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charlettebffxiv · 3 years

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Prompt #1: Foster

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Maxim was not very good at looking fierce, or strict, or any kind of intimidating. Elezen or not, he couldn’t cut a visage worth a shiver if he’d been draped in Wood Wailer’s armour. “I’m not! You are just making no sense, at all. In fact, I think you might even be lying.” Charlette was terrible at lying. Especially when the ‘right’ answer was practically hammering it’s very-correct fists against the back of her teeth, stuck in a fake smile as they were. “You don’t have lashes long enough to flutter, so stop trying.” Oh, that cut a little. Not that Charlette was too concerned with the quality of her lashes. But she was, a little bit, after he said that. “I still don’t know what you mean. What even is that? It looks like a linkpearl, but it’s a funny colour isn’t it?” Maxim held one of the devices in the flat of his palm, he’d fished it out of a pocket moments before confronting Charlette. The dark-purple linkpearls used by Cult that her order… former order, had long since defeated. Allegedly. She knew all this, which is why she was attempting to lie to her friend.

“C’mon Charlette! I found it in your pack, you know what it is. I’m not stupid, and you aren’t convincing. Don’t give me that Archives run-around, I’m from Willow’s Heart, just like you. I know what’s under the library, just because I was never allowed inside doesn’t mean I just forget that you were!” Maxim’s attempts at intimidation had melted, he was verbally pouting now. By the twitch of his rather delicate lips, he may just do so soon. Since he’d dropped the act, so would Charlette. “And if you know all these things, smart Master Botanist Maxim, then you also know the reason you don’t know is you aren’t allowed, to know.” awkward retorts aside, she was being truthful. “Yes, but you are!” and then came that pout. It was not going to work. “I am. Or was. Might be again, depending. But so what?” Charlette turned away, they still had work to do before this sun was done, and Maxim’s curiosity was not going to distract her away from it. These worms weren’t going to jar themselves, and neither was the soil they’d be living in. Grabbing a handful of the dark, moist dirt she lets it crumble between her fingers, falling loosely into the glass container. All to the backdrop of Maxim’s long, whinging “Pleeeeeaaaasee!” The man was remarkably persistent. “I missed out on my chance to look inside the very special hidey-hole, being second born and all, but you’re technically in a grey area, right? They’re still, uh, y’know. Looking into it?” now he’s suddenly going to take care with his words? “Nice save. Yes, technically I am in a grey area where it’s all concerned. But not when it comes to keeping the archives secrets. Especially this one!” a soiled finger points to the linkpearl, still clutched tight in Maxim’s fingers. “Aha! So you do know what it’s all about?” his triumphant tone is both obnoxious and endearing. “Someone’s proud of themself. Yes, I know. Still not going to tell you.” and he deflates, now Charlette’s the one wearing an obnoxious, hopefully endearing smirk. “Aww. You just like holding all the cards!” “I do. Very much. You’ve spent Moons telling me what to do, and pointing out my mistakes, and making sure I don’t-” Maxim cuts in, quick as can be. “Making sure you don’t blow-up us up with fertilizer or poison our grub stocks? That you don’t choke the tadpoles in the pond by clogging up the fountains? You’re welcome by the way. You can show your gratitude by telling me-” “No, damnit!” The cutter was cut, Maxim snapping his mouth closed so quickly his teeth clacked together like iron sheers. “Sorry, it’s just. I can’t, Maxim. None of us can. Current Order members, retired, instructors, keepers, the librarian or even me. Miss grey-area, waiting to see if I’m being kicked-out, put back to work, or looking at a life trapped in Willow’s Heart for ‘my own safety’. Bah.” The jar she’d been stuffing was packed far too tight. She knew because Maxim had grabbed it, and her hand, to bring a stop to her jamming soil into it. It was heavy, like a brick, and any more pressure from her she’d be turning it into clay. “It’s going to be fine, you know that. Right?” soft, reassuring. Or at least that’s what he was trying to do. But, it was not. “You have no idea how it all works Maxim. And, if I were you, knowing what I know? I’d be grateful for that fact.” cold, glass-like smoothness touches the inside of Charlette’s palm. She looks down, the darkened linkpearl. Placed there by Maxim. “I don’t, but I’ve had a long, lovely time with you because of their orders. So I know you. And I don’t see any reason for them not to be desperate to have you back out there, keeping us all safe from weird things, and weird people, and weird-weirdness that can’t be explained.'' Well, even Charlette had to admit, that was reassuring. Or, maybe just charming. Doesn’t matter. “Thanks, flattery does always make me feel much better. Probably because I-” “Deserve it?” “Let me finish my sentences!” “Tell me about the linkpearl! Please! I’ll do half your jars for you?” “No! And I’m already half done. If I don’t help you, you’ll never be finished before sundown.” “True! Tell me about it while we finish up? I’ll buy you a lemon tartlet from the bakery tomorrow?” “No. But I’ll take the tartlet.” “You’ll have to stop fostering that air of mystery, just a little bit, to earn it!” Charlette heaved out a heavy sigh. This was never going to end. “Do you know what an aether replication device is?” Maxim’s eyes went wide, he moved in close enough to bump shoulders with her, dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “No! What’s that?” and she had him. For now, at least. The linkpearl slipped into a pocket, out of sight, and hopefully out of his mind.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv writing

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 3 (Mafia AU)

Summary: For Rus, things seem to be going from bad to worse,

Notes: Well, I can’t stop now.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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Since they came to the surface, most of Rus's days were pretty much the same old, same old. He got up, yanked the blankets over his mussed sheets in a semblance of making the bed, and got dressed: uniform on workdays, and his grubs on days off. He’d go to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee in the wheezy old Bunn that Rus found in someone’s trash, tinkering with it in the evenings until he got it working. He’d drink a cup of coffee that always had a faint burnt note to it no matter how fresh it was, leaving the rest for Blue when he got up, and he’d head into the shop to make the floral arrangements for the afternoon deliveries. When his shift was over, currently doubles until they managed to hire someone who wouldn’t either steal from them or quit three days in, Rus would head home and shower away the stink of soil and plant food before flopping on the sofa to fall asleep in front of the tv until Blue came home and made dinner.

He couldn’t say it was better than the Underground, but then, he couldn’t say it was worse either and once the newness of the Surface wore off it was, well, it just was. Such was life and all it meant was Rus tended to cling a bit to anything fresh and different; like a stranger wandering in on his mornings for a single red rose.

He soaked those moments up like fuel for his what-ifs, his little daydreams as he worked with his clippers and floral wire, writing out small cards that declared ‘happy birthdays’ or ‘with love’ or ‘my condolences’.

Same old, same old, sure, with a few bright spots in between.

This week, though, ah, this was a week of first. First time he'd been shot at, for sure, first time a mysteriously gorgeous stranger ever gave him a kiss, even if it was hardly more than a brush of teeth. First time the police ever put up even the pretense of being on his side without an unspoken warning to stay in his place.

Also, his first time at being kidnapped and Rus couldn't say that he was very happy that his second chance came so soon after.

Point of fact, he was fucking terrified.

He'd woken up with a dismally aching skull and his magic still lingering out of reach, unable to see as he struggled against bonds that held him immobile no matter how hard he fought, until the throb in his skill matched his freshly strained joints. From the way it felt, he was tied to a chair and he couldn't see because of a blindfold that didn't budge no matter how hard he shook his pained head. The throbbing pain was worsening, threatening to make him black out again and Rus finally subsided, trying to keep panic at bay as he took a mental assessment.

His arms were uncomfortably bent and bound on either side of him at the wrists and he could feel the smoothness of wood against his bared forearms. His knees were tethered together, the joints straining as his feet were spread apart, each ankle tied to a separate chair leg. More ropes were wound around his upper body and across his femurs so when he tried to move, he couldn’t so much as rock the chair. He couldn't budge an inch in any direction without hurting himself which was probably the point.

Worse, they hadn't gagged him and somehow that seemed more frightening, not less, that they didn't care if anyone heard him scream.

Rus licked his teeth, drying flecks of marrow clinging disgustingly to his tongue. Tentatively, he called, "hello?"

He thought he heard someone move, cocked his head in that direction.

