#legend was getting by on nothing but apples and pastries before this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wreckofawriter · 5 years ago

Text

Magnolia Part 2

Part 1

Paring: Prince!Sirius Black x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Violence, blood, swearing

Song to Set the Vibe: Legends Never Die ~ Leauge of Legends

A/n: Holy shit this one went darker than I thought it would. Please excuse some awkward writing I wrote part of this while faded and I edited it best I could. I'm probably going to have one or two more parts. Hope you enjoy!!

Your legs had gone numb, you had been running for far too long. The heavy skirt you wore dragging in the dead leaves and catching on branches. Your hands were already skinned from being thrown to the ground. Your knees gave up, buckling, raw cuts dug back into the ground.

Panic had consumed you, the smell of smoke thick in your nose even though the flames were miles behind you, the screams echoed around you. Your lungs burned, embers still caught in your hair. You swore you could smell the cooking flesh.

You still heard the faint whispers. “What an unfortunate accident” they mocked “Your father must have forgotten to set a timer. The oven always got too hot.”

They smirked at you, breath hot in your ear, “The building was flammable, it must have caught quickly. Too quick for them to escape.”

“It was such a terrible mistake.” They laughed.

But it was no mistake.

"I said no!" You screamed at no one, the woods answering with your echo. "I said no." You dropped to the ground, you were too tired to cry anymore. You had said no, but I didn't matter anymore, what was done was done. Death wasn't reversible. The only reason you were still living was because you hadn't died.

You no longer wore heavy skirts. You had traded the ribbon in your hair for beads and braids. A satchel was replaced by a holster, books by guns, pastries with knives. You had adapted, the world wasn't simple and you couldn't pretend it was anymore. So you changed. You made yourself strong, you gave yourself the power and then you used it to stay in command. You decided what happened to you now, you made decisions for yourself and no one else. You lived for you. You had no one else to live for.

The white sails in the distance brought you excitement, your thirst for blood hot in your mouth. You recognized the symbols upon them, they had been plastered onto flags and banners around you for 18 years.

"The cannons are set," Adrie spoke, you could see the glee in her own eyes.

You nodded, “Good.” you felt a grin take your lips, “They aren’t stupid, they will be prepared for a fight.”

“So are we.” She grinned, her curved blade spinning in her hand.

“Good.” You repeated, “We burn the ship to the ground.”

You were true to your word, you and your crew overtook the royal vessel with ease, their soldiers were ill fit for the brutality of your own men.

Your blade slid easily through the knight’s throat, he tried to intake a breath choking on his own blood in a disturbing gurgle. You kicked him off your blade and sent him flipping over the side of the ship. You snapped the sword down, blood whipping onto the dark planks of the deck.

The fighting around you had died out and shouts were now replaced with laughter as gold and jewelry was loaded onto your own ship, there wasn’t as much as you anticipated, but there was still plenty. Not to mention the six barrels of liquor that had been found below deck.

Your pleasant mood was ruined by a harsh cry.

“Stowaway!” a scream followed the reveal.

You sprinted towards the sound your boot thudding heavily on the swaying boat. You jumped bellow deck ignoring the latter completely and wincing as you landed harshly on your left ankle. You continued regardless, turning a corner to face Adrie.

Her bright eyes were wide, the shine of a blade decorating her neck. A man in a dark hood held her against his chest, “Back away now!” he shouted only tightening his grip on your friend.

The man’s eyes lifted to meet yours and the sword gripped in his hand slipped to the ground with a clatter. He began to speak but was cut off as Adrie struck his shin, turning swiftly and cracking her knuckles under his chin.

The man crashed backward, managing to get his hands out to catch himself before he was pushed by the blonde’s foot into the ground, his head hitting the hardwood, hood dropping behind him.

You felt your world spin as you looked into the stowaway’s eyes, they were wide with fear and confusion, his dark hair spilling around him.

Adrie dropped to one knee, a knife held in her hand as she prepared to split the skin of his neck.

“Stop!” You shouted, desperation laced into your voice.

She looked up at you confused, her blade paused just above his Adam’s apple which bobbed as he took in a sharp breath.

“I can’t beli-” he began.

“Shut up.” You hissed, your mind reeled, you tried to think clearly but all that would come to you were muddled memories of pink flowers.

“Captain?” Adrie asked, her knife still hovered.

“Don’t kill him.” You spoke sternly, finally regaining part of your sanity.

Her face twisted in anger, “Why the hell not?” she spat.

You scoffed eyes still locked on the deep grey, “His life is worth double ours and more”

She furrowed her brows, “Do you know him or something?”

“Or something.” You replied.

“Well, who the fuck is he?”

“This is the Prince of Altair.” You answered, “There are a lot of people willing to pay a pretty penny for his head.”

She frowned, “He doesn’t look much like a prince, how can you be sure?”

You didn’t respond, “Tie him up. I want him bellow deck.”

You made it back to your ship in a slight daze, an absurd mixture of anger and sadness clawed from the back fo your mind as your eyes flooded with years of unshed sobs. You moved quickly, locking yourself in your quarters before anyone could catch a glimpse of the tears spilling down your cheeks.

You swore, kicking your desk and sending a bottle of ink to the ground. You couldn’t believe what you had just seen. What was he doing here? He should be running his kingdom, what the fuck is he doing on a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea?

You had done everything you could to avoid your past, yet it came knocking at your doorstep just as things were beginning to become easy. You should have known something was going to happen. It had all been too easy. The gods were punishing you for your momentary pleaser, reminding you that you were nothing more than the baker girl they had created. You had sins to burn for.

The scent of fire filled you and for a brief moment you thought you were standing in the dark grass of your yard, you could hear the screams and whispers again. You fell to your knees, burying your head in your hands as you tried to collect the broken mess you considered your reflection. You were falling, but there was no one to catch you, no one to pull you to your feet.

You were snapped from the nightmare you created for yourself with a sharp knock at the door. You inhaled a deep breath, “What?”

“Captain, the Prince is being difficult, things have gotten out of hand.”

“Knock him out.” You replied bitterly.

“We have tried, he is being difficult.” There was a brief pause, “He’s asking for you.”

That brought you to your feet, you thew open the door glaring at the man in front of you, “Where is he?”

Sirius was in a wave of panic. You had been right there, you had commanded that woman, stopped her. Yet you were nowhere in sight. All he could think about was the deep y/e/c of your eyes. The men holding his shoulders laughed at something behind him.

Sirius eyed the low overhanging beams of the cramped room he was being led to. His eyes then flirted to the gun in the man to his right belt. He stopped abruptly.

“Move it scum.” One man hissed.

Sirius stood still eyes locked ahead of him.

“I said move!” As the pirate went to push him Sirius ducked, snatching the gun from his belt before dodging the first and second beam and leaping at the third. His hands which were tied in front of him caught the unpolished wood and he pulled himself into the small space between him and the ceiling.

He raised the borrowed weapon pointing it at the taller of the two bellow him. “Where the fuck is she? I know you bastards have her. Where is y/n?”

“You’re batshit if you think you’re getting our captain.” The tall one growled.

“What the hell is going on down there?” Someone shouted from above.

“I don’t want your captain, I want y/n y/l/n she was on this ship.” He cocked the gun, “Now tell me where she is or I will blow a hole in your skull.”

“The prince escaped!” The shorter one called, “Get the captain!” There was a scurry of footsteps and suddenly four more people entered the room, two women, one tall with reddish hair another a short blonde. The other two men were massive each brandishing firearms of their own.

“I will kill you!” Sirius shouted, in a fury, the image of you being held captive by these criminals burned itself into his mind. “Give me y/n and I’ll leave.”

The short man scoffed, “I’ve already told you we ain’t given up our captain.”

Sirius supposed these were some of the dumbest people he had ever met, “Why the hell would I want your Captian?”

The pirates threw a glance at each other, they supposed this had to be one of the dumbest people they had ever met.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” Sirius snarled, “Where is y/n?”

“We aren’t fucking giving you y/n you bastard!” The blonde yelled her bright green eyes flashing dangerously.

A gunshot sounded and the hold erupted into shouts, Sirius’s ears rug as he tried to regain his scattered thoughts.

Just as suddenly as the commotion had begun it ended.

“Hey!” Your voice rose above the mob and in seconds silence fell like a weighted blanket.

Sirius found your form bellow him, emerging from the crowd which parted for your ease. You stood just bellow the man your eyes narrowed as you sneered up at him.

“Drop the gun, Sirius,” you commanded, the eyes of your crew widening as he complied, weapon clattering to teh ground.

You growled looking just past the man, “Jesus fuck Martin, you blew a hole in the fucking deck.”

The short male who you had addressed as Martin grimaced as you turned your glare on him.

“Y/n, thank god you’re alive, I’ve been looking-”

“Shut up or the next bullet will go between your eyes.” You snarled whipping back to face him, a small handgun’s barrel winking at him.

The silence that hung in the air was sickening. The mix of hatred and disgust that lingered in your eyes was worse.

“Adrie, set a course for Rigel.”

The blonde nodded.

“Everyone else out.” The crew glanced around at each other, “Now!” You shouted and they scampered out of view.

Sirius scanned you, truly taking in your appearance for the first time since he met your eyes. Your hair which was swept into untidy braids was held from your face by a black cloth with a deep red flower painted on its front. You wore a white tunic with a worn brown leather jacket thrown over it. Your belt held two knives and a small sword. Black boots that almost reached your knees adorned your feet. Scars riddled your neck and hands, a deep white mark cut over the bridge of your nose and onto your right cheek.

“Y/n, I can’t believe I actually found you.” The man lept down from the beam landing in front of you

The gun you held never lowered.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t respond your hands were shaking now, gun rattling slightly. Your eyes glazing over and from a moment Sirius thought you were going to pull the trigger.

“Get on your knees.” You croaked taking a step back as he took a step towards you.

“Y/n/n, what th-”

You cut him off, “Knees! Now!.”

Sirius stood stunned for a moment before lowering himself towards the ground.

You stared down at him, the gun still quaking in your grasp as you tried to calm your nerves. “One wrong move and I will not hesitate Black.”

Sirius felt his mouth go dry, his eyes fogged over as the words you just spoke sunk in, “You would kill me?” his voice was weak, a second from breaking.

You didn’t know the answer to his question.

You dropped the weapon to your side, tucking it into its holster before leaning down and taking the rope wrapped around Sirius’s wrists and undoing it. “Fuckin idiots.” You mumbled, “I always tell them to tie the hands behind the back.” You followed your own instructions as Sirius kneeled unmoving at your feet.

Once you had sinched the rope around his wrists checking the knot twice you walked back in front of him crouching down to his level. You could feel the mud of nostalgia get whipped away as you took his chin roughly into your hands.

“We aren’t friends Sirius.” You began, your nails digging into his pale flesh, “We sure as hell aren’t lovers, and for all I care we never were.”

You watched as Sirius’s face contorted.

“To me, you are only worth the highest bidder.” You dropped his chin, “Which you best hope is your mother.”

A small glint of light caught the corner of your eye. You glanced down to see a large diamond strung around his neck. You picked it up examining it between your fingers.

“It was yours,” Sirius mumbled, “Do you remember the night I gave it to you?”

You stared at the gem, its purity mocking you.

“It was the night before your sixteenth birthday and you were crying because your father had smashed a cake you had spent hours on because he-”

“Forgot to set a timer.” You finished and in a flash your smallest knife was held to his neck, “Like how he forgot to set a time when my home burned to the ground, right?”

Sirius drew his neck back and you only pushed harder.

