a raclette restaurant. We had to get there for a reservation and decided to take the Lime bikes that are littered throughout Paris. It was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. We both almost hit people and I definitely was not dressed for the activity, I was in a dress! But, we had cheese to eat and it was incredible. The setup is a cheese wheel that you have under a heat lamp. When it’s nice and melty, you scrape off the gooey cheese. I absolutely stuffed myself with that, but it was AMAZING. We then went to the Eiffel Tower for the 10pm twinkling lights. They sparkled and shined bright for us. The night wasn’t over yet, we still had a trip to Le Lido. It is the famous Parisian Cabaret show that didn’t start until about 00:15. It was very late and considering I was up at 4:00am that morning, I saw the whole show. It was so French and gave me a great idea of the night life there. The next day we were up and out for a delicious hotel breakfast a boat trip on La Seine. We saw all the landmarks from the water, it was very nice to have a cruise together. The next stop were the Catacombs. It was something I had never seen, and definitely enjoyed learning more about. After that we ate dinner in Bercy and Kev saw me off to the airport. I can easily say it was the best trip of my life, no hiccups or anything.

In my time here, I’ve seen England, Iceland, Scotland, Germany, France, and currently on my way to Wales. By the end I will have also been to Amsterdam. It seems like it was yesterday I was saying goodbye to everyone at home and heading off. But there has been a lot of hard work, adventure, and self-discovery this weekend. With three weeks left, I have a lot of memories made and still more ahead.

That’s all for now.

-M

#germany #munich #berlin #paris #travel

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thetravellingvagrant · 5 years

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Day 17- Salzburg: In Which I Meet A One Eyed Monster

I decided to get myself out into Salzburg to explore early, today. Partially because I had already grown intensely tired of my new dorm-mates despite none of them having done anything particularly egregious, but also because, given how much I was paying to stay in this city, it seemed like it would just be a waste not to. I had planned a full-on touriststravaganza for my first day here, with nary a ring-road or random bog in sight. My plan then, based almost entirely on word-of-mouth recommendations was as follows; I would take a walk through Mirabelle gardens, situated not too far from my hostel and supposedly quite pleasant on my way to the Natural History (and Science) museum of Salzburg, which I had been told was a particularly excellent example of natural history (and also science) museums. After spending a few hours there, I would climb up to the Hohensalzburg castle, which had been leering down at me from the mountainout centre of the old-town since I had arrived, daring me to come and see it, if I was hard enough. Once I had had my fill of the thrill of being slightly elevated I would meander back down and have a stroll along the street on which Mozart was born and had now become a tat-hive of the highest order before finally, getting myself a lovely meal and heading back to my shitty little hostel which cost the earth.

I arrived at Mirabelle gardens not long after my plan was finalised. To be honest, I didn't spend very long there at all. Perhaps it was more spectacular during the summer, but I found the entire experience, as I did the gardens themselves, flat and uninspiring.

4/10

That didn't stop other tourists from taking a constant and steady stream of photographs, though. Of what, I am not sure; there didn't appear to be really anything of aesthetic interest within a hundred foot radius of the place, but snap away they did.

Disappointed with the gardens, though secretly a bit pleased to have freed up a little more time to spend on my other, more interesting activities, I walked briskly to the Natural History (and also Science as well) museum, paid nearly £10 to get in and, grumbling at how expensive literally everything is here, made my way inside.

The very first room of the museum contained an approximately life-sized model of a giant squid (AKAthe best animal and I will hear literally no disagreement from any one of you motherfuckers) hanging from the roof in full attack mode

14/10

so I pretty instantly forgot how much I had just paid and began having an uncharacteristically good time. This...I think humans call it...enjoyment...continued as I progressed further into the museum, also. Fans of terrible taxidermy (and I know there's at least one of you reading this...), I soon realised, would be disappointed with today's blog entry, as this museum was just genuinely very good and very slick. Nearly every exhibit looked like the thing it was supposed to, with no mangled up faces, or eyes popping out or bursting at the seams or anything. There were a...few odd exceptions, sure

I’m naming no names, incredibly buff marmot...

but for the most part, I really couldn't fault the museum. It was entertaining, well laid out and just generally expertly put together. It even had an aquarium (featuring an octopus and everything) and a reptile zoo. It was grand.