"hello?" he persisted. "is anyone there?” His voice seemed to echo around him, reverberating, “please, this is all a mistake! i run a florist shop i…i'm nobody…"

"Yes, we know."

Rus jerked instinctively towards that voice, stupid, he couldn't see anything around the blindfold. Not even the glow that voice suggested he should, that was the language of the Fire Monsters, a strange combination of crackling and sibilant consonants. Almost impossible for anyone who wasn't flame to speak and the only reason Rus could understand it was because of a childhood friend.

This Monster didn't sound anywhere near as cheery as his old pal. Those brief, smoldering words were the cold burn of near frostbite and there was no echo, only silence followed them.

Rus swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his mouth, rasping out, “what do you want?”

There was a scrabbling shuffle of unknown feet and a new voice, “He said—"

“i know what he said!” Rus snapped. He choked off more desperately angry words, grimacing. His bro always said his mouth was gonna get him into trouble and yeah, this problem wasn’t one he’d started but better not to make it worse.

“Do you now.” A single step, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. “Well, that is interesting. A flower shop clerk who can understand flame-speak, how…unusual.”

What did that mean? Rus wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if he should explain his quirk with languages. His head ached painfully and so did his nasal aperture where he'd taken that hard punch. Licking at his teeth found one that was a little loose in its socket. He really hoped Blue could heal it. He really hoped Blue had a chance.

From close by came a soft murmur of indecipherable words and the sound of clawed footsteps walking away, a closing door.

An unexpectedly touch between his shoulder blades made Rus stifle a cry and he tried not to cringe as the heat blazed a path down his spine down before drawing away at the back of the chair. “I admit, I was disappointed when I first saw you. His taste has certainly gone downhill.”

There was an unspoken question there that Rus didn’t know how to answer. “please. what do you want?”

His question was ignored. “But perhaps you have,” that crackling voice lowered, scalding hot breath gusting uncomfortably against the side of his skull, “hidden depths. He’s quite enamored of you, isn’t he.”

“who is?” Although Rus was very much afraid he already knew.

The snap/pop of that scoff meant his captor knew as well. “You’d best be careful, if you’re dealing with the Fells.” A swath of searing heat fell across his skull as a large, flaming hand settled on top of it, burning fingers lightly digging in, “When they’re done with their toys, they break them.”

Rus tried to nod, desperate to get away from that paining touch. That blazing grip only tightened, the temperature rising until Rus whined, cooling tears seeping from the corners of his sockets to wet the blindfold.

“You should be thanking me for the warning." The flame monster chided. There was an impression of a large body, moving closer, blanketing Rus entirely in heat as his voice whispered in lowered luminescence, "Well? Thank me."

"thank you," Rus gasped out. The grip on his skull released and Rus sagged against his bonds, breathing heavily. All his clothes were clinging sweatily to his bones, his wrists aching anew from chafing against the ropes. He hadn’t even been consciously trying to struggle, only desperate to get away from that painful heat…wait. Was that shouting he could hear? Some calamity was going on not far away, muffled through the walls and doors that Rus knew must be around him.

It was impossible for hope not to swell in his soul, shriveling back when that aching heat shifted to stand in front of him.

“You do have a pretty mouth.” Thoughtfully, as Rus’s chin was gripped painfully in a simmering grip, a hot thumb smoothed over his teeth. A new, unthinkable fear rose in Rus, one he hadn’t considered; he’d been afraid for his life, not his body, but the implication was unmistakable. “I’d give it a try but from the sound of things, that’s all the time we have together, lovely. We’ll have to play again sometime.” Then louder, he called, “You’re slipping. I expected you much sooner, old friend.”

The grip on Rus’s chin abruptly released and instead an arm slipped around his neck and tightened, his cervical vertebrae squalled in uncomfortable protest at a threatening upward tug. “Ah ah. Not too close, darling.”

“Stop this.” There was no halting the wave of shameful relief at Edge’s rich voice, oceanic and deep. Only to be choked away by the arm around his throat and Rus couldn’t move, but he couldn’t stop trying to thrash away from the pull that threatened to separate his skull from his neck, straining against the unyielding ropes as he tried to rise even a bare inch for some relief.

“What? And spoil the game? See you soon, and do tell your brother I miss him, won’t you? Ta.”

Then that agonizing grip released and the burning presence was abruptly gone, leaving Rus to sag against the ropes, gasping in sweet, cool air.

Rus’s blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat, clinging uncomfortably against his face. More tears felt like they were strangling in his bruised throat, desperate to be shed. It was difficult to hear anything over the aching pounding in his skull and the rattle of his bones as he trembled, but he couldn’t feel anyone close by, had they left him here, bound and helpless to anyone who might wander in?

“is anyone there?” Rus asked pathetically. All his panic seemed to have caved in, collapsed in on itself to numbness that left him empty and spent. Feebly, he tried to twist his hands free again, if he could only get one loose—

“Hold still, you’ll hurt yourself.” Unexpected and gently said, it set a candle flame of hope flickering in Rus’s soul and…no. No more flame metaphors, not today.

The blindfold was suddenly gone and Rus blinked at the flood of light, trying to see anything past a blur. When his vision cleared, he could see he was in a sort of warehouse, one that didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time. There were crates and broken pallets stacked all around them on a dusty floor and the overhead lights were sodium-yellow and dim.

Edge was already moving to kneel at his feet, inspecting the ropes binding him. Somehow, the way he moved, the powerful grace in his long legs as he bent to crouch before Rus was desperately appealing and fuck, Rus really was as stupid as their pop always said. All of this could be laid right back at Edge’s doorstep, he knew that, only his stupid libido didn’t seem to have gotten the message. Rus stifled it, stuffed it down back into the back of his mind with all the rest of the bullshit that usually crept out to taunt him in the middle of the night.

Whatever Edge saw, he didn’t seem to like it; his brow bone pulled down into a frown and he made a low, rude sound before pulling something out of his pocket. Rus couldn’t help flinching from the mellow gleam of metal as a knife flicked out, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could only sit mutely as Edge got to work, the ropes parting easily beneath the sharpened blade until thy lay on the floor around them like thin, unmoving snakes.

A moment or an eternity later and he was loose. His shoulder joints felt sprung and achy, his hands flopping loosely into his lap as Rus tried to work feeling back into his fingers. The bones at his wrists were painfully chafed and bruises were already darkening the bone. He wondered absently where there might be other bruises, his ankles certainly, maybe at his knees, on his upper arms where the ropes dug in so terribly.

Edge stood next to him, waiting, his long coat pulled open by his hands in his trouser pockets. He seemed in no undue hurry, allowing Rus to assess the damages and he only spoke again when Rus finally looked up at him, pouring out all his desperate fears and confusion in one look. There were no answers forthcoming, Edge only held out a single gloved hand in offering.

"Come on," Edge said quietly. His clothing was unruffled, the same sort of obscenely expensive suit he’d always worn to the shop. Even his tie was perfectly straight, not a single snag in the rich crimson silk. He practically exuded calm competence and the only sign he might be feeling anything else was in his eye lights, the dimmed shadow of regret. "I'll take you to your brother.”

That sounded…that sounded like a slice of heaven right about now, to be wrapped up in the blanket of his brother’s love and concern. Rus ignored that extended hand and tried to stand on his own. His legs disagreed vehemently, knees achingly wobbly and he would have fallen to the ground if Edge didn't catch hold of him.

“don’t!” Rus tried, but he couldn’t stop Edge from lifting him into his arms, his weak struggles useless against that strength. All the questions bleating around in his skull –who was that, what was going on, why is this happening— twittered away into a single painful realization, one that Rus’s daydreams never even considered. “you—” His breathing was a ragged sob, “you’re some kind of criminal, aren’t you!”

Edge didn’t deny it. He only walked towards the far side of the room where a large cargo door was hanging open, leading out into a hallway.

He should have known. That scarred face he’d thought was so sexy was as much a warning as a damn sign, only it looked like Rus wasn’t very good at reading what was right in front of his sockets, too busy getting his panties wet to worry about the flashing neon ‘danger’ blinking in his face.