“The night you proposed to me? The night your mother sent her vile soldiers to my home and lit it on fire?” You spat, “Or are you going to try and sell me some bullshit about accidents too?”

The man stared up at you, “Y/n I had nothing to do with that.”

“You had everything to do with it.” You seethed, “You were the reason she did it. You and your fucking engagement ring. I was ruining her life so she ruined mine.”

Sirius gritted his teeth as your blade broke his skin.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now and ruin her life just a little more.”

“Because I loved you!” He shouted and you jerked your blade away as he pushed toward you, “I still love you.”

You felt hot tears build in your eyes, “You don’t love me.” you hissed shaking your head, “You loved a naive little girl who was stupid enough to fall for a prince.”

“That’s still you.” He argued and you felt your hands tighten into fists.

“No, it’s not!” You yelled, “I’m not a fucking baker girl anymore!”

“I don’t care if you’re a baker girl or a goddam pirate your still y/n and I’ll care about you either way!”

You let out a snarl, your eyes narrowing further as you raised a foot and kicked Sirius in the chest. He fell backward with a groan as his head collided with the floor. You straddled him leaning down until your noses were inches from each other. “Don’t lie to me Sirius, you could never care for the women that killed dozens of your men, the women that tracked your kingdoms ships and burnt them into the sea with people still on board, you could never love a murderer.” You panted lightly, “You could never love me.” with that, you raised your blade, flipping it in your hand before connecting its blunt handle with his tempel.

His body went limp beneath you

“Welcome to the Black Magnolia, Sirius.” You murmured turning on your heel and heading up the steps. You had ransom notes to write.

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @songforhema @wangmangagavroche @evyiione @atomicpunkrock @fairywriter-oracle @moon-zodiac @april-showers-and-flowers @fleurmoon @somethingchaotic @re-zerohora @pregnant-piggy

Masterlist

Part 3

318 notes · View notes

kbstories · 4 years ago

Text

habits

(Or: Bakugou is a little shit and a dork. 1-A gets used to it.)

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

One lesser known truth about Bakugou Katsuki is that he's an unrepentant thief of snacks.

Class 1-A is blissfully unaware of this habit all the way up to their move to Heights Alliance. There, they not only share living space, but every meal of the day as well — a status quo that revealed many a peculiar fun fact about most classmates, really.

Bakugou's first victim by sheer proximity is Kirishima. They're hanging out outside after a weekend session at the gym, drinking their electrolytes and talking about the pros and cons of different brands of protein bars. Well, Kirishima is, at least.

Bakugou is huffing, saying, "It's all bullshit", as he gives the one Kirishima is currently eating the side-eye. "The food industry is one big scam, really. Learn to cook your own stuff and you won't need processed anything."

"Okay", goes Kirishima, long used to debating him on anything from hero rankings to the weather. "But consider this: I burn anything I cook. Anything, dude."

"That's factually impossible."

"...I burned water trying to make ramen once?"

"Shitty Hair. Water doesn’t— How the fuck?“

Kirishima laughs, waving the half-eaten protein bar around. "I don't know, but there was smoke, I swear! I set off the fire alarm and everything, my moms were so done. Life-long kitchen ban in my own home, that's me."

Bakugou groans a disgusted eugh sound. "Fucking understandable."

When it only makes Kirishima smile all the wider, Bakugou pushes at his shoulder, a shove too rough to count as affectionate by anyone's standards but Bakugou's.

"Fine. Normal people shouldn't eat protein bars. You shouldn't either, but you'd starve without 'em, apparently."

"Or, you could, y’know, cook for m—"

Another shove, enough to push a still-laughing Kirishima over. "Keep trying, dickhead. Pshh, cooking for you. In your dreams, maybe."

Kirishima hums and says nothing, his idle sip of sports drink interrupted by Bakugou pulling him to his feet.

"Who cares, c'mon. Don't think for a second I forgot about Thirteen's assignment."

A sputtering gasp from Kirishima. "Thirteen gave us an assignment?!“

"...Kirishima."

"Wait, no, listen. Why do physics have to, like, exist?", is Kirishima's brilliant argument. Nailed it.

Bakugou just stares. Then he snorts, "Fucking hell", shakes his head. "Whatever, I'm gonna make lunch and you're gonna do your damn homework. Maybe I'll let you have some. There's a faint chance. Very faint."

"Bro", Kirishima looks at him in wonder. "What about this, though?“

The glance Bakugou gives Kirishima's protein bar is downright offended if a little confused, too. "What about it?"

"Yeah, you're right. I'll just throw it awa—"

Bakugou moves so fast, all Kirishima sees is a blond blur.

Suddenly, the hand holding the snack is empty and Bakugou is chewing, having snatched the thing up with his teeth and devoured it like a beast from myths and legends.

"Problem solved, we're going. Huh, these don't even taste that shitty.“

Kirishima is too stunned to resist.

The Bakusquad is next in line when it comes to Bakugou's food-related crimes. Specifically, the croissant Kaminari is enthusiastically gesturing with to emphasize the point that yes, sneaking off campus for one (1) French pastry was definitely worth risking Aizawa's wrath over.

"It's perfectly baked. Look at its impeccable shape", Kaminari holds it up to his circle of friends like its his first-born child, "and the crust! It's so fluffy. I've been craving one all freaking week. This is gonna be so—"

Chomp.

Before Kirishima can even attempt to stop the tragedy waiting to happen, Bakugou has wandered back from his room, a stack of books under one arm and Kaminari's prized croissant in his mouth. The books are slammed on the table.

"Less talking, more studying", Bakugou snarks, somehow without getting crumbs of the stolen treat on anything. "Where'd ya get this from, anyway? S'good."

Kaminari’s jaw is on the floor, shell-shocked. "My… My croissant..."

"Sorry, bro", Kirishima sighs and pats his back. "He's just too damn quick."

The words are said with a look towards Bakugou, the that-wasn't-nice-man kind. Bakugou wrinkles his nose at him. (The very next day, an identical croissant shows up on Kaminari's plate during lunch break.)

Weeks fly by. By then, most of 1-A has been caught unawares by Bakugou's sneaky ways exactly once. They're training to be Heroes, after all — there's no way he'd get the drop on them again, at least not as easily.

Bakugou seems to be aware of this.

It doesn't stop him from snatching away Tokoyami's apple during movie night, smirking at both him and Dark Shadow with near-obnoxious levels of smugness. Tokoyami stares him dead in the eye while he grabs another one, one feathery brow raised in challenge.

Aoyama's handpicked brie is next, the guy's offended swearing almost as colorful as Bakugou's on his worst days. Bakugou outright cackles at that, obviously delighted by the prospect of someone else being subjected to Iida's no-cursing lecture for once, foreign language or no.

Speaking of Iida: It's his unopened cup of chocolate pudding Bakugou is eyeing like a cat does an especially oblivious mouse.

"Dooon't", Kirishima warns, hand hardened and ready to make a grab if needed. "I swear to Crimson Riot. Let the poor man have his pudding, or else."

"What has Iida even done to you, bro?", adds Kaminari, sliding his food tray into his usual spot across from them. "Like, I get it, I've pranked you enough times to owe you twenty croissants. And you're carrying Kirishima's entire academic career, so targeting him is valid, too."

"Hey! ...That's fair, actually. Carry on."

Kaminari winks at him. It's not like it's any different for him. "Iida, however, is wholesome, and—"

"Guys, you're making a great point and all that“, Ashido contributes over her bowl of natto. "But he's already gone."

Kirishima's head whips around. Indeed: No Bakugou. "No!"

"How is he this stealthy?!" Kaminari whines. "Bakugou, of all people!"

A few tables over, Iida is currently mid-story and too wrapped up in telling his audience of Momo, Todoroki, Uraraka and Midoriya about his adventures of googling what Aoyama had yelled out in sparkly rage the day before to notice a certain someone approaching.

Bakugou smiles, certain of his victory. Pretending to walk past them, he takes one hand out of his pockets and reaches out—

Only for his arm to be slammed to the table with a loud bang, mere inches from the desired snack.

"Kacchan", Midoriya pipes up casually, eyes still on Iida who — like everyone else at the table — jumped half a foot in the air from the sudden movement. "That's not yours."

Every member of 1-A is blatantly watching as Bakugou, food thief extraordinaire, is stopped in his tracks for the first time since his reign of terror began.

A collective breath is held. Surely, this will lead straight into a showdown of epic proportions in the middle of U.A.'s cafeteria. After all, any interaction between Midoriya and Bakugou tends to end in a shouting match, chaos or even bloodshed. And Bakugou does look intense, glowering at Midoriya as the muscles in his pinned arm bunch up and his palm starts to glow.

Then, he goes tch and rolls his eyes, grumbling: "Let go, Shitty Nerd. Figures you'd be the only one paying fucking attention."

Midoriya smiles and does as asked, pushing his own pudding cup closer to Bakugou right away. A blatant offer that's equally as blatantly ignored, as expected.

The actual food was never the point, after all.

Bakugou huffs off, lips upturned in somewhat of a smile of his own. Not that he'd ever admit to it as he rejoins his own friends, snapping at them to close their mouths and finish their lunch already.

Read on: AO3 / Twitter

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #BNHA #MHA #bakugou katsuki #BNHA fanfiction #my stuff #bakugou is a weirdo who doesn't know how to socialize pass it on

8 notes · View notes

justablobfish · 4 years ago

Text

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village.

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen.

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them.

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken.

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do.

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back.

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong.

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed.

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well!

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods.

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them.

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further.

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends.

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up.

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap.

In front of the hut stands Geralt.

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman.

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him.

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs.

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea.

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking?

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales.

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face.

And then he waits.

For a moment.

For a minute.

For ten.

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all.

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now.

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away.

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again.

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors!

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso.

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow.

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles.

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!"

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow.

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died.

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly.

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself.

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery."

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again.

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does.

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay!

He opens the door and steps inside.

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice.

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic.

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous.

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it.

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion.

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice.

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently.

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then.

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready.

In the door stands Ciri.

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children.

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation.

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!"

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza.

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily.

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side.

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it."

"Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!"

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?"

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!"

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess.

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle.

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!"

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them.

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?"

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through.

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone.

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress.

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before.

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same.

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-"

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall.

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!"

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?"

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!"

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children."

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago.

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain.

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly.

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object."

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life.

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off.

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly.

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children.

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily.

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope.

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively.

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her.

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents."

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?"

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red.

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision.

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly.

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist.

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases.

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder.

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?"

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?"

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that."

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back."

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs.

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would."

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?"

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once."

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now."

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously."

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?"

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #ciri #theblobfishwrites

13 notes · View notes

septic-skele · 4 years ago

Text

US - Heed The Signs (Part 6)

[Part 5]

“Are hatchling bones meant to look so yellow and frail? Take another pastry, dearie,” Miss Muffet advised, nudging the tray back at him. Blue sniffed, a little indignant, but he accepted another croissant nevertheless.

“I’m not frail at all! In fact, my bones are hardy and strong and rather magnificent,” he informed her as he tore off a piece, excess honey dripping from it in globs and strings. “I carried my brother most of the way here.”

“Oh ho, but you do not stop along the way for a doctor? The strength of little Papyrus-like bones is not important too?” Blue reeled back slightly as two of her five eyes gave him a sideways glance. What was she implying?

“Of course it is. That’s why I brought him here as fast as I could, so he could cool down!”