Fans of the blog with an extremely long memory, though, may remember on my very first trip, I visited a science museum named...NEMO or something, in Amsterdam, which, although very good on its lower floors, steadily detached itself more and more from reality as one proceeded upwards. Unfortunately for the Salzburg museum of Natural History (and also science, that's there too), though very fortunately for me, it had followed in NEMO's footsteps.

Interesting, well labelled and well thought out exhibits and animal displays petered out after around the third of five floors and gave way to...I'm not really sure what. They stopped signposting things in English after that. It appeared that what I had thought was an exhibit on Africa, though, had slowly transformed into some truly and utterly bizarre musings on mythical creatures- or at least I hoped so as it would go at least some way to explain the following:

Oh...hey, guy...

Then things really fell apart. I walked through rooms full of spooky masks

Ah!

past randomly placed posters full of cryptids

AH!

and...Garfield?

AHHHH!

The fever dream of the 4th floor, however, would pale in comparison to the full on tramadol overdose of the 5th. After meandering through a fairly good bit on the deep sea, the fifth floor straight up shat itself and delivered one of the weirdest and least coherent exhibits on the human body I have ever seen in my life. Pictures, more than words would do the experience justice,

Pictured: My nightmares

though a few highlights included an interactive display on how shit is formed, a pulse reading machine which declared one man who I witnessed use it as legally dead and a room full of stuff on sex and reproduction which boasted a picture of several women in their vests and pants with a button next to each. My best guess and rudimentary understanding of German told me that you press the button next to the woman you find the most attractive. When you did, it would display the stats for each woman and rank them by popularity amongst museum-goers. For anyone that's interested, the busty one was the winner.

Also of note were a series of little keyholes that one could peer through, each one of these tiny windows a porthole to the various stages of doing some sex. The first hole had a little barbie doll applying perfume to herself, the next hole had the same doll, now nude and with nipples amusingly etched onto her in pen, getting banged by a Ken doll. The next was just a picture of some random birds, which seemed...out of place and the final hole had a big collage of...like, leather and handcuffs and various other accoutrements of kink. It was deeply odd and rather jarring, sitting amongst a hitherto fairly child-friendly exhibit on reproduction.

Confused, though fairly sure I had now seen everything (including a wall of taxidermied dogs, positioned like, right next to the sex room) I left the nature part of the museum and checked out the sciency bit. It was shit and I spent very little time there. Overall though, the museum was still very good and probably benefited from all the weird junk in it. I definitely wouldn't forget my visit at the very least...

I had spent too long in the natural history (and hey, guys, don't forget about science!) museum and by the time I left, it was bordering on getting dark. It hardly seemed like it would be worthwhile climbing the big hill to the castle if I left it much longer, so I decided to do that next, postponing food, much to the chagrin of my angry tummy.

The walk up the hill was tiring, though enjoyable and peppered with fairly decent photo-opportunities.

I mean, it’s ait.

and after not-too-long, I arrived at the castle, sweaty, though triumphant. I walked through the main gate and...oh, you needed a ticket. And tickets were 10 euros. And it was only open for another half an hour. Right. Good. Okay, that was worth it. I turned around and headed back down. At least I had had a nice walk...

Yeah. Great.

After a quick stroll through the obsidian-dense crowds populating the street on which Mozart was born and where the sheer quality and quantity of Mozart themed tat you can find is simulatenously both tremendously impressive and utterly depressing

Fuck you.

I headed to a local eatery for food. The diner was fairly low-end; very much your average sort of shitty UK takeaway level of quality, though somehow I still managed to spend over 10 euros on a very basic burger, too-salty fries and a small bottle of water. Oh, Austria!