Rus let his head fall against Edge’s shoulder, burying his face against his wool coat and uncaring that he was smearing it with tears and other fluids as he moaned out, “what have you gotten me into? what did you do?”

There was no answer and as they stepped out into the hallway, Rus could barely stifle a shriek as he caught sight of what lay within. There were bodies lying everywhere, splashed with a rainbow’s worth of various bloods, ungainly limbs twisted into impossible configuration and pinned by jagged bone constructs that were slowly dissolving away.

“Easy. They aren’t dead or they’d be dust,” Edge reminded him patiently. Like that was so much better. His footsteps were even, heels clicking lightly on the concrete as he walked towards another doorway with daylight pouring through a broken pane.

Outside was a car with windows tinted almost as dark as the glossy black exterior. Edge didn’t set Rus down even to open the door, holding him close until he set Rus into the passenger seat. For a humiliating moment, Rus’s fingers refused to loosen their grip on Edge’s coat, the heavy material nearly tearing under his blunt fingertips as Edge tried and failed to draw away. Strong hands circled his bruised wrists with care, thumbs working their way coaxingly into Rus’s palms until he finally let go. Edge buckled his seat belt on for him like he was a child and then rounded the front to settle into the driver’s side.

The car pulled away with a near silent purr, smoothly guiding them through narrow alleyways between the warehouses, out into the main street.

There were other cars on the road, driving along without a single clue that there were terrible people out in the world right now, driving right next to them. Reality was slowly settling back in, brutal and implacable, stealing away his blessed numbness. Rus kept his gaze on his hands, tracing the bruises he could see purpling on the bones, unable to keep from prodding at them even as it blossomed hurt.

“i want to go home,” Rus said, pettishly.

Edge’s focus was on the road, both hands on the wheel at a proper ten and two. “I told you I’d take you to your brother.”

Implying that wasn’t the same place and Rus turned his head to stare at Edge mutely, then slumped back into the seat. More fine leather, great, hatefully comfortable as it cradled his aching bones. He wondered how well it would muffle the sound if he buried his face into it and started screaming.

He didn’t bother. Rus didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

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tbc

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#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia au

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

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Title: Mightier Than the Sword (Chapter Four)

Fandom: Witcher

Summary: A month after the events of “Rare Species,” Geralt slinks his way into an inn and is faced with the question of how an emotionless man apologies. (TV!canon with some details drawn from the books and Wild Hunt.)

Pairing: Slow burn Geralt and Jaskier

Word Count (This Chapter): 2,486

Where to read it: Below or on AO3

“See?” Jaskier said. “This is why I must... revise our adventures, so to speak. No one would ever believe me if I told them the truth.”

He was gesturing to the two men kneeling in a patch of wet leaves, both heads bent to expose their necks, a common act of submission in these parts of Temeria. The elder of the two snuck out a hand to wrap around the wrist of his companion.

“Please don’t hurt us, Master Witcher,” he said, no longer boasting the confident tone of a man who thought himself king of the wood. “Me and my son were just lookin’ for some supper. That’s it. I swear it to you. We didn’t mean to interrupt you an’ your... ah...”

Jaskier leaned close, his shirt just a hair’s breadth from Geralt’s armor. “Ohhh yes, please finish that sentence. What do you think I am? I’m not his ‘friend’ as I fear we’ve already butted heads like rams over that one. Not his ‘bard’ either as I’m far more than just some tawdry performer. Your ‘companion,’ perhaps? Eh, makes me sound like some sort of escort.”

With a sigh Geralt sheathed his sword, watching the men visibly relax. Rather funny that they thought this made him less dangerous. “He’s my curse.”

“Oh! Curse? Thanks. Thanks ever so much for that. I’ll just toss ‘He’s my curse’ next to ‘Filling-less pie.’ In fact, I should start a list. The many insults of Geralt of Rivia. Provide enough of them and I might just get a song out of it. Go on then. Anything else to add? My quill awaits.”

Geralt didn’t consider himself particularly skilled at reading people. Not unless he sought the signs of murder and betrayal. Yet in that moment he would have bet Roach that Jaskier was... teasing him. Just something about the hands on his hips and the hint of a smile. He knew now that Jaskier went quiet when he was hurt, as Geralt had witnessed just moments before. This performance didn’t compare to the tiny ‘How?’ he’d spoken, head dipped down towards his knees.

So Geralt attempted... something. Another apology maybe.

“I’m done for now,” he said, trying for the tone that he sometimes heard long-suffering wives using to discuss their husbands. Some of it must have gotten through because Jaskier rolled his eyes heavenward, ‘for now’ muttered on the tip of his tongue.

Meanwhile, the man had gathered courage enough to lift his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You... won’t be attackin’ me an’ my boy?”

No, of course they wouldn’t. Over the remains of yesterday’s breakfast Jaskier, never one to give up an opportunity for storytelling, explained that they’d initially feared them. His dear witcher only drew his sword as a precaution, not a warning, and there had never been a reason to kneel like that, so sorry about your trousers. Funny though it was. Now then, what brings you two this far out for a bit of dinner?

“Game’s scarce nowadays,” Yoven said, tearing into the meat of a small bird. He’d likewise introduced his son, Lin, a quiet boy more interested in his boots than the conversation. He ate his own fill when it was handed to him though and kept one shoulder pressed to his father’s at all times. “Need to keep headin’ deeper. Every fortnight it seems. Don’t know what we’re gonna do when the snows hit.”

Geralt felt the same. He’d wanted something substantial for the two of them, especially with winter on the horizon, but he’d had to settle for those warblers and the occasional grub. Jaskier had expressed his displeasure—quite vocally—at Geralt eating whatever he came across in the soil, but what was taste to a witcher? It was an easy source of protein they couldn’t afford to pass up, not now that the nights were growing longer and the air crisper with each passing breath. Soon all but the monsters would be in hibernation and Geralt didn’t think Jaskier could stomach a Nekker heart if he wasn’t willing to eat a measly worm.

It was a problem he hadn’t thought about when Jaskier had first joined him, not when the weather was kind and the chance of him staying past the next town nothing but a well-hidden fantasy. Now, with Fall nearing its end and this unspoken agreement between them, questions of a practical nature had begun to surface. How would he feed them? Would Jaskier survive the cold? Geralt tried to remember everything he’d learned about human physiology and how it compared to a witcher’s. How long could Jaskier go without fresh water? Surely not the two weeks Geralt could manage. Some night when food was once again scarce and he was weary from battle, would he remember that risom berries were fatal to everyone else, or would Geralt mistakenly offer him a handful of poison? How long could a human travel before exhaustion took hold? If he were injured what salves were safe to use? Would Jaskier even tell him these things, or would he insist it was all fine up until he collapsed? It hadn’t been terribly long since that day at the swamp, but with each passing moment Geralt grew more and more consumed by the same realization: humans were not meant to walk the Path.

Yet here Jaskier sat, creating a mirror to Lin and Yoven. The only difference was the absence of touch and Geralt suddenly had the strong urge to press their shoulders together, completing the picture.

If he were humble, Geralt would lead them to the next prosperous settlement and ask Jaskier to sing. Drum up some of the coin he could clearly earn and share it with him, securing their survival.

If he was smart he’d lead them both to Kaer Morhen for the winter, where food and protection were plenty and he needn’t fear a sudden shift in their host’s hospitality. However, the thought of bringing Jaskier to a witcher’s fortress...

If he were both, Geralt would simply leave the bard behind.

All these thoughts passed through him in a moment, following the tail of Jaskier’s expression as he watched Yoven devour cold, congealing meat. A mere second to assess the situation as he would a battle. Then the conversation continued.

Yoven explained that they were from another small town just three miles from here, one of Temeria’s many. Indistinguishable unless you considered that they specialized in building and exporting wagons as opposed to fish, herbs, nets, weapons, boots--whatever else one might need to continue with a war. Or life. It amounted to much the same. Does your town have a name? Jaskier asked. Not unless you count the profanity with which most referred to it. Are you and your witcher heading somewhere in particular? Not really. Wherever we’re needed, and Jaskier ended his comment with a little laugh. As if the concept of anyone needing him was a joke in and of itself.

Geralt, meanwhile, was watching the boy.