“Ahuhuhu, cold does not help a cold, silly thing! Why do you think little Papyrus was dancing out there? Snow and ice make the heat inside cook faster! Shiver and shake, quiver and quake, until the heat becomes too much and has to rattle right out of his bones! He didn’t get all of it, still some leftovers boiling.” Tutting, she resoaked the sponges to tuck against the younger skeleton’s ribs. “This is why I’m mopping him up! Let sit at room temperature so he can cool properly.”

“Wait, I—I don’t understand,” Blue whispered, despite the nausea slugging through him which indicated otherwise. “So his fit out there…Did I do that to him by bringing him here?”

“Ahh, accidents will happen.”

Her blasé tone only made the words worse. It hadn’t been an accident; he had brought him here purposefully, knowing already that he was ill. Light draining from his sockets, Blue dropped the croissant, pressing sticky gloves to his face. “Oh, stars…Oh, stars, I did this to him! I thought I was making him better, I thought—! How could I—?!”

Failure, idiot. You hurt him and then you abandoned him in the snow while he was lost and in pain. How could you? You’re dreadful! You made everything worse for him! You don’t deserve—

“Sans? Look and listen here, you.” A third hand on his face made him jump, biting back a mortified whimper as Miss Muffet brought his chin up. Her expression wasn’t entirely sympathetic but it didn’t hold quite as much judgment either. “Did you hear what I said? Accidents will happen. Hatchlings don’t know, so they don’t think until they are taught…and you don’t have any teachers, do you?”

Blue gulped against a lump in his throat.

“Where are your parents, child? In the nest you lost?”

Parents, plural. Memories of Dad were fleeting enough. Memories of a mother? When he looked back, he could grasp nothing about her at all.

“I suppose so,” he managed at last, not daring to blink lest any tears fall. He focused on his reflection in Miss Muffet’s dark eyes, admitting the truth to it. “We lost him—or them—when we lost the house. We should have known how to get back. It’s my fault, I can’t remember.”

“If you can’t remember, how do you remember it’s your fault?”

“It—It was my job to remember!” How could he know that either? It was just a feeling. He was the big kid so obviously he was to be trusted with the responsibility of recalling…whatever he was meant to recall. It was supposed to make sense.

“Huh! Well, if that’s so, it was your parents’ job to teach you better how to remember! Shame on them for misplacing you before doing so.” Huffing, she turned her attention to the fallen croissant. “Accidents, waste. My mother never let anything go to waste. Not food, not time. She carries me on her back until I’m grown and ready, and your mother goes unbothered? She makes you carry your own brother here from a home you don’t know? What shame. It’s no wonder bone hatchlings are only a myth.”

“A myth? Like a legend?”

“You and your brother are only you. Have you ever made friends with another? Have you ever seen another bone child your age?”

“No, I don’t think so. Are there many spiders like you?”

“Ahuhuhu! Two or two thousand live in the Ruins and Hotland! Cousins, brothers, sisters. Sad, my business is bad there. Grillby and his firecrackers are burning down the industry, but Snowdin puts their flames out. I am the only one strong enough to survive this cold, so my family sent me here to find better customers.”

“But…how is that any better than our parents? They lost us. After all that time raising you, your parents sent you away? I’m sorry, that sounds very lonely.”

Muffet opened her mouth. She closed it. She opened it again. “It’s my job to be here, like it’s your job to remember, you say. And we have telegrams.”

“It still sounds difficult, and sad, and not what I’d ever want. I may not see any other skeletons but Papyrus is all I need. Just one brother to keep me company is better in my mind than having none. If he ever sent me away…Gosh, now I know why he hates the thought of being left behind. I bet your brothers miss you.”

At that Miss Muffet looked more than a little shaken, though she glanced away so he wouldn’t examine it too closely. Blue didn’t inquire any further. The idea of being without Papyrus for any reason, now or as a grownup, was enough to make his shoulders hunch and his soul shudder. How close had this illness brought them to that reality already?

“That fit he had…Is that normal? Could that ever happen again?”

Gladly she latched onto the subject change. “If you want it to, if you do not?”

“N-No, I don’t! I never want to see that happen again!”

“The little bones dance when they need to dance; there is nothing you can do to stop it once it starts. Using foresight—” Four of her eyes blinked demonstratively. “—you try to see that he is not this sick again!”

“How did you know what to do when you saw him? Or not do?”

“Some spiders are not raised as strong as I. Some mothers did not prepare them for the world.” Her bucket sloshed wildly as she set it on the floor with a sharp clank. Blue flinched as she spun toward him, agitatedly tossing her head. “This world isn’t kind to my kind. Many of my brothers, sisters, cousins look for treats and find sweet poison left for them. They squirm and shake like this little bone and only some live to finish the dance.”

Blue’s eye sockets were as huge as saucers. “They…?”

She didn’t give him time to finish the thought, her next words brusque. “That comes to mind, what has the little bone down like this? This heat is brought on by something. Has he been looking for treats? Nibbled something unsavory?”

“We last ate some water sausages on our way here but he came down with it before; he didn’t even want to eat until I fed him by hand,” he murmured. “I tried to offer him part of that quiche I found under the bench we slept on but he wasn’t hungry for that either. We left it. Before that…Oh! We were foraging. We found a Nice Cream to share. That truly was a treat!”

“And you are not sick from that but your Papyrus is?” She peered closer, giving his forehead a tentative pet for a temperature. “That makes less than sense.”

“You’re right. If it was that, I should be sick too. Maybe I was meant to catch it but it couldn’t catch me, so it caught Papy instead. He’s always been a bit fragile, sensitive.” A humorless laugh escaped him. “He even choked on that soft Nice Cream. Lucky he’d found a bottle of sea tea to wash it down!”

“Tsk. Sea tea doesn’t come in bottles, dearie, it comes in boxes.”

“Really? You’re sure? That can’t be right. If that wasn’t sea tea, then what did he—?” He stiffened, eye sockets growing impossibly wider. “What did he drink? It was in that bottle. The bottle had cracks. It had spilled, it was all over that crab apple he tried before I found the Nice Cream! What was that?!”

“Well, describe its looks for me! Labels, liquids?”

“The label was torn! The liquid looked…green, I think.”

“Sea tea is blue, Sans, blue like the sea.”

“I-It doesn’t come in different flavors?!”

“Ai, Arachne!” Pressing a hand to her face, Miss Muffet shook Blue’s shoulder with another. “Has the little bone brought it up again?”

“No, we left after we ate! We didn’t talk about it. I didn’t think about it again, he seemed fine at first but—”

“Silly, silly, listen! Has he brought it up again? Spitting, spewing?”

“Oh, h-he was sick to his stomach twice! It was worse the second time.” Scrambling off the stool, he grabbed at her arm. “Is that really bad? Is it going to make him worse? What did he drink?!”

“Your Papyrus left the bottle behind? Where is there?”

“On the far end of Waterfall, b-by the second east river! An old monster lives there and we sorted through his trash. It wasn’t the first time; we try not to scavenge in the same place too often, overstay our welcome, and he yelled after us the first time but he had so much of it! Sharing is caring and if he threw it out, I didn’t think he would miss it too terribly! Miss Muffet—”

“I’ll string a telegram through the web to my cousins in Waterfall,” she announced, bustling back toward the door. “Stay with the little bone, mop him up—and don’t look so blue. If I know much of what I know, he should be up, groggy and grumpy soon, and the last thing he needs is to see your face frightened.”

#undertale #underswap #fanfiction #sans #sans undertale #swap sans #papyrus #papyrus undertale #swap papyrus #muffet #sickfic #whump #babybones #angst #feels #caretaking #hurt comfort

3 notes · View notes

uberstip · 4 years ago

Text

The world is temporarily closed. Save it now, travel later. Kata-kata yang belakangan sering saya lihat di stories. Nabung sekarang, jalan-jalan kemudian. Mumpung vaksin belum ditemukan, tingkatkan penghasilan dan perkecil pengeluaran. Cari peluang hasilkan uang. Setelah pengobatan berhasil dan border dibuka kembali, baru deh hepi-hepi lagi.

Sekarang kita semua menghadapi realita yang sama, seperti burung dalam sangkar. Ga peduli betapa menyenangkannya nonton, nyemil, dan rebahan, kita rindu terbang bebas dan menggila di dunia baru. Selagi menunggu momen itu tiba, let’s fight a good fight, live both for now and prepare for tomorrow.

‘LET’S WATCH ‘IT’S OKAY NOT TO BE OKAY’. LET’S SUPPORT WRITER KOO MOON-YOUNG!’ Maaf, Oppa gagal fokus. Ehmm…

Menabunglah goban sehari. Maka saat usiamu 70 tahun, kamu akan memiliki cukup uang untuk pensiun dan menikmati hidup.

But for me, that’s not how life works. What’s the point to go through life with money if you feel like shit every day?

Would you rather have sex in the Maldives when you’re 70 or when you’re 30?

Enjoy our life right now, not later.

Kejar pasangan impianmu, berpegangan tanganlah, berciumanlah, tertawalah, menangislah, berlarilah dari kenyataan dan panjat tebing itu! Don’t wasting away your youth. Experience life as much as you can.

Bagaimana kisah cintamu selama pandemi?

Yang tinggal serumah, apakah mulai muncul konflik? Apakah Kadar cinta mulai berkurang karena hal-hal sepele yang menjadi besar? Perbedaan prinsip dan kepribadian yang mulai terasa? Tidak bisa terselesaikan dengan baik lalu putus? Ekonomi yang memburuk membuat kalian terjebak dalam baku hantam?

Dari yang tadinya ala ala Masimo ‘Are you lost baby girl?’ Kini menjadi ‘Get lost baby girl?’

Yang LDR, apakah banyak rindu yang tak tersalurkan? Apakah kalian saling menunggu dalam ketidakpastian? Apakah dia diam-diam main gila? Sudah jatuh tertimpa duren? Atau yang lebih parah cintamu bukan lagi cinta segitiga, tapi cinta lingkaran. Soalnya ada kamu, dia, selingkuhan pertama kedua ketiga dan keempat?

Yang jomblo, apakah jadi lebih sulit untuk berkencan dan menggauli orang baru? Apakah kerjaanmu hanya stalking instagram mantan dan sulit move on? Ataukah kamu terisolasi dan kecanduan drakor terlarang?

Bagaimana cara kalian menemukan jalan keluar di tengah peliknya situasi.

Ceritakan di komen. Oppa sebagai sarjana akan menanggapi dengan berfaedah.

How to get around Prague?

Prague merupakan kota yang nyaman untuk dilejajah dengan berjalan kaki, tempat-tempat wisatanya juga relatif dekat. Arsitektur yang cantik membuat saya lupa sudah berjalan jauh. Namun disaat lelah, public transport yang murah dan tepat waktu selalu ada di tiap penjuru.

Kereta Metro beroperasi setiap hari dari jam 5 pagi – 12 malam

Once you have purchased a ticket, it must be validated at the time of travel: insert your ticket into one of the yellow machines located at the entrance to the metro, or inside trams and buses

For travelling within the area of Prague choose a ticket for 24 CZK – 30 minutes, 32 CZK – 90 minutes , or 110 CZK – 24 hours. I bought this 1-day ticket when i have to go to Vyšehrad

Tiket untuk naik metro, tram dan bus di Praha berdasarkan waktu. Ada yang 30 menit (24 CZK) dan 90 menit (32 CZK). Selama jangka waktu tersebut, kamu bisa gonta-ganti 3 moda transportasi. Ada juga tiket full harian, 1-Day dan 3-Day.

Jika berencana sering naik angkutan umum, belilah tiket 1-Day 24 jam seharga 110 CZK. Tiketnya dijual di pusat informasi dan mesin kuning bertuliskan Jízdenky di stasiun metro, halte tram dan bus. Sebelum naik, jangan lupa memvalidasi tiket di yellow box (seperti foto saya diatas).