I returned, very tired and (after those fucking fries) very thirsty, to my dorm. Upon entering, I realised that I was to share the room with some new guests. Three screeching, giggling Australian girls, who were every bit as immediately irritating as they sound. One of them was sitting on my bed.

“Oh, am I on your bed?” she tittered

I was so tired and the transgression so bizarrely rude that all I could muster in response was a gruff “Yes.”

I think she expected me to be better natured about it, but I doubt she would have been so light-hearted about the whole thing if she had returned to discover me sitting on her property, so she could fuck off. She moved from my bed, clearly making a mental note to never speak to me again and I retook my now pre-warmed throne.

I didn't hang around in the room for too long, darting back outside to the hostel's courtyard to quickly make some phone calls before finally returning to the room and to my bed, proper.

The lights were off as I cracked the door open for the second time. The Australian girls had gone to bed , already. It was 8:30pm.

“okay...” I sighed, not willing to take my laptop downstairs, as the only communal space in which I could use it was current;y being used for the nightly broadcast of The Sound Of Music. Yes. Nightly. It looked like I was working in the dark for the rest of the evening.

More irritating, still, was the fact that one of these girls, the one sleeping above me and indeed the bet-sitter extraordinaire had decided to make use of the tiny little nightstand which sat next to my bunk to house her phone for the night. It was very clearly designed to be part of the lower bunk's set-up, but okay, I can just about understand not wanting to sleep with your phone next to you on an upper bunk, I guess. She had, however, neglected to switch it to mute, meaning that with every text, notification or update she got (and she got a stunning amount of these throughout the night and early morning) the phone would vibrate noisily right next to my fucking head, distracting me when I was awake and waking me up when I was asleep. Because there was a physical aspect to the vibration also, earplugs couldn't even block it out fully. It was a lot of fun.

Mercifully though, at around 2am, all her apps had updated, the notifications ceased and people stopped texting her, having received literally no response for the previous six hours and I could finally drift off to sleep, angry and exhausted.

#travelling #vagrant #travel #europe #salzburg #natur haus #natural history museum #science too #hohensalzburg #mozart #tat #duck #rubbish

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sussex-nature-lover · 3 years

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Tuesday 27th April 2021

Sissinghurst Castle Gardens. Part 1

Visit date Friday 23rd April 2021

I’ve got very specific favourite spots in the gardens, starting with the entrance, which is beyond the office where you check in.

The gardeners usually place a sample of flowers you’ll see as you enjoy one garden room after another and in non-Covid times, produce a sheet of notes. This time we have a slate plaque with a quote from Vita.

This time of year, the blooms couldn’t be more up my street and I’ve put more photos on my supplementary pages as I have so many. I’ll also do a separate page on the White Garden, the Moat and the Herb Garden later in the week.

FLORA PHOTOS HERE

When we visited last Friday, the stiff breeze was keeping the flag flying briskly, but it was a very pleasant day in the sunshine.

Before the entry to the gardens is the old working part of the farm with the oast house and the barn, which is where the café (takeaway only at the moment, but there are seats outside) and the shop are located.

The extensive vegetable and fruit gardens are beyond this barn and you can enjoy lovely long views.

We didn’t see a huge amount of birds, but for the first time we managed to sit on the big bench in the Rose Garden. As it happened we didn’t linger because it was in the shade of the high, curved wall, and was a bit too chilly. We did get two little visitors though, who were hopping around the wires. After longing for Goldfinch and being frustrated at not photographing them last year, now we seem to see them all the time!

The old walls really do add something special to this garden, the one above, behind the bench has climbing rose and is covered in a massive purple Clematis later in the year - when it’s in full bloom it’s absolutely spectacular.

I also really enjoy looking beyond, outside of the garden through the windows in the wall and this set of gates. I absolutely love them, along with the big pots and the pergola in the White Garden, I think the old stone and brick and the iron work are my absolute favourite features here.

The archways, gateways, gaps in walls and hedges, all lead the eye to enjoy different types of garden and frame special views beyond.