“You’ve something to say,” he announced, startling all three. Indeed, it was an easy enough conclusion, even without Lin’s guilty look. Geralt may not have had Jaskier’s talent for small talk, but he could always tell when someone held something back. His livelihood depended on it.

“Well? You can speak freely. We don’t bite,” and Geralt bared his teeth, ignoring the glare Jaskier shot at him.

“We really don’t,” he insisted.

It was Yoven who opened his mouth though. He must have been at least fifty years old, judging by the white in his beard. A substantial age for a human and, like the confident tone they’d first heard at his approach, Yoven was clearly used to commanding respect among his peers. He was halfway through insisting that no, his boy just had that air about him, when Lin finally looked up from his boots with,

“They can help.”

Three words in a mouse’s voice, but ones Geralt knew well. He leaned forward. Help meant trouble. Trouble meant coin. And coin meant he could give Jaskier something other than the soft bones of a bird to eat.

Yoven scowled. “There’s nothin’ to help with.”

“There is! Talden said—”

“Talden? ‘Don’t know how that mug got broke’ Talden? ‘I swear them chickens just ran off’ Talden? That Talden? You’d believe your own arse grew outta your nose if Talden told you so.”

“Lovely image,” Jaskier murmured.

Hmm. Perhaps a fool’s errand then. Or a case of a child crying werewolf. It wouldn’t be the first time some mischievous youngster had been scoffed at when they reported a sighting, only for folk to find them torn to pieces the next morn’, their lying punished too harshly. Only sure way to know was to get details, so Geralt eased himself off the log and knelt before Lin. No more attempts to frighten. Rather, he pulled in his shoulders to appear smaller than he was, kept his hands where Lin could see them, and allowed white hair to partially curtain his face, hiding a bit of the sallow skin and inhuman eyes. It wasn’t much, but Geralt had learned over the decades that even the smallest bit might help. Lives had been lost and saved on far less.

It was one of the reasons why he didn’t believe in destiny. Or, if she were real, why she must also be cruel. Only someone with ice in their heart would wager so much on whether another thought him decent to look upon.

Or simply thought of him at all.

“Talden,” Geralt said, trying to smooth out the rough edge in his voice. He didn’t succeed. “This a friend of yours?”

Lin nodded.

“He saw something? Something that scared him?”

“Heard it,” Lin said, snaking out a hand to grab hold of his father’s shirt. The older man allowed it with a sigh, gesturing for him to go on. It was only then that Geralt realized the child was far younger than he’d first assumed. Almost too young to be out in these woods. Especially if something stalked them.

Lin took a swallow of the water Jaskier offered before going on. “He heard somethin', Master Witcher. Just a few nights back. See, Laren’s our neighbor. Talden’s neighbor too. We all live close, so we all heard when she came screamin’ in the morn about her sister. She was gone. Vanished during the night. Old Roger said she’d run off with a boy from the town over, but Laren says there was no boy. No runnin’ off then either. And Talden told me he heard things a few hours before dawn. Monster things,” and he went back to chugging the water, whispering that last bit.

Geralt tilted his head. “Did Talden say what kind of ‘monster things’? What sounds precisely?”

“No, Master Witcher sir. I didn’t wanna know. Plugged my ears and kicked his shin for scarin’ me.”

Jaskier snorted. "A well landed blow.”

“It’s as I said.” Yoven picked up the thread. “I didn’ want my boy botherin’ you with this because there’s no ‘this’ to be bothered with. Laren and Sage moved here not a year ago. Real secretive girls. Kept to themselves and expected the rest of us to do the same. Old Roger—one of the elders, y’see. I’m set to take his place in a few years—tried to welcome them, but found both to be a prickly pair. Always goin’ off on their own. Not sayin’ where they went or when they’d return. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sage did have a little tryst going, sneakin’ away if her sis didn’t approve. They’re both young enough for such foolishness. But then comes Talden makin’ wild claims about hearin’ monsters during the night, only after the lass was revealed to be missing, mind. He was after attention, Master Witcher. Nothin’ more.”

But Lin shook his head. “Talden wouldn’t lie.” He withered under his father’s look. “He wouldn’t lie about that. He knows how monsters scare me. I, um... apologized after. For kickin’ him.”

Geralt stood. “And Talden didn’t change his story after your apology?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Anyone look for the woman? Tracks? Speak to the folk in the town over? Surely they’d notice if one of their young men had gone missing around the same time.”

Yoven sucked the last of the marrow from his bird and shrugged. “We’re carpenters, not trackers. If we were I might have better luck findin’ meat for us both. As for the town,” Yoven stuck out a finger and proceeded to swing it in an arc. “Which one? We’ve got any number of small towns in these parts, some more earning of the name than others. But it would take days to travel and talk to ‘em all. No one does that for a woman not wantin’ to be found.”

Geralt cursed.

All of little help then. Which was he to believe, the logic of flighty women and trickster boys, or the witcher's experience that told him sometimes folk really did disappear from their beds? For any other witcher the answer was easy. One look at Yoven's clothes and Lin’s greedy bites told the story of poverty. Even if Geralt returned victorious with a beast’s head in his hands, the chances of receiving any substantial reward were slim. Perhaps enough for one meal, maybe two, but was that worth the trouble it would take to receive them?

Of course, there were benefits to being an abnormal witcher. He needn’t decide things on his own, for one.

“Well?” Geralt said. Jaskier blinked stupidly up at him.

“Huh?”

“Should we look into it?”

“...You’re asking me?”

Yes. He was. Geralt felt the burn on his hand and the bruises in his chest. Day-old words flit across his mind like birds. “I just want your opinion.”

The smile was instantaneous. Blinding too. Jaskier went so far as to slap his knee, bursting into joyous laughter when Geralt rolled his eyes. He had his fun for a moment, then grew somber. A single nod and Geralt was already moving to collect his things.

“Yes. We should at least look into it. I’d never forgive myself if we left some poor maiden in peril. Plus, think of what a story it will make! A tale of intrigue and mystery, clandestine meetings and sibling love. That’s grown quite popular, you know.”

“Then pack up your things, Bard. It will be night soon.”

“Poet, Geralt. Poet.” But Jaskier dutifully bent to collect his papers, pressing each carefully between the pages of his notebook or rolling them up with string. Geralt made sure that none had escaped his notice, then took up Roach’s reins. She stamped a few times, impatient to be off.

Yoven was staring, mouth agape so that the rot on his back teeth showed. “You’re coming?”

“We’re coming,” Geralt confirmed and started off, now three sets of footsteps following behind him.

He only listened for the one.

#witcher #the witcher #twn #gerlion #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcherfic

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suitov · 5 years

Text

Komaegi Week: Garden

“I’m sorry it’s not a normal kind of date. I just remembered I’d agreed to help Shikiba and I didn’t want to cancel on you outright...”

“For all the experience I have, this could be a completely normal date!” said Nagito cheerfully.

“But do you know what Celeste said when I told her? She said ‘Well, I wouldn’t trust you pair of submissive lambikins around any kind of tools’...” Makoto unlocked the garden shed. “But then I asked if she meant she wanted to come help, and she said ‘That’s what I have men for, dear’. Like, make up your mind!”

“It’s not as though we’re doing anything dangerous,” said Nagito, picking up a trowel and giving it an uncertain heft.

“He even labelled them for us, he said.” Sure enough, Makoto found the small sack marked Early Onions without difficulty.

Nagito had found some gardening gloves; he handed Makoto a second pair. See, they were off to a great start!

“All right. He said it’s this bed over here, the one under the cherry tree…”

Nagito followed him with the rest of the gear, sparing the tree a wry look. It was bare, of course, being February. No blossoms for Makoto’s birthday. But maybe there would be for Nagito’s! He could take Nagito to look at them. Yes, they’d go together and they’d hold hands—Nagito would finally agree to let people see they were dating, he’d realise he was worthy of Makoto—better yet, he’d realise there was no such thing as worthy, and then maybe… maybe they’d kiss! In front of the trees and everyone! Now there was a hopeful thought.

Makoto tripped over his feet in excitement and planted his face in the bare earth.

“Are you inspecting the beds personally?” asked Nagito with all that subtle irony he displayed sometimes.