The vending machines accept only coins, not banknotes. Some airport and main train station are equipped with machines that accept Credit Card as well.

Do not forget to validate the ticket – Stamp in the yellow box.

Untuk info lebih lengkap, klik pragueexperience.com dan Honest Guide Youtube

Download Metro and Tram Map full HD from czech-transport.com

Sebelum membaca tulisan kali ini, ada baiknya membaca petualangan saya di Prague sebelumnya: My First Day in Prague

Bangunan gothic abad pertengahan berdiri megah diantara alun-alun luas dan berlikunya jalan berbatu. Istana dan budaya Bohemia melebur bersama shopping malls. Saya seakan berada di dalam dunia penyihir yang cantik. Once upon a time in Prague…

Berikut tempat-tempat epic yang saya kunjungi di kota penuh romansa:

1. Old Town Square

The most iconic area in Prague. The heart of the city that remained almost untouched since the 12th century

Sesuai dengan namanya ‘Old Town’, alun-alun ini dikelilingi bangunan-bangunan tua bersejarah, ada gereja Tyn dan St. Nicholas, Astronomical Clock dan Jan Hus Monument. Mungkin jika namanya ‘Young Town’, bakal banyak mama-mama muda.

Wake up before everyone else and have the city for yourself

Pagi itu ketika matahari belum beranjak tinggi, langit seakan tertutup embun. Saya menikmati kota tua dalam keheningan. Keheningan yang segera beralih menjadi pusat keramaian di siang hari.

Staroměstské náměstí

Oldest square in the historic center with 10th-century origins, site of many Gothic buildings

Staroměstské nám., 110 00 Josefov, Czechia

Direction: Google Maps Location

2. Cafe Milani

Saya mengawali hari dengan sarapan di Cafe Milani, kafe kecil yang ngangeti. Aroma kopi menguar saat saya melangkah masuk. Dengan wajah beku, saya mencari kehangatan di sofa sudut kafe.

Tak lama setelah order, perpaduan sepotong cheese cake dan seteguk hot espresso lumer di dalam mulut. Meleleh bagaikan lava yang lembut. Dari mulut mereka bercinta di perut. Sebuah kebahagiaan kecil di pagi yang sederhana.

A good day doesn’t need to be one where something big happens. It just needs to be small thing that makes you feel joyful

Cafe Milani

Cute place with good coffee and pastry selection

16/ Czech Republic, Kaprova 9, Staré Město, 110 00 Praha, Czechia

Direction: Google Maps Location

3. Apple Museum

Many of the streets of Prague are laid in cobblestone with a lot of different patterns and designs. I walk through this beautiful little streets before i found the apple museum

The museum is filled with Apple gadgets that have ever beed created from the beginning to 2012

See how the apple family grew and become the most profitable company in the history of the world!

Sebagai Apple fan boy, saya menyempatkan diri berkunjung ke Apple Museum. Museum yang menampilkan gadget Apple dari awal berdiri hingga sekarang. Dari Mac dan iPhone pertama, sampai motor BMW milik Steve Jobs.

Menengok cerita bagaimana Steve Jobs memulai Apple pertama kali. Berawal dari garasi rumahnya yang kecil, hingga kini menjadi perusahaan teknologi terkaya di dunia. Gimana gak kaya, biaya pembuatan iPhone 11 Pro per bijinya $159 dijual $1099. Margin keuntungan besar dengan produk yang sangat laris. Boom!

Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful, that’s what matters to me.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Stay hungry, stay foolish.

– Steve Jobs

Apple Museum

Museum devoted to Apple founder Steve Jobs with exhibits of computers built 1976–2012

Husova 21, 110 00 Staré Město, Czechia

Hours: Senin – Minggu 10AM – 10PM

Direction: Google Maps Location

4. Charles Bridge

It’s our last night in Europe, and I had this plan that I wanted to tell you. I’m just going to, I’m just going to tell you. MJ, I…’ ‘…am Spider-Man?’ ‘No. Of course not!’ ‘I mean it’s… kind of obvious’

– Spiderman Far from home

This 14th century stone bridge has two large towers on both sides linking Prague’s old and new towns

Legend has it that he planned out every detail of the bridge, including the 30 statues

It’s a popular pedestrian bridge lined with imposing statues

The construction of the bridge dates from Charles IV, King of Bohemia and Holy Roman Emperor. Legend has it that he planned out every detail, including the 30 statues

This is the place where Peter finally tells his secret and MJ spouting off facts about how they’d execute people on Charles Bridge and loving the Black Dahlia murder like. Awkward but really cute. Dark sense of humor on the most romantic bridge in Europe. That Peter and MJ kiss was romantic and shows how weird teenage relationships can be. And i love what she said in the end before the perfect kiss: ‘I don’t think i deserved that kind of happiness. I dont have much luck when it comes to getting close to people’.

I felt her.

Make sure to touch the statue of St. John Nepomuk. Touching the statue is a must ritual. It’s supposed to bring good luck and to ensure that you return to Prague

Karlův most

Landmark stone bridge linking Prague’s Old & New Towns, with street artists & entertainers

Karlův most, 110 00 Praha 1, Czechia

Open 24 hours

Direction: Google Maps Location

5. John Lennon Wall

Many might think of it as a simply graffiti, but it means much more than that. Toward the end of Communism in the 1980s, students started writing John Lennon lyrics on this wall as a way to air their grievances. Today, the wall represents love and peace

Di tahun 1980, para pelajar menyuarakan kegelisahan pada komunisme dengan coretan di tembok ini. Mereka menulis potongan lirik lagu The Beattles yang mewakili isi hati mereka.

Lirik lagu yang ditulis oleh sang vokalis John Lennon, yang saat itu baru saja tewas ditembak oleh fansnya sendiri. Kini, dinding grafiti ini menjadi magnet wisata yang melambangkan cinta dan perdamaian.

Imagine there’s no countries It isn’t hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace

– Imagine, John Lennon

youtube

Lennonova zeď

Wall that, since Communist days, has been covered in graffiti, often politically focused messages

Velkopřevorské náměstí, 100 00 Praha 1, Czechia

Open 24 hours

Direction: Google Maps Location

It was an autumn morning. The loveliest season of the year. Musim dimana daun-daun berganti warna dan jatuh perlahan. Musim dimana taman publik terlihat begitu indah.

Salah satunya di area Malá Strana ini. Saya duduk sejenak di bangku taman di bawah pepohonan. Kaki yang beristirahat, pikiran yang relaks dan hati yang bersenandung.

6. Kafka Museum

The 3D Piss Sculpture, the famous statue in front of the museum. Created by David Černý, a Czech sculptor who knows how to bring quirky to life

Saya mendengar gemercik air saat berjalan mendekati museum. Tadinya saya pikir itu suara air sungai, ternyata air pipis. Pipis dari 2 patung yang pinggulnya bisa goyang-goyang sendiri. Air seninya mengalir ke dalam kolam berbentuk peta Republik Ceko. Tentunya bukan air seni asli.

Franz Kafka merupakan penulis novel paling tenar dari abad ke-20. Sayangnya semasa hidupnya, penulis yang lahir di Prague ini belum sempat menikmati ketenaran. Bahkan menjelang kematiannya, Kafka sempat meminta temannya untuk menghancurkan semua tulisannya. Tampaknya Kafka introvert sejati.

Tak mengindahkan permintaanya, sohibnya malah menerbitkan tulisannya dan memberi kredit penuh kepada Kafka. Salah satu karyanya yang paling mendunia adalah ‘The Metamorphosis’. Kini, patung dan museum yang didedikasikan untuknya, berdiri di tiap sudut kota Praha.

Di sebelah museum terdapat toko roti kecil yang unyu. Mereka menjual berbagai cookie yang terlalu menggemaskan untuk dikunyah. Dari segi rasa si biasa aja. Jadi jangan beli banyak-banyak. Cukup beli 1-2 untuk di update di instagram dan ngemil di jalan.

Muzeum Franze Kafky

Czech writer Franz Kafka’s letters, diaries & photographs are on view, along with 3-D installations

Cihelná 635, 118 00 Malá Strana, Czechia

Hours: Senin – Minggu 10AM–6PM

Direction: Google Maps Location

7. Náplavka

The city’s fairytale feel. A great view of Charles bridge with swan’s family partying on Vltava river

Embusan angin dingin menemani saya berjalan melewati jalan berbatu, menyebrangi jembatan Charles, dan menatap angsa-angsa putih di pinggir sungai. Saya seperti berada dalam kisah pengantar tidur. Zzzzz….

Fact

Swans are highly intelligent and remember who has been kind to them, or not

Naplavka

Observation deck

Malá Strana 1, 118 00 Praha 1, Czechia

Open 24 hours

Direction: Google Maps Location

A hidden gem that shows beautiful panoramic and naturalistic point on the Vltava river

Most contented-looking Swans I’ve ever seen

Saya sempat mendekati angsa putih yang cantik. Saya mengagumi keanggunannya dan mengabadikannya. Beberapa saat kemudian, entah kenapa dia memalingkan wajah dan pergi menjauh. Ditinggal pas lagi sange-sangenya memang menyedihkan.

Mungkin juga karena angsa hewan yang setia. Dari yang saya baca, jika angsa sudah bertemu jodohnya, dia akan setia seumur hidup. Ga akan gonta-ganti pasangan kecuali kekasihnya meninggal atau tidak bisa berkembang biak. Hmmm… mungkin karena itu dia menghindari Oppa.

8. St. Nicholas Church at Malá Strana

The greatest Baroque church in Prague. The carving all along the side and front of the church are quite remarkable

Gereja Barok terbesar dan terindah di Praha. Bahkan Mozart pernah main organ disini. Gereja yang didedikasikan khusus untuk St. Nicholas of Myra. Santo yang semasa hidupnya banyak melakukan mukjizat dan mencintai anak-anak. Kebiasaannya yang suka memberi hadiah, menginspirasi lahirnya nama ‘Santa Claus’. Diambil dari panggilan sayangnya ‘Saint Nick’.

The dome has a massive diameter of 20 metres, and the interior height to the top of the lantern is over 49 metres, making it the highest interior in Prague. Franz Palko painted the Celebration of the Holy Trinity on the ceiling of the dome. This is a visual masterpiece

The interior has statues and decorations in marble and gold and frescoes. On the ceiling of the ship, Jan Lukáš Kracker painted a fresco about the life of Saint Nicholas with an area of 1500 m²

Begitu masuk, dekorasi marble berlapis emas membuat saya terkesima. Langit-langit kubah setinggi 75 meter itu bersinergi dengan fresko ‘the Celebration of the Holy Trinity’. Lukisan yang menggambarkan Allah Tritunggal, Bapa Anak dan Roh Kudus merupakan 3 pribadi dalam 1 Ketuhanan.

A fresco inside the 70 metres high dome by František Xaver Palko

This visual masterpiece is located 5 minutes away from the tram stop

Kostel sv. Mikuláše

Elegant church that was started in 1745 & took 100 years & 3 generations of architects to complete

Malostranské nám., 118 00 Malá Strana, Czechia

Hours: Senin – Minggu 9AM – 5PM

Entrance Fee: 100CZK

Direction: Google Maps Location

9. Prague Castle – St. Vitus Cathedral

Berdasarkan Guinness World Records, Prague Castle merupakan istana kuno terbesar di dunia. Kastil seluas 45 hektar ini berdiri diatas bukit, melingkupi cakrawala kota. Area istana yang dulunya tempat tinggal para raja ini terdiri dari katedral, menara dan taman yang luas. Kemegahannya membuat saya bermimpi untuk menikah disini. Tolong bantu saya Bill Gates.