The Rose Garden. The plant supports are all homemade from natural branches. Some are cube shaped and some are arches.

The Orchard - blossom and some Daffodils still flowering.

I’ve chosen this photograph for blog header of the week.

I was really patient and managed to get a fair few photos of the gardens without other visitors featuring in them. This is quite a feat.

The Long Moat Walk area seen from the Cottage Garden. It’s usually a very popular stretch to perambulate, but it’s roped off at the moment.

The view from a bench. It must’ve been a much quieter day than the norm, because we got the chance to sit and admire here too and even saw a non-ticketed visitor. It’s been my week for wildlife when I wasn’t anticipating the encounter.

The Cottage Garden has really grown on me over the years - absolutely no pun intended. I’m extremely fond of soft lemon colours, but here there’s a deep and vibrant theme, with colours from dark burgundy, acid yellow, all shades of orange and greens. The pots and this chair on the doorstep of the South Cottage make for a lovely spot in the sunshine too - it looks very inviting.

Although the garden is colour themed, sometimes intruders take up a position quite naturally and have been left to thrive.

We’ll be visiting each month if we can and you’ll see the beds absolutely bursting with form and colours as things progress through the season.

The tulips in the big pot are lagging behind the ones in the ground and behind most of the other pots too come to that.

Photo from last year.

I think I’m developing a new appreciation of Tulips too.

Bingo! To get a picture of the Lime Walk without other visitors is a first for me. The leaves are just starting to come out on the trees. It won’t be long now before the area’s transformed, but the Spring planting is very pretty indeed (see detail on the other page on the link above)

The Nuttery

I thought the only verdigris pot was in the Cottage Garden but we found another one looking into the Erechtheum. These Tulips are purple. We were just a tad early to see their display.

I have no idea how long that part of the garden has been named Erechtheum by the way. It was replanted a few years back and I recall some tall Cypress trees, but we’ve never been when it’s been open, you just peep through from the White Garden, and to me, it seems to have rather stalled - same really as Delos, the newest project, which I really don’t care for at all. It seems so out of place, particularly as this garden ‘room’ includes the ancient Priest House. I don’t find the concept particularly attractive in this setting and as with Vita and Harold’s original attempt at the same, many of the plantings are starting to fail and the shingle paths are bare in places and showing wear...although I suppose that’s relatively authentic. Looking at an old, original photo (see outside links below) perhaps the pair liked to look out at a scene reminding them of one of their favourite places?

Whilst I agree that the former garden here was nothing too special and new ideas shouldn’t be off limits, apart from the aesthetics I find I object on the basis that a small fortune has been invested to basically fight against nature and type. It’s particularly incongruous at a time when championing local is a major theme. It feels a bit like demanding a big English fry up from a coastal café on the Med...people do it, but it’s not for me. I’d like to have seen another colour themed garden, or more woodland or wildflowers. It worked well as a shady spot from the heat of Summer and a natural type pond, or even a fountain, plus more benches could’ve been lovely.

You can read more about this Sissinghurst project HERE

For an alternative viewpoint do look at the below links.

Here is the Dan Pearson (garden architect commissioned for this work) Studio blog and a Gardens Trust blog.

I have to say, in both of those entries, the Delos garden looks far better than it did last week. We’ll give it another go when we return next month.

My own Delos photographs on a grey day, 7th September 2020 - oddly it looks better here than it does now it’s officially complete and open this year

EDIT

Link Here to my Moat blog and the Herb Garden is on this page on 29th April.

#famous gardens Sissinghurst Vita Sackville West garden photography nature

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9087miles · 3 years

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Waiting for Allan Cumming - an absurdist matinee and general luxury (February 2020) - Part 2 of 2

We woke with an opportunity seldom had - a whole day in London with no solid plan. Every time we visit we tend to pack so much in, or leave the same day. Tom booked the train for the early evening, so we had no reason to rush.