“Yeah, something like that.” Makoto picked himself off, brushed off his nose and the knees of his uniform pants—on reflection, he should’ve done like Nagito had and changed into something more casual before heading off to grub around in the dirt. He’d been too excited to think about details. Cute guy and all that.

Nagito smoothly folded his long legs into a kneel. “Ah… Shikiba really didn’t leave much to chance.” He held up a hand-drawn diagram of a bulb, tiny feathery roots and all, firmly labelled PLANT THIS END DOWN.

They set to work.

“I guess everyone thinks we’re that hopeless,” said Makoto with a rueful grin.

Nagito’s laugh was gentle, as if apologising for its audibility. Makoto wanted to hear it more often. “Then they’re wrong. It’s never hopeless with Makoto around. By definition.”

“Are you talking about—ah, Nagito, you know Ultimate Hope is just a nickname my classmates came up with! Now I think about it, it must have been after I tried cheering Toko up one too many times…”

“That many Ultimates can’t be wrong, that’s what I always say,” said Nagito, who was capable of digging in his heels on certain topics every bit as effectively as he was currently digging in the onion bulbs.

Makoto stuck out his tongue, but he continued in Nagito’s wake, patting down the soil and giving the bulbs their first watering-can baths.

It looked as though, in spite of certain people’s expectations, their task would soon be finished without any disasters at all.

“I wonder how long until we see them growing,” said Makoto. Dim recollections arose of the time he’d planted an acorn and checked back hourly on its progress, before running to his mother at dinner time in tears because it hadn’t become a tree. Hey, he’d been five, all right?!

“Assuming my accursed presence hasn’t poisoned them somehow,” Nagito offered cheerfully. “Knowing my luck, they’ll all wither and the soil will go completely barren, or they’ll grow into homicidal monsters, or…”

“Or,” said Makoto, before the ball of hypothetical horrors could really get rolling, “what if it’s good luck instead, and they all grow big and beautiful and tasty in stir fries?”

“Oh, no, I think I’ve already identified the good luck in this situation,” said Nagito with hooded eyes.

“Really? What’s th— Nagito, why’s your bag glowing?”

Nagito followed his eyes. He took off his gloves and opened his book bag. “Ah...” he said.

Makoto realised what it was just before Nagito produced his wand. The weird, dark metal wand, one of the pair they’d found by accident while out walking together. Glowing, which was why they’d originally seen them, but hadn’t happened since then.

“Do you think it senses danger?”

Makoto picked up his own backpack.

“Ha! So you don’t want to be far from yours either?”

“I feel all uneasy and lonely if I get too far away from it, a little like when I’m away from… um, from home,” Makoto quick-thinkingly unadmitted. Ha, and to think Kyoko had called him an open book! “But mine isn’t glowing, look, so either it doesn’t mean that or… heehee… I’m the threat.”

Nagito gasped dutifully at Makoto’s fierce face and intimidating flex. But he did grin a little. “If I ever find the Ultimate Hope is my adversary, I’m switching sides.”

Makoto zipped his backpack up again. “So maybe yours wants you to transform. You could try it.”

“I don’t even know how it happened the first time. Do you?”

“Um, no.” Makoto frowned and touched his chin with a knuckle, a gesture he’d unconsciously picked up from Nagito. “Maybe wave it around? Twirl with it? Is there a magic word written on it…?”

“No, no and no,” said Nagito dizzily. “I don’t even think I was thinking anything special that first time. All I remember was—um, well, that surely wasn’t it.”

Makoto leaned forward like a puppy seeing a ball. “What? What?”

“Oh, nothing… um.” Nagito squirmed. “I was just feeling very… extremely ga—”

It happened immediately. Nagito’s formerly quivering fingers clamped firmly around the wand and he struck an unlikely pose, spine bent such that somehow his chest and his rear were in view at once. Blood-red ribbons of light spilled out and cocooned him. Makoto even thought he heard a faint theme song.

Nagito’s high heels touched the ground again. He looked down and smoothed his slinky red cocktail dress.

Makoto choked on a giggle. At the questioning look, he said, “They’re back…”

“What are—oh no.” Nagito reached up and tugged at one fuzzy cat ear. “Magical girl and catboy now? How is this reasonable?”

“I don’t know about reasonable, but it’s cute.”

“Yes, but we didn’t even turn into cats… dog… animal people on the same day—they were completely separate incidents!”

“Maybe your magic wand found it cute too.”

Nagito’s fluffy white tail lashed. He started to lick a hand, then thrust it embarrassedly behind his back. “And what was even the point of this?” he demanded of the magic wand.

“Ooh…” said Makoto.

“…just trying to have a normal date with a very adorable boy and you go around glowing and, and giving people hairy ears willy-nilly…”

“Um…” said Makoto, who was all squeaky inside after being described as very adorable.

“…appreciate some idea of what you want me to do here. I mean, magical girl powers aren’t exactly something the guidance counsellor can help with, and I’ve asked her…”

“Nagito, look!”

“…said it wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’s been asked by a student at this school, which is saying somethi—yes, Makoto?”

Makoto mutely pointed.

“…oh,” said Nagito, accurately.

The onions were growing.

The onions were growing big…

“Nyaow!” Nagito hissed and swiped his wand at a waist-high bundle of leaves. The leaves took no notice, neither to attack him nor to quail away from his indignant hiss. The bulb at the base of those leaves, half submerged in soil, was massive, more like the size of a pumpkin.

The onions stopped growing with a self-satisfied chlorophyllic creak.

“Uh,” said Makoto.

“…Yeah,” said Nagito, slinking farther away from the garden bed before anything else could happen.

“So that was…”

“It sure was…”

“Do you think that’s your magic power? Nagito, that’s such a cool power! They’re blooming like crazy!”

“I don’t think onions bloom, do they?”

“I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure they don’t normally do that, either.”

They stared at the vegetable garden a little more. Then, both at once, they started laughing.

“Onions, right? Pungent and making people cry. Perfect imagery for me!”

“Nooooo, onions are good! They’re good in cooking, they give things flavour, and… they have like, circles. What’s the word? Like layers! They’re complicated, just like you!”

“You think I’m good?” Makoto realised Nagito had stopped laughing.

“Yes, silly catboy, I think you’re very good.” He stuck out his tongue, just to be extra convincing.

Nagito wordlessly reached out and brushed a petal out of his hair.

“And I’m not sorry we’re dating, even if weird stuff like this happens every time.” A falling petal tickled his nose. He rubbed it with the back of his gardening glove. “At least I get to experience the weird stuff with you.”

Nagito shuffled his feet. Or maybe he was just trying to keep the heels from sinking into the grass. He rubbed the back of his neck, trailing the red veils that formed part of his distractingly alluring outfit. They looked kind of nice, spangled with pink petals.

“Wait a minute,” said Makoto, looking up.

At the riotously blossoming cherry tree.

They gawped at each other, framed in falling flowers. Then one of them reached for the other’s hand, and later on neither remembered who it had been.

They did remember the kisses, though. So it was a pretty good date after all.

#komaegi #komaegiweek2020 #nagito komaeda #makoto naegi #celestia ludenberg #santa shikiba

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Needed Part III

Before you read, here’s Part I and Part II!

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Baby 5, Monkey D. Luffy

Requested By: Tastsumi (Ao3)

Cricket song mingled with the droning of soft snores in the fresh night air. The little insects chirped in the clumps of long grasses ringing the small jungle clearing in which Baby 5 and the rest of the Straw Hat Pirates snoozed contentedly beneath the stars. Alas, Baby was not sleeping. Her dark eyes fixated on the forest canopy above, where the glimmering stars peeked through the dense network of interlocking branches and waxy leaves to spill dappled white light over her. She clicked her tongue and rolled onto her side, snuggling into the warm fabric of her sleeping bag. No, there was nothing for it; sleep would not find young Baby tonight. Sighing wistfully, she tossed the blankets off herself and rose, stretching her arms above her head and glancing around the clearing.