St. Vitus Cathedral merupakan bangunan tercantik di istana ini. Gereja sekaligus makam bagi santo Vitrus dan raja Bohemia Wenceslas. Gereja yang dibangun pada tahun 1344 ini terlihat begitu elegan. Gereja yang menjadi saksi sejarah ‘Defenestrations of Prague’.

Pada tahun 1618, massa yang muak diperintah oleh the Catholics Hapsburgs of Austria, melempar keluar gubernur kerajaan dari jendela lantai 3 setinggi 21 meter. Entah bagaimana, dia mendarat di tumpukan sampah dan selamat. Peristiwa yang menyebabkan dimulainya Perang 30 tahun.

‘This is awesome’ ujar saya setengah berbisik saat memasuki gereja yang begitu magis.

The spectacular view after climbing 287 steps to the south tower. It was completely worth it! When i reached the top, i stood in silence for a while, taking in the remarkable view

Tak hanya interior, pemandangan kota dari puncak menara juga menakjubkan. Setelah setengah bengek menaiki 287 anak tangga spiral yang sempit, saya berdiri terdiam sesaat, menikmati keindahan yang tak terbantahkan.

Pražský hrad

Vast castle complex with buildings revealing architecture from Roman-style to Gothic & 20th century

Free Admission but you will have to pay 150 CZK if you want to get to the tower. The entrance to the tower is outside of the building and around the side from the main entrance. Purchase tower tickets at the entrance to the tower.

Hradčany, 119 08 Prague 1, Czechia

Direction: Exit from Malostranska Metro Google Maps Location

The castle, which lords over the city, consists of multiple sections: St. Vitus Cathedral, the Old Royal Palace, The Story of Prague Castle, St. George’s Basilica, Golden Lane with Daliborka Tower, the Powder Tower, and Rosenberg Palace

10. Náměstí Míru Subway

Náměstí Míru is the most deepest station in the world. It’s located 52 metres under the ground. The longest escalators in Prague metro. Length 87,1 m, vertical distance 43 metres

Stasiun kereta bawah tanah terdalam di dunia. Saat saya turun dan naik eskalatornya berasa lama banget.

Beautiful architecture of the metro station

Náměstí Míru

The deepest metro station with the longest escalator in Prague

Vinohrady, 120 00 Prague 2, Czechia

Direction: Google Maps Location

11. Vyšehrad

Vyšehrad was settled in the mid-10th century, and was even the seat of the first king of Bohemia. This area offers good upriver views of the city. It’s beautiful!

Menjelang senja, saya mampir ke Vysehrad. Karena terletak di bagian selatan Praha, sekitar 20 menit dari pusat kota, saya naik tram untuk mencapai istana raja abad ke-10 ini. Karena jauh dari pusat keramaian, area istana ini terasa begitu damai. Seperti tak ada tanda-tanda kehidupan.

Prague’s oldest surviving building, the Rotunda of St. Martin

Bangunan-bangunannya juga terpelihara dengan baik. Yang paling keren, dari sini saya bisa melihat pemandangan kota yang surreal. Dengan mata yang berkaca-kaca, tanpa sadar mulut saya menganga ‘whoaaaa’ dan jiwa saya melakukan standing applause.

Vyšehrad

Fortified castle with a museum, hidden passages, large grounds & remains of a medieval basilica

V Pevnosti 159/5b, 128 00 Praha 2-Vyšehrad, Czechia

Direction: Google Maps Location

12. Vyšehrad Cemetery

The most beautiful cemetery i’ve been visit so far. The amazing headstones and sculptures are stunning. The bright memory of people who have contributed to their country

Selama di Prague, jalan-jalan kemana aja?

Ke kuburan.

Hah?! Jauh-jauh ke Praha kok main ke kuburan?

Mungkin akan terdengar epic bila kita menceritakannya ke teman dan keluarga di rumah. Walaupun suasananya terasa gelap dan muram, namun makam ini tidak terkesan horor. Mungkin karena saya tidak datang pada jam 12 malam. Kalo datang tengah malam, mungkin saya akan ‘dugem’ – duduk gemetar.

The final resting place of some of the most famous Czechs throughout modern history, including that of Antonín Dvořák Tomb, the first Bohemian composer to achieve worldwide recognition, noted for turning folk material into 19th-century Romantic music

Saya berjalan diantara batu nisan yang dihiasi patung-patung bernilai seni. Memperhatikan nama-nama yang terukir disana. Nama dari tokoh-tokoh penting dalam sejarah Ceko. Diantaranya adalah komposer klasik Antonín Dvořák dan Bedrich Smetana, penyanyi opera Ema Destinnova, serta penulis Svatopluk Cech.

hřbitov Vyšehrad

Graveyard with the 19th-century Slavin tomb, holding the remains of renowned artists & musicians

K Rotundě, Vyšehrad, Praha 2, Czechia

Free Entrance

Direction: Google Maps Location

13. Saint Peter and Paul Basilica

The church is the center point of Vysehrad. This lovely old cathedral is like a mini version of St. Vitus. Even though it’s not small at all. Its 58 meters high twin towers can be seen along the Vltava River in central Prague

Suara lonceng yang berdentang menyambut kedatangan Oppa. Sebenarnya, bukan karena Oppa juga. Melainkan memang tiap jamnya lonceng di gereja ini berbunyi.

Bangunan gereja bergaya gothic ini mengingatkan saya akan castle terkutuk Moon Young. Semua terkesan gelap dan misterius.

Gereja ini didirikan pada tahun 1070-1080 oleh Raja Ceko Vratislav II. Bayangkan betapa tuanya gereja ini. Di tahun tersebut, bisa dipastikan bahwa embrio saya belum terbentuk.

The interior is richly decorated with Art Nouveau ornamental and figural wall paintings. The church’s treasury houses an exhibition of jewellery and rare textiles from the Vyšehrad Chapter

A wonderful art nouveau paintings

The stained glass windows and statues are explaining the suffering and glorification of Christ

The atmosphere of silence and prayer

Saat masuk, saya menatap kagum pada lukisan-lukisan bergaya art noveau yang menghiasi dinding gereja. Semua lukisan, detail kaca patri dan patung-patung seni yang ada disini menggambarkan tentang penderitaan dan kemuliaan Yesus di kayu salib.

Bazilika svatého Petra a Pavla

Neo-Gothic church featuring elaborate frescoes, carvings & mosaics inside

Štulcova, 128 00 Praha 2-Vyšehrad, Czechia

Hours: Senin – Minggu 10AM–5PM

Entrance Fee: 50 CZK | Rp. 33,000

Direction: Google Maps Location

14. Franz Kafka Metallic Sculpture

The moving art: the Head of Franz Kafka. This futuristic silver sculpture depicts writer as his head turns outside the Quadrio shopping mall

Patung logam berwajah Kafka karya seniman kontroversial, David Cerny. Wajah besar seberat 39 ton dan setinggi 11 meter ini dirancang dengan 42 lapisan mesin yang bisa memutar.

Franz Kafka – Otočná hlava

In honor of Prague’s renowned author, Franz Kafka, this metallic sculpture is constantly changing.

Direction: Národní třída metro station

15. Dancing House

Dancing House, aka Fred and Ginger. The location of the famous buildings is of historical significance. An old house on this corner was bombed in 1945, until a Dutch insurance company Nationale-Nederlanden purchased the lot and commissioned the the Czech architect Vlado Milunić to design a new house with an unlimited budget

Gedung yang terlihat hidup seperti sedang berdansa. Pada tahun 1945, tempat berdirinya ‘rumah goyang’ ini dulunya pernah hancur karena di bom. Sampai akhirnya di tahun 1960, perusahaan asuransi asal Belanda membeli tanah ini dan menugaskan arsitek Vlado Milunić untuk merancang bangunan baru yang artistik.

Tančící dům

Curving modern office block by architect Frank Gehry, with top-floor restaurant offering city views

Jiráskovo nám. 1981/6, 120 00 Nové Město, Czechia

Direction: Google Maps Location

Pekatnya malam di Prague, terasa makin dingin. Lampu jalan yang bersinar kuning, memantul indah bersama sungai Vltava. Saat saya berjalan di tepi sungai, tiba-tiba gerimis menyapa. Kemudian terlihat sepasang kekasih saling berbagi payung.

Sambil berjalan, saya melihat mereka mendekap satu sama lain. Dengki perlahan menyeruak. Ingin rasanya Oppa mendekati mereka dan berkata:

‘Halah, bentar lagi juga putus!’

Namun, niatan jahat itu oppa urungkan.

Oppa hanya bisa berlari menerjang menembus hujan, meninggalkan mereka berdua dalam keheningan.

Miris.

I wish i had someone to write stories with happy endings that night, to sing a song that would put us a sleep together.

But no, there’s no romance in the most romantic city in the world

Memorable day in Prague. Top 15 things to do The world is temporarily closed. Save it now, travel later. Kata-kata yang belakangan sering saya lihat di…

#Charles Bridge #Czech #Europe #John Lennon Wall #Naplavka #St. Nicholas Church #St. Vitus Cathedral #Top things to do in Prague #travel #Trip #Vysehrad

3 notes · View notes

that-bog-witch · 6 years ago

Text

A Faded Trail

Characters: Gender-neutral fey (Halcyon) x Gender-unspecified reader

Warnings: A thunderstorm, getting lost in the woods

Rating: Citrus (just a kiss on the hand)

Words: 1.8k words

Set in a fairly generic fantasy setting.

You knew it was going to rain. You could see it in the green that overtook the clouds. The trees swayed as the wind picked up, whispering among the branches. A heavy fog rolled off the river. The path ahead was obscured, but you knew the way well. You traveled this path home, often. Your feet would guide you where your eyes could not.

Or so you thought. The rain fell first as a drizzle, then in thin sheets. The path became muddy. You should’ve reached home, by now. One look at your compass made sure of it. You were going in the right direction. Something must be very wrong.

It was then that you turned to retrace your steps, but found no footprints. It had been only moments- there was no time for them to have washed away. You paced the clearing. The worst of the storm hadn’t hit, yet. There was a chance.

About an hour later, you were in no better shape. The fog had grown fitful and thick, and you could hardly see the end of your own arm. Thunder crackled above, but it was still far away. Only the occasional lightning lit up the path. Your lantern had refused to light, its fuse too damp. It was then that you really took it in. It was dark. The sun was going down. You would be stranded out here, at night. During a storm, no less.

A sense of urgency overtook you. You were too lost. There was no use in fumbling about the nighttime woods in the fog. You needed to find shelter.

As it turned out, shelter found you. Leaning to inspect a fallen oak that might serve as shelter- albeit a shoddy one- you slipped and rolled. Your feet went out from under you and you landed heavily in a pile of leaves. You stood, looking around at the shallow ravine you had fallen into. It blocked the wind, and the outcropping above it shielded you from the worst of the rain. It was far better than nothing, and on high enough ground that flooding wouldn’t be an issue.

Unable to sleep, you stared out at the sheets of rain and flashes of lightning. A shiver had begun to set in. Delirious from the cold, travel, and lack of sleep, your vision began to blur. Two soft, fuzzy lights pierced the fog ahead of you, but you couldn’t quite make them out. They vanished for a moment.

There. They reappeared in an instant. The soft lights came closer, flickering at the edge of the ravine. Soft footfalls followed, and a darkened figure drew near. In your delirium, you only managed to tilt your head a bit. It hardly occurred to you that the figure could be dangerous.