After having breakfast and checking out, we left our luggage with the concierge and headed outside. Apparently a weekend of fabulous jackets, I was wearing the shiny holographic plastic jacket Tom bought me as a just because present. Good thing too, because the dreary wet weather from the day before had returned with a vengeance.

Ordinarily, we would use a down day to go to Camden, but Tom suggested we visit Brick Lane, which we hadn’t been to since the last time we saw Santa over a decade ago. Tom also suggested we cab it because there was a line-up of black cabs outside the hotel entrance (which explains why they are never around when you need them!)

The cabbie was friendly and Tom chatted away with him as I daydreamed out the window, taking in the sights of parts of London I recognised but did not know. We hit an intersection and Tom took a picture of a building with a mural of stick figures painted up the length of it. “That’s one of Stik’s,” he said casually, and proceeded to message it to Stik. They’d become friendly through a project Tom was managing and had been inseparable on WhatsApp ever since.

ABOVE: Past, Present and Future (courtesy of the artist - check out more of Stik’s work here)

The cabbie dropped us off at one end of Brick Lane and we walked the rest of the way. It seemed vaguely familiar until we hit the block of restaurants, and I was immediately transported to the night with Santa when we walked up and down trying to choose the best restaurant. Today, however, we weren’t in the market for food but shopping. We walked through the rain to the Brick Lane Vintage Market. I was glad to be out of the rain and up for a rummage. I could sense a bargain in there somewhere, but Tom had the find of the day when he spotted a pair of iridescent pink Doc Martens in his size. They had barley been worn (if they ever had) and he was as excited as a kid on Christmas. We traipsed up and down every rack, stall and aisle over two floors but I couldn’t find a single thing. I got a lot of compliments for my raincoat though. I felt like I’d found my people in the basement of an old brewery, markets take place.

We went from the vintage market to an eco market. It was full of really cool stuff that was so hip it hurts. We entered to the smell of every possible vegan food you can think of and shook off some of the rain. I picked out a pair of stud earrings made from old Tesco carrier bags. We passed by the busy food court, because we’d really only just eaten a full English and neither of us were hungry.

Outside the markets was a bustling little cocoa house called Dark Sugars. Although I couldn’t have eaten a meal, a nice hot drink would be a welcome distraction from the weather. As we stepped in the sweet smell of chocolate hung in the air. A mural on the side wall depicted the West African history of cocoa production. There were truffles as far as the eyes could see. By the time we got to the front of the line I felt like I had experienced enough of a sensory treat to satisfy me, but we battled through and ordered a hot chocolate each. We were ushered into the next room, where the real magic was happening. One person was endlessly frothing milk and another’s sole job was to shave generous curls from enormous blocks of white, milk and dark chocolate.

It was so mesmerising that it didn’t even matter that we were fourth or fifth in line. I chuckled and pointed out a poster on the window of a shop across the road, which read “DISNEY RUINED MY SON”. With nowhere to sit in Dark Sugars, we carefully carried our overloaded paper takeaway cups out of the shop for a moment of pure delight. It certainly brightened the day.

Back out in the rain, Tom remembered that he knew of a ukulele shop somewhere nearby. He smeared little puddles over his screen trying to locate it and we traipsed down a deserted side street for a few blocks. Just before we gave up the shop appeared - Duke of Uke. Inside, Tom enquired about a baritone uke and the shop staff scrambled around and deposited a number of them in a little semi circle around him. I took the opportunity to sit down and air out. My beautiful rain jacket was not actually a raincoat and I was starting to feel a little damp. To complete the look I made the data mistake of using the weekend to break in an incredible pair of highly reflective Chelsea boots. My feet were killing me, but they looked so good whenever the light hit them! With Tom unconvinced by any of ukuleles, we left the shop and headed towards Shoreditch.