As it had turned out, the arrival to Zou had been an ordeal in itself. The resident Minks had been hostile at first, for they had suffered an attack by pirates, not a few days before the Sunny’s landing. Then, Luffy and company had learned that their cook, Sanji, had been abducted by the Emperor Big Mom for a political wedding. They established a plan to send half of the crew onward to Wano, where they would infiltrate the populace alongside the Heart Pirates and gather information on their newest enemy, the Emperor Kaido. The other section of the crew would travel to Big Mom’s territory to retrieve their absconded cook. Several of the Minks had even pledged themselves to their cause, which Baby thought very kind of them.

Since the night in the crow’s nest, Baby 5 had not suffered any more nightmares. To be frank, she was a little surprised to be insomnious on this night; she had not given Doflamingo another passing thought. Yet, here Baby was, wide awake in the middle of the night. Perhaps I’ll take a walk, she reasoned. The last late-night jaunt had ended particularly well, so possibly, her little stroll through the lush woods would result in similar luck. Baby retrieved her trusty bazooka, the only relic of her servitude in the Doflamingo syndicate, and then descended the well-worn path leading into the jungle.

The air was alive with the sounds of the lush wilderness. The cricket song was deafening along the path, for the clumpy grasses towered waist-high. Their wispy fronds kissed Baby’s hips and thighs as she strolled down the slight bumpy incline, tickling her skin with their fluffy yellow-green fibers. Fireflies flitted between the thick tree trunks, flickering greeting at Baby as she passed. A tapir lumbered out into the open, its short, stout snout snuffling through the dirt and overturning rocks in search of grubs; Baby 5 politely waited for it to finish its business. The massive creature regarded her with bright, curious eyes and wiggled its short trunk at her before shambling off into the jungle whence it came. She squatted down to observe a troupe of army ants crossing the pathway, careful not to disrupt their march lest she find herself on the business end of their massive mandibles. The forest was very much awake around her, and so Baby 5 found herself even more restless in the throng of its activity.

With a forlorn sigh, she settled herself on a nice, flat rock. Resting her elbows on her knees and pushing her fists into her cheeks, she sulked about her infuriatingly restless mind. With half-lidded eyes, she traced the trail of a meandering stag beetle trundling over the layer of decomposing leaves. It dug its horns into the spongey soil to reveal wriggling white grubs and tiny scuttling roaches. Eat your fill, little stag beetle, she thought morosely. May sleep find you quickly… whenever bugs sleep.

Baby 5 groaned and hung her head between her knees, tearing her hands into her wavy black hair. Her eyes pulsed with their own heartbeat, clearly wishing to close to the night, but her mind was too busy buzzing with energy to allow that to happen. Could I be anxious? She wondered, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Whatever could I be worried about? She sat up on the rock, tapping her pursed lip with the pad of her index finger. If anyone had cause to be anxious, it would be Luffy, considering that one of his trusted comrades had essentially been kidnapped. Yet, the captain seemed cool as a cucumber, albeit a little miffed at the bold-as-brass transgression against this authority.

Baby 5 knitted her eyebrows together as a particular thought occurred to her. Is it possible that Luffy’s reaction to the situation unnerved her, and she wondered if he was restraining his emotions for his comrades’ sakes? It’s as good an explanation as any.

Baby peered out into the gloom as a twig snapped, piercing the air like a gunshot. The cricket song dimmed as the wee insects investigated the incoming creature, and whether it be friend or foe. Baby craned her neck to peek around the bend in the pathway as the sound of crunching dirt loomed closer by the second. She raised an eyebrow when a pair of familiar sandals tromped into view, followed by a straw hat-wearing noiret who was smiling amiably.

“Oh! There you are, Baby,” Luffy called cheerfully when he spotted her perching on the squat rock. He approached her nonchalantly, stopping to place his hands on his hips and gaze out into the night. The crickets had decided that Luffy was not interested in eating them and had begun sounding their cares with fervor. “It’s a lovely night for a walk,” he remarked, turning glittering black eyes on her. She flushed and fidgeted on the rock.

“Yes, I suppose it is…” His lips edged upwards into a smirk, and his eyebrows crept up.

“Having nightmares again?” he asked worriedly, stroking the pad of his thumb underneath her eyes just like he had done a few nights ago. She turned pink and shook her head vehemently, waving her hands in refusal.

“No, no! I promise I’m not,” she insisted. Her hands fell into her lap with a small sigh. Luffy was there, so she might as well openly ponder the intricacies of her psyche. “Truthfully… I’m worried about you, Luffy.” His eyebrows inched further up, touching the roots of his dark hair.

“Me? Why?”

“Well… Aren’t you concerned about Sanji?” Baby 5’s eyes widened when he clenched his jaw and glanced off into the distance once more. A silence settled between them as Luffy searched for his words. When he turned back to her, he gestured to the rock. Baby 5 obediently scooched over to allow him access to the stony perch, and with a long sigh, he eased himself down beside her. He rubbed his hands together slowly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Yeah. I am, Baby,” he admitted in a small voice after a few seconds. Baby 5 pressed closer to him and rested her arm on his bicep. She had never heard the sunny, optimistic boy so morose. He laced his fingers together and clenched them so hard that his knuckles glared white. She cooed his name and stroked his arm in an invitation to divulge his complicated feelings to her. “I didn’t wanna say anything, because the others are really worried too… If I had my way, we’d be on Whole Cake Island right now, tearing every house apart lookin’ for him, but… I know that’s dumb. Big Mom is a whole different ball game.” Baby 5’s bottom lip wobbled. His lack of self-confidence broke her heart.

“Luffy, you’ll get Sanji back. I know you will.” He sighed forlornly and hung his head, staring miserably down at his clasped hands. She ran her hand from his shoulder down to his wrist, then forced her fingers in-between his so that she could lace theirs together. Baby gave him a robust and reassuring squeeze, making him peer at her out of his peripheral vision. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. Once you set your mind to something, there’s no stopping you. Big Mom will rue the day she dared to cross you.” A small smile curled onto his lips. He leaned forward to press his forehead against her own, and Baby 5 welcomed it, nestling into him. “Sanji needs you right now, and you’re the type of man that will pull through, no matter the obstacles.”

“Thanks, Baby,” he said softly. She jumped when he suddenly tore away from her to spring from the rock. He flung his arms up into the air and screamed into the night, “Ya hear that, Big Mom? I’m coming to kick your ass! So stay right there so you can get what’s comin’ to ya, ya ugly old hag!” As his voice rippled through the forest, bouncing off the tree trunks and waxy leaves, the nightbirds and crickets silenced in awe. For several seconds after his enthusiastic yowling, it was eerily quiet. Finally, a lone owl decided to hoot back in admiration. “Ah, that felt good,” Luffy exhaled exultantly. Baby 5 giggled. It was so remarkable how he could switch from depressed to determined in a mere instant.

“I’m glad I could make you feel better,” Baby smiled as she stood from the rock. Luffy turned to her and opened an arm invitingly, and she immediately snuggled close to him. Rubbing the small of her back with his big, calloused hand, he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut as a big smile bloomed on her face. It always made her so happy to feel that she was needed. Although she no longer felt the compulsion to be necessary twenty-four hours a day, to be reminded of her necessity in someone’s life was still gratifying. Luffy continued to nuzzle his nose into her coarse black hair, until a long, loud yawn split his face. He smacked his lips together and then tiredly mumbled into her scalp, “Le’s go back to bed… I’m sleepy…”

Baby 5 chuckled and rubbed his chest soothingly, then nodded. He wrapped his arms tight around her body, insistent on cuddling as close as possible to the young woman, and so they began to awkwardly penguin-waddle back up the slope. “Baby…?”

“Yes, Luffy?”

“I’m gonna bring Sanji back. Jus’ you watch.” He sounded half-asleep as he walked, his voice drawling with exhaustion. “I’ll meet up with all of you in Wano so we can kick Kaido’s ass too…” Baby 5 hummed merrily and affectionately stroked his forearms as he tightened them around her.

“I know you will- because I need you, Luffy.” He responded with a mumble that was half-gibberish. Baby 5 chuckled and continued to lug his heavy, sleep-deadened body up the path even as her own eyes began to droop with the onset of drowsiness.

I’ll be waiting… because that is what is needed of me.