“You poor thing,” a soft voice spoke, somehow cutting through the rain and thunder, “You must be freezing!” Unable to put up much of any protest, you were lifted up and hauled over the figure’s shoulder. You blinked. Your vision swayed and gave out.

---

When you woke, you were warm and wrapped in something soft. You opened your eyes and blearily took in your surroundings. The mud that had caked your skin and clothes after your fall into the ravine was gone, but you still wore your own clothes. You weren’t in the ravine. You were in a bed. It wasn’t your own. With your heart starting to pound, you glanced around the room. It looked like a cabin of sorts, but it had a soft, unearthly glow to it. Everything was a bit too fine and warm, like the summer home of a prince.

A mug of steaming apple cider and a fresh biscuit were set on the bedside table. The biscuit seemed homemade. You glanced around, then inspected the biscuit. Surely no one would bother saving you from the storm, just to poison you. You took a hesitant bite, and discovered that it tasted great. It didn’t take much longer for the biscuit to be gone. You hold the mug of cider between your hands, letting it warm out the last of the storm’s chills. Before you can raise the cup to your lips to take a drink, the door creaks open. You nearly jump.

“Awake, at last,” the creature standing before you is no vacationing prince. For one, they’re nearly seven feet tall, but rather slender and with the appearance of carved driftwood. Their hair is made of cascading marigolds, and matching tattoos- all flowery and gold- run across their skin. They’re clothed in rich, honey-colored silks. Most striking, though, is their eyes. They’re entirely amber, with neither iris nor pupil, and seem to glow softly in the morning light. They must’ve been the lights you saw in the woods.

“Oh,” you find yourself at a loss for words as the creature stands over you. You it in. This is a fey. A creature of legend, one that you knew existed but never even dreamed of meeting. The same fey people whispered about. The ones that stole people away and tricked them. And you had been saved by one, and eaten their food. Surely you owed them something horrible, “You’re... You’re a fey, aren’t you?”

“Why yes, I am,” spoke the fey, voice as gentle as ever. They lower and sit at the foot of the bed, “Are you alright? Warm enough? You weren’t hurt at all, were you?”

“Ah, yeah. I’m fine. Thank you, really,” you respond, setting down the cider.

“Don’t worry about that,” the fey waves their hand at the empty plate and the cider, “It’s a gift. You owe me nothing for it.”

“Really?” You can’t help but be amazed. In stories, a fey could own your life for a simple sip of wine or bite of bread.

“Yes, really,” their smile is as sweet as their honeyed voice, “Although you do owe me for saving your life, but that’s more of a given.” You feel your heart hammer in your chest as the glowing, golden eyes regard you.

“I don’t have anything to repay you with,” you manage to say, though you know they aren’t talking about money or possessions.

“I’m sure you know the stories,” the fey chimes, leaning to pick up the cup of cider, “May I have this, if you aren’t drinking it?”

“Yeah,” you squeak out.

“It is such lovely cider, isn’t it? I grew the apples, myself,” the fey starts, “Though they haven’t been as good since that storm a few years ago-”

“Can we talk about cider after you’re done weighing my life in your hands?” You blurt out, unsure of where the confidence came from. The fey looks stunned for a moment, and you nearly curse at yourself.

“Certainly,” they say, rising from the bed, “Let’s discuss this at the table, shall we? It’s bad for my posture to be slouching over by the bed, you know.” Confused by the fey’s continued anecdotes, you stand and follow. You have a couple of bruises from your fall, but it’s nothing bad. In the next room, the fey has seated themself at an ornate wooden table. You sit across from them.

“So... I would really prefer not to work for you, forever. As sweet as you are,” you paused at the statement, “I would like to continue to live my life.”

“Well, you’re quite sweet, yourself,” the fey takes a sip of cider, “I would love to have your company, but I understand.” They put down the glass, “Though I’m impressed that you found this place. Really, you’re quite something.”

“Found this place?” You echo, a bit flattered but thoroughly confused, “I didn’t find it. I fell into the ravine looking for shelter.”

“The fallen oak. It’s sort of a gateway to my woods, so to speak,” the fey responds, tucking a vine of marigolds behind their ear, “Most travelers pay it no mind.” The fey stares into your eyes from across the table, “You can go free, but I will miss you. You’re the only company I’ve had in... perhaps centuries.”

“Well,” you mutter, “I know how to get here, roughly. I can come back from time to time.” The fey’s eyes light up.

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that at all!” Their smile is all pointed teeth.

“Wait, really?” You frown, “The only two options were keep me forever or let me go free? You didn’t think of an in-between?”

“I’m not very good at the whole “bartering” thing,” the fey admits, “I don’t make many deals. It’s not like I need to.”

You laugh a little, and the fey’s smile grows wider.

“What a beautiful laugh,” they coo, and you feel your face flush.

“You’re too kind,” you say.

“Nonsense!” The fey chimes, standing from their chair, “Now, you said you had to be going?”

“Ah, yeah,” you say, “I needed to get home.”

“Take this,” they say, and a flurry of orange magic comes from their palm. It vanishes, revealing a basket with a few pastries, “In case you get hungry on the walk, home.”

“This isn’t a test, is it?” You think to ask.

“No, no,” they reassure, “I’m not very good at being a fey.” They hand over the basket and make their way to a heavy oaken door with a stained glass inlay, “Will I see you, soon?” They ask.

“Yes,” you nod, “It’s been nice, however short.” As you step into the doorframe, the fey bows. They take your hand softly and kiss the top of it. A glimmering filigree of marigolds wraps around your wrist, forming a sort of bracelet.

“This will help you find your way back to me,” their face appears flushed with a slight, yellowish glow. You blush and smile, “And if you’d like, you may call me Halcyon.”

“You’re... real name?” You remark.

“Yes?” They say, as if that’s so strange.

“Fey don’t usually give those out,” you comment, “Since names have so much power.”

“Well, I’m bad at being a fey,” Halycon muses, “And I trust you. I found you at my doorstep in that storm, and took you in because I saw your heart glow through the fog.”

“That’s...” you whisper, but don’t manage to form words.

“It’s okay,” Halycon says, “Don’t worry yourself. Get on your way home.”

“[Y/N],” you say, “That’s my name. It’s only fair,” it was said to never give your name to a fey, but then again it was always said that fey would guard their names like their lives depended on it.

“It suits you,” Halcyon whispers, and the fey forest fades to glowing sunlight and fireflies as the door closes. You start on your way home, a warm feeling in your chest and the basket held tightly by your side.

#exo fics #exophilia #exo #monster x reader #monster love #fae x reader #my writing

104 notes · View notes

the-light-followed · 5 years ago

Text

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC (1986) [DISC. #2; RINCEWIND #2]

“What shall we do?’ said Twoflower. ‘Panic?’ said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying ‘What a magnificent brute!’ and ‘Here, pussy.”

Rating: 5/10

Standalone Okay: No

Read First: ABSOLUTELY NO.

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

If The Colour of Magic is a bad place to start reading Discworld, The Light Fantastic is 100% worse. Not because it’s bad, because it’s absolutely an improvement on its predecessor. It’s just that The Colour of Magic ends on a cliffhanger (only in the metaphorical sense; in the literal sense, Rincewind has just fallen off the cliff). The Light Fantastic picks up exactly where it left off, with only a little exposition or explanation to soften the shift from one to the next. I tend to think of The Light Fantastic as more like The Colour of Magic: Part 2, Now We’re Getting Somewhere, because, well, now we’re getting somewhere.

Folks, we finally have a cohesive, over-arching plot! We have stakes greater than “let’s not get killed by this latest thing that wants us dead!” We have purpose, and drive, and successful barbarian heroes so old they lack teeth and have to make dentures out of diamond, and I love absolutely every bit of it!

In what will quickly become obvious is the norm for him, Rincewind’s life continues to be a series of upsetting things happening one after the other. Some highlights from The Light Fantastic include:

Being forcibly teleported (back) onto the Disc by the parasitically-attached Great Spell living in his brain, after falling over the Rimfall. Reality is completely rewritten to do this, but everything remains exactly the same except Rincewind’s new position clinging to the top of a pine tree. (Twoflower gets dropped back onto the Disc as well, but that seems mostly incidental.)

Going to the land of Death while still alive, picking up his mostly-dead friend, and running right back out to the land of the living.

Camping in the mouth of a giant troll the size of a mountain, while being held captive by mercenaries. Somehow only the mercenaries end up dead.

Being attacked by wizards and Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, and fighting said wizards and Things in life-or-death battles.

Using the most powerful magical book on the Disc, possibly the most magical item full-stop, and then afterwards, allowing said item to be eaten by the carnivorous sentient Luggage for safekeeping. Rincewind ends up owning the Luggage before the end of the story—so technically, he still has this wildly dangerous book.

Oh, and saving the world, of course. He also does that.

I love, love, love the way Pratchett writes ‘heroes’ vs. how he writes his protagonists. Absolutely none of his protagonists are the stereotypical hero, and his stories are better for it.

Quick sidetrack to define terms: when I say ‘stereotypical hero,’ I’m talking about the kind of lawful good protagonists you see in most high fantasy adventure stories or superhero comics, the stuff with worldwide or even cosmic stakes. They’re typically well-trained or have some kind of special skills, or they acquire special training/skills along the way. They almost always set out specifically to save the world, and typically do not have any ulterior motives beyond it being ‘the right thing to do.’ Usually, they’re strong and rugged manly men with impressive jawlines. I’m talking Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. I’m talking Captain America and Superman. I’m talking the real Boy Scout types.

Truth, justice, and apple pie—or whatever the regional-specific pastry of choice might be!

Pratchett’s heroes are not that. They’re cowards. They’re scared or confused or unprepared, or making the whole thing up as they go along. They’re fools, alcoholics, con men. They’re salty old ladies and know-it-all young girls. If there is a stereotypical hero-type character, they’re going to be a foil for the actual main character, and they won’t stay perfectly pure and uncomplicated for long—I’m thinking specifically Carrot, though we’ll talk about him later when we get to the City Watch books.

Here, what we get is Rincewind. And he is as far from a stereotypical hero as it is possible to be, probably because he would have started sprinting full-speed away from the thought before anyone finished saying it out loud. Rincewind doesn’t save the world because he suddenly found his courage, or developed bonus superpowers, or found some kind of magical sword to do the fighting for him. (He actually found the sword back in The Colour of Magic, hated every second of it, and got rid of it as soon as possible. Goodbye and good riddance to Kring the magic sword.) He hasn’t secretly had the courage inside of himself all along.

Rincewind saves the world because he’s got nowhere left to run, and that’s excellent.

I’m going to save a lot of my rambling about Pratchett’s deconstruction of the concept of ‘heroes’ for when I get to Guards! Guards! and later City Watch books, since Carrot is, like I said, both the main example and the central thesis. But it is very important for everyone to understand: for me, nothing is more satisfying from a literary perspective than knowing that, at the end of the Discworld series, coward and hero-only-by-accident-or-mistake Rincewind is one of the two people in contention for the spot as ‘ultimate savior of the world, the universe, and all of existence.’ The other is a teenage girl.

Honestly, the only reason I think Rincewind might edge her out for the title is because he technically saved a slightly larger slice of reality with this whole escapade. In Tiffany’s defense, I’m 98% sure she hadn’t been born yet when this whole thing went down, so we really can’t blame her for not solving it first. If she were there, she’d have it handled, and that’s just objective truth.