On the Bethnal Green Road, in a lovely little nondescript Victorian corner shop, was a neon sign depicting in cursive the words “Green Factory”. It was a beacon in the grime and grey of this blustery day, so we went for a closer inspection. The windows were lined with terrariums and I was already inside before Tom had a chance to respond. Four Store sold mostly terrariums and while Tom chatted with the owner, I discovered some little herb growing kits in cut green wine bottles. The owner exclaimed that it was a new growing technology designed by a science teach who had an interested in hydroponics. The teacher had painstakingly researched the best growing media and absorption methods and built a little kit out of recycled bits and bobs. I couldn’t resist, particularly when I spotted a coriander kit, which is a herb we’ve never really had any success growing in the garden. Knowing that we had to get back to our bags before the train station, Tom asked where the nearest tube was and the man pointed us in the general direction, saying that it was a five minute walk. He wrapped my herb kit and put it in a paper bag that would was destined to disintegrate in the weather oustide.

It was a five minute walk that felt like half an hour up a relatively quiet street. We were both saturated and my feet were stinging with impending blisters. I clutched the paper bag like a little baby, fearing that the damp handles would not survive the journey. We made it onto the tube and cross-crossed back towards the hotel to pick up our bags. With time to spare, we shed our damp jackets and scarves and sat in the hotel lobby. After we’d sufficiently repacked everything, we jumped in another black cab towards Paddington.

At the station it was bedlam. It appeared that the bad weather was not localised. Trains had been delayed and cancelled due to inclement weather up and down the country. Luckily ours was okay, according to the board that we checked. Tom made a shocking discovery - we had no return tickets! Fumbling through the envelope, Tom found numerous confirmations, receipts and seat bookings, but no formal ticket to get on the train. With twenty minutes before departure, we rushed over to the ticket office to sort it out. The information/booking office was bedlam, with a queue of people trying to work out the best route home given the number of cancelled trains.

When we got to the counter, the customer service officer was empathetic but unable to help because we had booked through a third party. He got the third party on the phone and explained the situation, then handed over the phone to Tom. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of an issue resolution phone call with Tom, you’ll know he wasn’t hanging up until we had freshly printed tickets. Because of the line and the resulting call, we’d missed our scheduled train and needed tickets for whenever the next train with be. The person on the other line ended up relenting and asked for the customer service officer for a special code in which to log the reprint against. It was a small win, because we now had over two hours before the next train, if it came at all.

Trying not to kill the buzz of the weekend (the hot chocolate endorphins had definitely faded by this point) we gathered the luggage and shopping bags and headed for the first class lounge. That was the only saving grace of the first class tickets. Rather than sitting on the floor on the platform with hundreds of other frustrated people, we could go into a quiet room with clean toilets and bottomless Diet Coke. As we entered everybody looked up because the door was right by the TV running news shows about flash floods up north and everybody was glued to it. I’d forgotten until that moment that I’d switched from my shiny raincoat to the sequinned puffer jacket. I looked like I’d just come from a gay skiing trip. Some people smirked, some looked legitimately shocked and the others just looked politely away and back to the news footage. It was no skin off my nose, because I was so in love with the jacket I was happy they were looking.

After a quick loo trip and a Diet Coke collection, I nestled into my phone. There was a stream of messages and a photo from Mum, who had spent the evening with Tom’s mum who had been visiting Kalgoorlie. Despite it being a Sunday, they’d caught up at Mum’s for drinks and nibbles. It must have escalated, because the picture was of mum putting Anita into a car home. They looked like they’d had a good time together.

Tom had also retreated to his phone, texting back-and-forth with Stik recounting the palaver we’d had to this point. Stik was in the neighbourhood, having just come from a rave, and said he’d come and have a beer with us to pass the time. In no time at all, we gathered our things for the umpteenth time and met Stik out on the platform

Upstairs at one of the station pubs, we ordered three pints and chatted away about the weekend and Tom and Stik compared the shoes that they’d both purchased that day. Just as I was relaxing into my second pint, Stik went off to the loo and came bursting back into the pub exclaiming that he heard an announcement about our train. We said a quick goodbye to Stik and studied the departure boards. It had been a false alarm, but it gave us an opportunity to grab some sushi to eat on the way home.