Enjoy this oneshot? Here’s Part IV! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece

#one piece #luffy x baby 5 #baby 5 x luffy #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy #baby 5 #op luffy #straw hat luffy #op baby 5 #op fanfic #one piece fanfic #op fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

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damienthepious · 4 years

Text

NOTHER ONE HAPPY 🦎💋

thorns that burst from my skull in the night (chapter 3)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, The Keep, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Canon Compliant, Prophetic Dreams, Alternate Universe, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings, (very mild suicidal ideation or at least. canon typical arum being reckless with his own life)

Summary: Arum has always seen glimpses of the future in his dreams. This gift is sometimes useful, but more often than not it leaves him with more questions than answers. The dreams of the flowers are particularly unhelpful.

Chapter Summary: The prelude to their second duel.

Chapter Notes: This fic is shockingly hard to write for how short these chapters are. Is it just Current Circumstances? or is it just that canon compliant retellings are difficult for me as a rule? who knoooooooooooows. Anyway! happy lizard kissin' tuesday, i hope y'all are keeping well, i love you!!!

Arum should throw himself into the task of using the scarf the foolish knight gave him to work on his weapon. He has no reason to honor his proposed duel, no further goal that returning will serve-

He washes away his own blood, folds the silk, re-wraps his wound while the Keep chastises him gently for his recklessness, and Arum is tired but he cannot afford to rest. He does not wish to see what the dreams will show him now, now that he knows the face of his flower, now that he knows the curve of that smile.

The scrap of silk will do, he thinks. The grubs attune to it easily, and Arum knows the most pressing challenge in their growth (throbbing, screaming, at the edge of the world) has not been solved, but he has done as much as is in his power. The Hermit may influence life, may encourage it, may imbue its own eagerness (it's contagious, too?) into that which surrounds it, but it is not a panacea. It cannot accelerate the growth of the grubs. Arum sighs over the writhing mass as they tickle the mind of the Queen, and he calls this task sufficiently executed. He wills a promising mass of the creatures to cocoon, and he sends them off with a coded missive explaining the intent of the creature, and its shortcomings. It must be enough. It must be. The Senate knew the scope of his skill; they cannot expect him to solve the problem that is time.

So. He has done all he may do, for the moment.

There is no reason for Arum to fulfill the challenge Sir Damien set for him.

(sunbeams loose on his tongue, laughter and bells and song, indistinguishable)

Regardless. Arum leaves the Keep, leaves behind further contemplation of the task set by the Senate for the latter half of the day. He weaves his work into the jungle, his most clever machinations and his most devious traps and his creations that should prove most effective against the little archer. He prepares, his tail and anticipation coiling as the chiming of the bells nearby (familiar) mark the quickly passing hours, as they mark the approach of their duel.

And if these trees seem familiar too, if he is sure that he knows the shape of them, if he is so certain that he recognizes a gap in the underbrush and knows that the thistle-cage belongs exactly there-

Well. It is an advantage, even if it rankles. The little honeysuckle wants him at his best, does he not? The dreams are a part of him; using them is only giving the knight what he desires. And if- when Arum wins, tonight, and he takes the life of this little human as his prize, that will be the end of it. The end of these ridiculous soft dreams, and he will tear out the roots burrowing into the soil of his greenhouse, and he will never think of this again. That is what this vision is meant for. He is certain, now. He is meant to destroy this little human and all his foolish softness and all his surprising skill, meant to pluck this bloom and devour it.

(may I say a prayer before you)

He does not wish to dream again, but-

If he intends to perform at his best, he will require the rest. When he is content that he has set more than enough traps in motion among the jungle foliage, when he has planned potential routes for chase, when he is satisfied with his preparation, he finds a safe place among the high branches of Rakschakala. He curls in a crook of bark, surrounded by soft, breeze-blown (familiar) leaves, and he sighs and relents and allows himself the briefest of rests, allows the influence of the magic in his mind to take him as it will.

His augury fails to be useful even now. Blood and cloth, drifting petals, amaryllis bright and distracting at the edge of his vision, and a racing heart so hot and vivid he can nearly taste it. And the other taste, of course. Honeysuckle on his tongue.

(heart should swell the mind race the pulse quicken)

Symbolism so familiar it has lost all meaning, and the sorts of violent moments that would be perfectly at home in a duel, a hunt. All to be expected. Nothing he can use.

(you are very close to)

(kill you but I)

(you, monster, must be the cause)

(I do)

It is dark when he wakes again. His mind is not settled, but it is clearer. All is set, and the knight will fall beneath his knives and his claws or, more anticlimactically, his traps and creations.

Arum finds his perch by the first of those traps and settles to wait, listening for Sir Damien’s footsteps, listening for the tolling of the bells.

Sir Damien is punctual. He arrives a few brief moments before the bells chime, their echoing musicality filling the jungle, magic rippling out, and Sir Damien's voice follows just as Arum lights the wick.

Arum realizes with a warm curl of shock that Sir Damien's words are as familiar to him as the pealing bells. They had not stuck in his memory, not properly, but- they have whispered through at the edges of his dreams for many long years.

(my mind spins with thoughts of)

"Lord Arum, ruler of the Swamp of Titan's Blooms, with the cunning eyes and deadly claws-"

(a greater rival I have never met)

The echo is almost too much to bear. The familiarity, the way Arum knows, and it is so difficult to understand precisely what the poet is even saying, because Arum is distracted by the way the words are bouncing between his own half-understood dreams and the true fluting of Sir Damien's voice in the open air.

It is difficult to understand it. But there is more than one echo, and Arum's frill flares higher every time Sir Damien summons to voice the peculiarity of Arum's eyes.

(I swear, I saw something human in)

"-his eyes, his violet eyes…" Damien trails off, and even from high above him Arum can see the strange fragility in the way the knight clutches his bow to his chest, almost as if he has forgotten it entirely.

(I will fulfill my duty - and cut)

Arum can taste the tension coiling off of the knight as his strange dreamy tone shifts, his already-quickened heart speeding further, his panic swelling.

"No, no, Damien, you've-"

(merely confused yourself)

Arum shivers at this particular echo, his own feelings from the day before pulsing again in the knight, the pheromones of fear and- something else, bright and familiar on the air.

Sir Damien settles himself, or attempts to at the very least, and Arum knows there is very little time before his trap springs, now. It would be entirely too anticlimactic to let the little creature be simply crushed, of course, would defeat the point he is trying to prove with this rematch, so-

"Who is that you plan to slay?" he taunts as he drops down beside his foe, and the gasping, shocked noise that Sir Damien gives at his appearance makes Arum's claws flex. He flicks his tongue in the air, feigns nonchalance, aggressive and just on the edge of too close.

Sir Damien is cool, now, though. Reserved. Intentionally so, but Arum still feels the deliberate distance like a pane of fogged glass, and he feels-

Cheated, somehow. The little blatherer can monologue to himself and his ridiculous Saint for ages before he knows he has an audience, but now he does not wish to annoy his opponent with his words? Absurd creature, impatient for his own death-

More words hover at the edges of Arum's memory. There is more that Sir Damien will say, before Arum cuts his stem. It is troubling that he is stifling himself now. It does not bode well.

He draws his own phrases out, threatening and taunting the poet with the doom he has sown for himself, with all the ways that Arum skill may destroy him, tone predatory and indulgent.

"And all of them," Arum purrs, tail flicking, "for you."

"A present? Why, Lord Arum. We hardly know each other." Sir Damien smiles, and Arum does not step closer, no matter the way the muscles of his calves tense with the urge, and then he registers the poet's words, in addition to the bouncing musicality of his tone.

A present.

(weaving through the jungle with the most delicate care, the best work of his hands)

(teeth but no blood)

(an offering)

Arum splutters. He snarls and spits and slithers back a step, the mirth in Sir Damien's eyes too familiar and bright to stand.

The knight (honeysuckle) may say whatever he likes, regardless. They are out of time, for banter. Arum set the duel in motion already, inexorable as the gravity that will bring his trap down. Arum forces his frill to settle, hisses something scathing, and he cackles as his foe is nearly crushed by the first blow.

"Catch me if you can," he crows, his heart already racing as Damien sprawls in the dirt, and he slips out of sight before the poet rises again.