But Rincewind. Rincewind. At the end of The Light Fantastic, the dude’s spent two whole books screaming and running whenever something tries to kill/maim/eat/threaten him. The audience has absolutely figured out by this point that while he’s smart and sarcastic and surprisingly speedy, he’s totally useless in a conflict. His priority is saving his own skin, not dashing feats of derring-do or whatever it is heroes are supposed to do.

And yet with the end of the world looming, his back against the wall, and no real place left to run, when the Big Baddie demands that he give up the last Great Spell, the one last thing preventing the immediate destruction of everything and everyone, we get this from Rincewind:

“If it stops anywhere, it stops here, thought Rincewind. ‘You’ll have to take it,’ he said. ‘I won’t give it to you.’”

And that’s it. That’s what saves the world. Not a stereotypical hero, not a hero of legend, not a mythic champion showing up for a final glorious battle—it’s a Pratchett hero. It’s an everyday guy, a coward and a failure, dragged in by accident and against his will. It’s an average person, nothing really special, who looks at something that he knows is wrong and that he’s sure will hurt him for disobeying. And yet he still says no. It stops here.

Even rats fight back, as Rincewind himself says.

This is the moment that really sells me on Rincewind’s character, every time. Even before Pratchett was really taking Rincewind or the Discworld seriously, even while the whole thing is still one massive joke more often than not, he’s still given the readers a POV character who feels believably real. He’s scared shitless, he’s tired, he’s sarcastic, and he doesn’t want to be there. But that’s too damn bad, because he’s the one there, and if he doesn’t do this, no one else will.

And maybe Rincewind’s not Superman, but he still does it. He succeeds, he saves the day, and—despite everything—he’s somehow the hero of this story. Screaming all the way, maybe, but he still gets it done.

[Paul Kidby does incredible Discworld art, including some of the amazing cover art for the books. You can find a lot of it on his website— www.paulkidby.com. This one,The Colour of Magic, stars Rincewind, Twoflower, and their dramatic escape from the Wyrmberg.]

While we’re on the subject of heroes, we can’t skip over Cohen the Barbarian, who makes his debut here in The Light Fantastic. Now, Cohen is technically a hero, but this is still not in the ‘stereotypical hero’ sense—it’s literally his job. It’s the thing he writes in the little box marked ‘Occupation’ on his tax forms, or at least it would be if he actually paid any taxes. Or if he actually wrote things down.

For Cohen, being a hero is how he makes a profit and pays the bills, and he is very, very good at it. That’s 100% objective truth, and I know that for sure, because the man is old as the hills and still gets into life-or-death fights about twice a day, and that’s the sort of thing that gets you dead very quickly if you aren’t very good at what you do.

But Cohen still isn’t a stereotypical hero. He does a lot of looting and pillaging, and his body count over the Rincewind books is—wow, it’s up there. It’s a real doozy. It’s hard to call his work heroism when it’s hardly a smidge to the left of repeated, outright murder. I’ll probably circle back around to this in Interesting Times and The Last Hero, because there are some really interesting points made there about the ways that Cohen and his contemporaries play at heroes and villains like they’re a sort of performance they’re putting on rather than a moral act or a choice made out of necessity. But I will say now that putting Cohen in the same storylines as Rincewind really does put both characters into a more complex and interesting light. Rincewind, the coward-not-hero, and Cohen, the fearless warrior, can kind of play off of each other.

It just goes to show Pratchett’s grasp of people as people, and not unidimensional cardboard cutouts. Nobody’s always right. Nobody is always wrong. And real people don’t always stand up to perfect, pure concepts of what we think they should be.

Also, since Cohen is about a billion years old, we get little gems like his toothless lisp before he picks up some dentures, a concept that Twoflower brings with him from the Counterweight Continent. (Or, as Cohen calls them, dine chewers. That, friends, is a pune, or a play on words.) Also, because he’s Cohen and therefore a dramatic bastard, the dentures are solid diamond. It’s not as if the man can’t afford it, I guess?

I do want to take a little side trip into some other new details that pop up in The Light Fantastic, specifically the more in-depth stuff about Unseen University and the wizards. The wizards are a lot of fun in the early Discworld books, specifically if you’re really bloodthirsty, because up until Ridcully arrives in Moving Pictures there’s quite a lot of turnover in Unseen University staff. The wizards are backstabbing bastards early on, and it’s almost jarring to compare the shifty, power-hungry jerks in The Light Fantastic and Sourcery to the fat, lazy hedonists they’ll become. We do get an impression of them as a collective that will stay pretty consistent as we move forward: their values, their skills, the way they do magic.

This is important not only because it establishes a lot of lasting detail for stories involving Rincewind, the University, and the city of Ankh-Morpork, but also because we’re about to get our first glimpse of the witches. (Hey-o, here comes Equal Rites!) With a lot of this stuff mapped out in advance, it makes it easier to run a compare-and-contrast of what’s going on with the two main schools of magic users on the Disc, what’s different between them, what’s the same—and the positives and negatives in them both. (Again, hey-o, Equal Rites! That all is about to be the whole damn point.)

I think it’s also fun to note that The Light Fantastic features the brief run of Galder Weatherwax as Archchancellor of the Unseen University, A.K.A. He Who Dies So Granny Weatherwax Can Have His Frankly Excellent Name. Granny Weatherwax is the steel-souled spine of the witches, and the driving force of their run of books, and it’s kind of hilarious to think that Terry Pratchett did the writer’s equivalent of digging through a graveyard to give her a name. This theft is later lampshaded and then ignored; Granny says something briefly about Galder Weatherwax being a distant cousin she barely knew, and the whole thing is never mentioned again from then on out. I can’t exactly remember where, and it might even have been in a short story or one of the side books Pratchett eventually put together, not in a novel. Honestly, who cares—Granny Weatherwax is such a force of nature that it only takes a few minutes to forget that her name ever could have belonged to anyone but herself.

But Granny Weatherwax is not a discussion for The Light Fantastic. It’s time to move on to Equal Rites!

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

This is the book where the Unseen University Librarian is changed into an orangutan. It happens early on in a magical accident, as the grimoire containing the Eight Great Spells attempts to save Rincewind and the spell trapped in his mind, and he is never reverted to human form.

He is referenced but does not appear in The Colour of Magic.

At no point anywhere in the Discworld does he appear in human form. At no point does he have lines in human language. He is never named. At no point is he described as he was prior to this change, except that the orangutan he becomes is initially said to look “like the head librarian,” so presumably he was already a bit orangutan-ish.

For something as weird as this is, and for something with such long-lasting repercussions, it is treated in the moment as a thing of very little importance—except, of course, that now he has to be paid in bananas. I find this absolutely delightful.

Tim Curry plays the wizard Trymon in the BBC miniseries The Colour of Magic, which combines The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic. Trymon only appears in The Light Fantastic in the books, and I can’t read it anymore without picturing Tim Curry in his ridiculous robes and shoes, with his ridiculous overdramatic murder plots, working his way up to the top just to die a ridiculous death.

No, really. Look at this hat. Look at this goatee. Only Tim Curry has the acting chops to pull this off.

Death once again appears, and this time we also get to see his house and his daughter, Ysabell! I can see why it didn’t take long to go from here to Mort: the concept is way too good to leave to little snatches and side appearances.

Krysoprase the troll shows up for the first time in this book. Later, he’ll be known as Chrysoprase, and will make appearances in several other Discworld novels: Feet of Clay, Wyrd Sisters, and, notably, Thud. There’s also a troll named Breccia in The Light Fantastic; Breccia will become the name of Chrysoprase’s gang in Ankh-Morpork.

While going through my copy of The Light Fantastic to work on this post, I glanced at the cover and briefly thought I was losing my mind. At the bottom, there’s a blurb talking about beloved Discworld character “Conan the Barbarian”—but up until that moment I was 100% certain the beloved barbarian on the Disc was named “Cohen.” Turns out I’m not crazy, it’s just that the literal cover of the book decides to make a reference to the character that Cohen is parodying rather than to Cohen himself. And this is the 2008 print edition, not an early run or a badly-assembled e-reader edition, which means it’s being released by a professional publishing company a full 22 years after the original novel came out. It’s not like nobody’s had time to look over the material and do some copy-editing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Favorite Quotes:

“The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home.”

“Do you think there’s anything to eat in this forest?” “Yes,” said the wizard bitterly, “us.”

“Not for the first time she reflected that there were many drawbacks to being a swordswoman, not least of which was that men didn't take you seriously until you'd actually killed them, by which time it didn't really matter anyway.”

“Are you a hero, actually?” “Um, no. Not as such. Not at all, really. Even less than that, in fact.”

#discworld #rincewind #the light fantastic

2 notes · View notes

welcometophu · 8 years ago

Text

Ghosts 4

Twinned Book 1: Commit to the Kick

Ghosts 4

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Alaric tags along when Dax and Chris go to pick up the van, just in case Dax’s mother has questions. “All I told her was that I needed the car for the night,” Dax says quietly. “I didn’t mention that we’re going to your place. Pretty sure she thinks I’m heading to another concert.”

Alaric sits awkwardly in the back of Chris’s car, his knees bent too tightly, legs cramped. “Might be for the best. How does your family feel about Clan?”

“Don’t really care, I think,” Dax says. “My dad’s not Talented at all. We’ve got enough variety that we’re used to things being a little different. We’ve just got our own little corner of Valiant, and our house that’s been there for centuries. Turn here.” He points to the right as Chris pulls up to a light and puts his blinker on. Alaric can see VIT on the hill ahead of them, the brick buildings stretching up toward the sky. The route Dax points out takes them around the lower edge of campus, then pushes out further to the east.

“How much driving does your mom need to do?” Chris asks tightly, and Dax chuckles.

“You are so possessive about your car.” Dax taps his shoulder. “Right here, then second left, then it’s the third driveway on the right. Pull in on the right hand side; that’s where dad usually parks. So we can get the van out of the garage.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Dax snorts softly. “Nothing guaranteed, but Dad’s on shift at the hospital tonight, so Mom doesn’t want to be left without a car in case of an emergency. Not that there will be an emergency, but you never know. When he gets home in the morning, she’ll use his car tomorrow to get Alex to her dance class. So your car will be ignored and fine, don’t worry.”

It’s somehow good to know that Chris is worried about his car all the time, not just when Alaric is driving it. Alaric leans forward, gets a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this,” he says quietly.

Chris huffs. “Yeah, well.” He reaches up, touches Alaric’s hand, then drops his grip back to the steering wheel. He maneuvers into the driveway as the garage door opens, and a lanky girl stands there in the opening in front of a familiar-looking minivan.

Alaric can see the shape of Dax’s face in her features, a similar curl to her hair where it falls around her face. She has his broad shoulders and long torso, but her legs and arms are also long; Alaric suspects she might end up as tall as her brother when she’s done growing. She’s already close.

She smiles with a mouth full of braces, starts talking as soon as they open the doors to the car. “Dmitri Maximilian Katsoulis, where do you think you’re going?” she asks sharply. “Not telling Mom that you’re going on a road trip is rude.”

“Hey, Alex.” Dax reaches out, tugs her for a hug, ruffling the hair atop her head. “Keys?”

She sighs, and drops them into his hand. “Were you going to say anything?”

“Should I bother? You always know everything anyway.” Dax keeps an arm around her shoulders, gestures at the car. “You’ve met Chris. This is Alaric.”

“The other quarterback.” Alex’s gaze narrows, thoughtful. “You were good today. You both were. It was an awesome game. Why are you going to his house now?”

Alaric’s jaw works and he rocks backwards on his heels. “Dax.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Dax says, his tone resigned. “Like I said, I let Mom think we’re just going out. Alex, did you tell her?”