I was relieved when we finally got on the train. The first class carriage was empty except for a couple of businessmen who alighted at Reading. I hung up my sequinned coat on the hook at the seat next to me, and we piled our luggage and shopping on the overhead storage shelves. We ate our bento boxes, laughed about the whirlwind trip and settled into our books once again.

#stories #London #stik #tom #ricky

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chaletnz · 6 years

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Italy Day Four: Florence/Rome

Since I killed my feet yesterday with all the walking to, from, and around the city centre I treated myself to a little sleep in. Still, I was checked out long before 10 anyway and left the hostel in search of a nearby breakfast. Not an easy feat since it was Sunday and the one supermarket was closed - along with everything else in the area. On my journey I discovered a huge market that seemed to have just popped up as it certainly wasn't there earlier or I would've noticed. It took me an hour to walk around all of it and I bought a small moka pot for €5 which is the cheapest I've ever seen one. It was a difficult market to walk through though, the Italians are very into pushing and shoving their way through and they don't know how to keep right so they're coming from all directions! Once I emerged in the other side of the market I spotted a small coffeeshop that was in prime position for making a mint by being open today! I lined up with many others to get my cappuccino and croissant (also known as an Italian breakfast), had a little break to refuel and then braved the crowds once more to get back to the hostel. I sat around for a while writing notes for my blog then I decided to go back to the market and get lunch there since I didn't have a lot of options in the neighborhood. On my first lap I'd spotted some nice looking Argentinian smoked pork paninos so I decided to go for one of those and a bottle of water - I managed to successfully order in Italian so when I later asked for a bag to takeaway the other half of my sandwich he was a bit confused that I'd switched to English. I made the walk back to the hostel again slowly, packed up my bag and took the 1.30 train to Rome. It must've been the slow train because it took about three hours to get there! Although I had paid the cheapest fare so that would be right! After riding all the trains in Venice without ever being checked I was surprised that there was an attendant on this train checking them all with a QR code scanner. Once I arrived I saw a Flixbus kiosk advertising cheap tickets to Naples which is my next destination so I picked up my onward ticket while I was here then walked briskly uphill to my hostel for the evening. I checked in, locked away my bag and then gunned it on the metro to the Colosseum since I wanted to arrive before sunset. I opted for the day ticket for all the transport in Rome because it would be valid right up until my bus to Naples tomorrow and since Rome is huge I knew I'd need to utilize the public transport. It was quite a strange phenomenon to walk out of a subway station onto the street and look up to see this centuries old structure in the middle of the sprawling metropolis. Of course the area was very crowded and I'd arrived a little too late to get good photos but it was nice to see it in real life at least! Since I was in the area I went for a stroll around in the gardens and climbed up to a church but it was getting quite dark by then, and the gates had all been closed for the evening. I thought tonight might be aperativo buffet night and I had read about a place called La Zanzara. I took the bus (of course I had to wait about half an hour for it because the public transport in Italy as a whole seems to be pretty pathetic - I don't know how people can get around) and with quiet streets I was optimistic that it wouldn't be crowded and I could go in, ask questions and taste as I pleased. But no, I rounded the corner and found the place bursting at the seams with a queue in front of the door too. I didn't even stop, my mind was already made up about waiting around more today! Instead I walked a short distance to the Vatican City and after some initial confusion as to how to get inside the walled state I found myself following some other tourist-looking types through the gates to St Peter's Square which is, of course, a circle. It was probably the grandest sight of the trip so far - and there have certainly been a few! The St Peter's Basilica was huge and lit up, but to make it more dramatic there were semicircles of pillars stretching round the "square". The space inside was filled with rows and rows of pews from today's Sunday sermon from the Pope. There was also one lone police car in the centre to keep the peace. I walked on, past Sant'Angelo castle and over a decorative bridge then I took a bus back to the hostel as I didn't want to be making my bed in the dark! On the way I checked out all that Rome had to offer and made a list of places to look up tomorrow that looked interesting from my window seat on the bus.

#Italy #Florence #Rome

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