“Only just figured it out, and she didn’t tell me you’re taking the van, so we’re even,” Alex says. “Is this one of those times I’m supposed to keep things to myself?”

“It’d be appreciated.”

Alex reaches up, frames Dax’s face with her hands, and stares at him for an uncomfortable moment. She finally lets go, steps back and huffs a sigh. She crosses her arms again. “Fine. Go inside. Mom’s baking and she’s already got the apple fritters out of the oven and there are these strawberry rhubarb tartlets that she’s trying that are almost done. Those must be for Alaric. You two help her package things up so you can take them. I want to talk to Alaric.”

“I….”

“She’s harmless, I promise,” Dax says, clapping a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “Whatever she has to say, listen.”

Dax and Chris head inside, and for a moment the scent of warm fruit and pastry wafts out through the door inside the garage. Alex takes Alaric’s hand, and she tugs, leading him around the outside of the house toward the back.

“If you were Clan, you’d be a colt,” Alaric mutters, and Alex nods as if that weren’t strange to say.

“I dream about running sometimes,” she says. “The fields are full of these purple flowers, and I know they taste sweet if I want to stop to eat. But I never want to stop running long enough to do that.”

Alaric is off-balance. Her small hand is still tucked in his, her scent as trusting as if she’d known him for years. She comes up past his shoulder, and when he turns to glance at her, she’s looking at him rather than where they’re going.

“I’m unnerving, I know,” she says easily. “It’s okay. I know I’m weird. You can think that.” She lets go of his hand as they reach the swingset behind the house, and sinks down onto one of the two swings. She motions, and Alaric carefully sits on the other. It bends under his weight, but it holds. He’s wary of letting it move, afraid the entire structure will tip over.

Alex has no compunctions, leaning back and pumping her legs as she starts to swing.

“What?” Alaric asks, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Aren’t you going to ask other questions?” Alex counters. “How did I know you were coming?”

“Dax texted your mom.”

Alex makes a buzzing noise. “Wrong. Mom didn’t tell me anything, just started baking. And yes, apple fritters are a good tell that Dax is coming home, but the new recipe meant he was bringing someone else. I didn’t know who, and I didn’t know why. But I knew he needed the keys. The rest snapped into place as soon as I saw you, and it made sense of some other things, too.”

Alaric swallows hard, closes his eyes focuses on the scents around him. There’s no citrus in the air, only curiosity and a fresh vanilla and strawberry that complements the faint scent of baking that wafts from the house. Probably shampoo, or soap. “You’re an Empath,” he says, because Dax is one and she should smell like it too.

“Sort of. There’s a bit of Seer in me. So sometimes I know things. But I don’t always know who they’re for or why until I see the person.” She lets her feet drag in the sand under the swing, slowing abruptly. “I’m glad you came with Dax to pick up the car, or else I wouldn’t have figured it out, and I wouldn’t have been able to warn you. You need to watch out for the darkness, Alaric.”

He snorts because that’s obvious as far as he’s concerned. “Thanks, but I’ve already run into that.”

Her brow furrows, and she leans across the space between them, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. Her tongue pokes out between her lips and she shakes her head. “Okay, so yes, I can feel that, but that’s not all of it. It’s going to touch you again, and I don’t think it’s the same, and it’s bigger than you think. And when it comes after you, don’t fall into the split.”

That makes no sense. “What do you know about Shadowwalkers?” Alaric asks.

“Legends,” Alex answers promptly, finally letting him go. She starts to swing again as if the intense moment never happened. “There’s a story about a dead soul trying to cross, and an Empath that kept the Soulstealer from taking its essence and keeping it from the afterlife. My grandmother used to tell me that when I was young. Also a story about Seers losing their sight after walking into shadows.”

Alaric’s jaw works, and he tries to put his words into something that will make sense. Alex’s eyes are wide, waiting, her entire body at ease. She pumps her feet, swinging high, then leaps off and lands with coltish grace. “Come on,” she says. “You want one of the tartlets while they’re still warm. You don’t have to share them, if you don’t want. She only made half a recipe, because she didn’t know how it would work. If you were staying longer, she’d probably cook more.”

“I don’t understand.”

Alex stops at the back door of the house. “Mom knows what people need, and she usually ends up feeding them, although that’s not always it. So right now you’re getting a minivan and strawberry rhubarb tartlets. Just accept it and move on; it’s easier that way.”

She pushes open the door, and Alaric trails after her, still uncertain about the entire conversation. Alex pauses as they get inside the mudroom, stomps dirt from her shoes and hangs up her jacket. “Remember what I said about the split,” she says, and walks away.

Chris is waiting as Alaric follows her into the kitchen, budging up close to Alaric, shoulder to shoulder. “What was that about?” Chris murmurs, and Alaric watches as Alex bustles around the kitchen. She gets out plates and forks, puts pastries onto plates and hands them to them, pointing out that they should sit and eat before they go.

Dax’s expression is apologetic. “We should eat before we go,” he echoes.

“Your family is… unique.” Alaric flounders for the word, because it would rude to say odd, but that’s the best impression that he’s got.

“There’s a reason I don’t talk about my Lineage,” Dax says, pushing his fork through the apple fritter on his plate. “We’re not exactly easy to explain.”

They join Alex and Dax’s mom in the living room, sitting politely while they eat. Alex chatters about the game that day, asking questions and pointing out what she could see from the stands, then she reciprocates with plans for her upcoming dance recital. She presses Dax to promise to attend, and it’s all very normal. Very family, and almost human.

And despite all the normalcy, and the fantastic taste of the strawberry rhubarb tartlet, Alaric can’t just forget what Alex said. He still has no idea what it means.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #commit to the kick #phu twinned #twinned #cttk ghosts

7 notes · View notes

laberintos-espinas · 5 years ago

Text

Beautiful Savanah, Georgia - A City of Parks

Ft. Pulaski is on Cockspur Island, East of the noteworthy midtown Savannah. It was worked by requests of President Madison as the essential guard for the Savannah River, Ft. Pulaski (named after the Polish saint of the progressive War, who lost his life at the Battle of Savannah), was viewed as cutting edge for military safeguards. Seven and half foot stone work dividers had the option to withstand anything the foe could toss around then. Before the US Government could involve the stronghold, Georgian civilian army moved in and afterward gave the post over to the Confederacy after Georgia withdrew a half year later. The association had another creation, the rifle ordinance. It took just thirty hours to break the dividers utilizing this new type of ordnance. Standard balls are still imbedded in the dividers. The gun balls broke the dividers. The following volley would have hit the powder magazine. The commandant raised the white banner.

The fortification is a structural wonder. The dividers are unsupported with workmanship curves as the establishment and the rooftop. The joined pictures don't do equity to the magnificence of the fortress. The significant exercise to be gained from visiting this heavenly post is that nothing worked by man is indestructible. For each safeguard, another hostile weapon is created to enter. This relates, not exclusively to military issues, yet additionally to issues of human instinct. Simply think the impact of affection and graciousness has as time goes on against any mental resistance. Robert E. Lee structured the outlieing battleworks for the stronghold best house songs ever Further East is Tybee Island. The island includes the most seasoned and tallest beacon in Georgia. The island additionally has more stopping meters per capita than anyplace else. In the event that their essential industry is the travel industry, they have an impossible to miss method for inviting them, even in stormy climate.

Strolling around the fortification and driving during a rainstorm, works up the hunger. Where does one eat when on the Atlantic coast? At a crab shack, obviously. We discovered one, appropriately named the Crab Shack, which was packed. Our hungers overruled our craving to remain dry. At the point when the downpour lessened a bit, we trudged through the lower leg profound puddles to the eatery. We needed to hang tight for a table. Be that as it may, the hold up was certainly justified regardless of the time. The nourishment was abundant, delectable, and moderately cheap. The environment was likened to Jimmy Buffet's Margarittaville.

It was additionally the ideal time to visit notable Savannah: the finish of the Music Festival, the starting the St. Patrick's Day festivities, and the fortieth commemoration of the reclamation of the Davenport House.

Feline, the provincial transportation authority, offers a free transport administration all through the verifiable area. Trolleys work at regular intervals Mon-Sat and at regular intervals on Sunday. It is an extraordinary method to get a review of the city. You additionally find a good pace wide assortment of travelers, destitute, and simply normal people.

The historically significant area is spread out around an arrangement of squares and streets. Each square, 21 in totality, (used to be 28 in the first plans) start a couple of squares from at the riverfront and are arranged five side by side and five profound. The squares are encompassed by homes, open structures, and holy places. Isolating each gathering of squares is a tree fixed road with one way boulevards running in either heading. The traffic streams momentous well through this piece of the city. The squares, presently stops, were initially field lands where the domesticated animals could take care of. Today the guest has a sentiment of open spaces in a urban situation.

A significant number of the houses have been reestablished as of late. Davenport House c. 1820 was hosting a birthday get-together with free visits. The house is currently possessed by the Savannah Foundation and was its first redesign venture. General W. T. Sherman spared the city from obliteration, however it was nearly practiced by engineers one hundred years after the fact.

Different places of note are the Gordon-Low house, the home of Juliette Low, the author of the Girl Scouts of America, the Andrew Low house (her origination), Flannery O'Connor's youth home, and the Green-Meldrim House, where Sherman lived during his occupation.

Not to be missed is Bay Street, Factors Walk, and River Street. Along here are the old Cotton Exchange, presently a Masonic Lodge, City Hall and the old traditions house. On River Street, a cobble stoned road with a railroad track running down the middle, are eateries and keepsake shops. On the upper level, which fronts Bay Street are different expert workplaces.

A café of note, which serves generally excellent nourishment, without depending on a high tab is B. Matthew's Bakery-Eatery at 325 E. Sound Street. Arranged in a real bread shop, they offer soup, sandwiches, quiches and different plates of mixed greens on an eat-in or take-out assortment. We had soup, quiche, and an incredible Apple-Pecan Chicken Salad. The pastry kitchen is opposite Ermmet Park, which has a Celtic Cross and the statue of the waving young lady who invited each boat which came up the waterway. [Bay Street Factors Walk]

Inside the verifiable locale is Colonial Park Cemetery, where numerous Revolutionary War legends are buried. Verifiable markers spot a considerable lot of the gravesites portraying the lives of the people.

Memorable Downtown takes over one day to investigate. There are numerous spots we need to visit in incredible profundity later on.

Visited Fort Jackson, another workmanship fortification raised to secure Savannah. The city towers are obvious from the post. Built up by Thomas Jefferson, it saw obligation in the war of 1812 and the Civil War. The dividers were never ruptured. The fall of Savannah originated from the West with Sherman's March to the Sea. The fortress was emptied and afterward fell into neglect. Simply seaward, in the center of the waterway lies the remaining parts of The SS Georgia, an ironclad vessel, which was abandoned so as to keep out of the Union's hands. The Fort has visit reenactments of the different wars in which the fortification took an interest.

Drove around Forsyth Park on the West Side of the Historical District. We were astonished to see such huge numbers of youngsters playing a type of Frisbee Football. We discovered later that they were understudies of the Savannah College of Arts and Design (SCADS), which has bought the greater part of the huge structures of downtown Savannah. The school is a significant nearness in the city.

Attempted to discover Bonaventure Cemetery, the old burial ground of the city. The maps misled us and we had to request bearings. Thank heavens for a youngster hanging tight for a transport. He knew where the burial ground was and disclosed to us where to turn. The burial ground itself was intriguing and included numerous graves of fighters who kicked the bucket with regards to Savannah. Not at all like The Colonial Park Cemetery in the Historic District, this one didn't have verifiable markers.

0 notes