He will win this duel. He knows he will.

(pinned beneath my claws)

He will slay this human tonight, and that will be that.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #oneiromancy au #lord arum #sir damien #HI I LOVE YOU

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

Here We Are Now

TGT Chapter 5

Read the rest here

Not My Gif

A week had passed since they had been reunited. Estelle had spent the week dodging her father's questions about her potential suitors. Now, she was at Annalise's house to discuss their respective weeks.

"You snuck out of the house?" Annalise asked with a laugh. "Oh, Elle, that's rich!"

Estelle blushed slightly. "Well, I couldn't just leave him standing out there. That would be rude."

"Oh, of course. We wouldn't want to show poor manners to a man who shows up at your house well past the appropriate times to call on someone," Annalise smirked as she took a sip of tea. "Where did you go at that hour? I suppose all the respectable places would be closed by then."

"We went to Grub Street," Estelle murmured, pouring herself a cup of tea. The roses in Anna's garden were suddenly more interesting than the conversation at hand.

"Oh, Elle, you didn't!" Annalise gasped. "That's where all the people of ill renown and poor students live! That's hardly a place for you. How did Christian even know about it?"

"A friend from school lives there. You might actually like him," Estelle replied. "We actually had a lot of fun. I met some very intriguing people and we had deeper discussions than what normally is deemed appropriate in society."

"That actually does sound like a good time," Annalise smiled. "Perhaps the next time you sneak out, you'll have to stop by and fetch me... On second thought, I prefer my beauty rest. However, if this man that you think I'd enjoy ever happens to be around, you'll have to introduce me."

Estelle smiled, "Alright, Anna. If we're ever in the same place as Mr. Cavanaugh, I'll make sure to introduce you."

"But, only if I look alluring. If I'm having a poor complexion or hair day, please save me from the embarrassment. I only wish to put my best foot forward," Annalise said pointedly.

Estelle shook her head. "Of course, Anna. Wouldn't want a man to possibly fall for you at your worst. Then we'd know he'd really like you at your best."

"You know that's not what I meant," Annalise admonished. "I just... would rather not look like a garden gnome if I'm to meet a man who might become special to me. First impressions are important."

Estelle had to laugh. "Are they?"

Annalise tilted her head. "You know, you've never told me how you and Christian met."

Estelle blushed. "There's not much to tell. We were neighbors."

"Yes, but I've been to the country estate when you owned it. I know how far it is to the next house," Annalise shot back. "You're blushing. There is a story there, isn't there? Oh, Elle, don't leave your best friend in the dark! Come on, now, out with it."

Estelle sighed. "Anna, has anyone ever told you that you're a bit commandeering when it comes to conversations?"

"My mother always says that I'm a little too pushy for my own good, but I think that just makes me endearing," Annalise smirked.

Estelle rolled her eyes. "Well, since you asked. It's... an interesting story. Definitely not a great first impression..."

She was running. She hated her tutor, especially when they wanted to discuss philosophy when all she wanted to do was play. It was difficult to look out at the breeze blowing on the meadows and think that she'd have to spend her day stuck inside discussing men who have been dead for centuries when all she wanted was to smell the flowers and roll down hills until her dress was so soiled that her mother would yell. Estelle was only ten, and had an air of freedom and adventure about her that only young children had. That was why she'd snuck out. She'd asked to be excused to use the restroom and had climbed out the window, using the lattice on the side as a ladder to reach the ground. After peering around to make sure that no one would see her in order to tattle to her parents, she took off towards the far end of the estate. The grass was up to her chest as she walked through, and she could barely see her feet as she crested the hill. That was precisely how she had missed the fallen log in her path which sent her tripping end over head and rolling down the hill. She let out a cry of surprise as she spun down the grassy expanse until she saw a blur of color in her vision up ahead. What was that?

"Hey! Stop!" a voice called out, but it was too late. She had barrel rolled into something hard and less forgiving than grass, knocking the wind out of her.

"I-is the world done spinning?" she asked dizzily as she tried to straighten herself out. There was something squishy under her knee.

"Don't you know better than to roll down hills?" a voice replied.

Estelle peeked up at the owners... owner? It looked like there were two of them, but as her vision started to sort itself out, they morphed into one slightly annoyed boy's face.

"I didn't roll down the hill," Estelle said adamantly.

"No, I suppose you just happened to appear on top of me and my picnic then?" the voice shot back.

"No, I mean... I didn't intend to roll down the hill," Estelle corrected. "I tripped on a log."

"Oh," the boy replied. "Well, in that case I can't really blame you for smushing my sandwich."

"Sandwich?" she asked in confusion.

"Under your knee," the boy stated, helping her up so that she wasn't laying against his chest and between his legs anymore. As she pulled back to kneel on her heels, she noticed the jam sandwich under her knee, staining her dress.

"Oh, mother is going to kill me," she muttered as she lifted her knee to remove the squished sandwich.

"It was an accident. Surely she'll take that into account," the boy replied, offering her a cloth to wipe off the extra bits of jam on her dress.

"Well, she'll already be quite cross that I skipped my lessons. This will just be adding insult to injury," Estelle sighed.

"You skipped your lessons?" the boy asked in awe. "It seems we have a delinquent on our hands."

"I am not a delinquent! I just... wanted to be outside. It's such a nice day out. I didn't want to spend it cooped up inside studying philosophy."

"That is understandable. Philosophy is so much nicer outside," he smiled.

"What do you mean?" Estelle asked, tilting her head.

"Well, you can see bits of philosophy more clearly in nature. In nature there's a certain truth to things. Or at least, that's what my tutor says. I mostly see beauty, but I suppose there's a truth in that as well," the man replied.

"I think I'd prefer to take lessons with your tutor," Estelle grinned.

"What's your name? Perhaps I can convince my father to send a letter to your parents so that you may use my tutor," the boy offered.

"Estelle Devereux," she replied, holding her hand out to him.

"I'm Christian Thompson," he said with a curt nod, taking her hand. Instead of shaking it, he kissed the back of her hand. She looked away with a blush. This boy certainly was silly.

"Thompson," she murmured, "I think your father is a friend of mine. Your estate is Rouge Meadows, correct? I believe that we are neighbors."

"As close to neighbors as one can get in the country," Christian smiled. "It's nice to meet you. I've been wondering about the house that was built next door for a while now."

"I hope we can be more than just neighbors. With no one else around for miles, I hope we can become friends," Estelle smiled.

"I'd like that," Christian beamed.

Annalise laughed as Estelle finished her story. "I can't believe you landed in his sandwich!"

Estelle blushed, "Gravity has no care for where you land. Besides, according to Sir Isaac Newton, if Christian hadn't been there, it could have been a lot longer before I stopped rolling. However, that's beside the point. Not every first impression has to be good in order for the relationship to be."

Annalise nodded, "I suppose you're right." She looked out over her garden and sighed. "I'm looking forward to seeing new plants and displays this week at the Great Spring Show. I feel as though it's about time to change things up around here."

Estelle brightened. "Oh, I love the Great Spring Show. I heard they have at least five marquees this year at the Temple Gardens. There's been a lot of talk of this one called 'The Lover's Arch.' I'm excited to see it. Since it's open to almost anyone, perhaps I can see if Christian will invite Mr. Cavanaugh so that you can meet."

"That would be lovely," Annalise smiled, "However, if he cannot attend, it isn't the end of the world. Mr. Phillips will be there, and my mother seems to think he could be a suitable match for me. I just wish the man weren't so boring. He came to call on me a few days ago and he wouldn't stop discussing the grandfather clock in our drawing room, and you know how it is when you discuss time. It always passes by more slowly the more you mention it. I swear, Elle, it was the longest hour of my life."

Estelle chuckled. "If I may borrow one of your servants, I'll send a note to Christian."

Annalise nodded, ringing the bell for a maid to come forward. "Elizabeth, if you could fetch a paper, pen, and an envelope for Ms. Devereux, I would truly appreciate it."

"Yes, Miss," Elizabeth replied before going to fetch those items. When she returned she placed them on the table for Estelle. Estelle quickly penned a note and sealed it up, handing it back to her.

"If you could make sure this reaches it's destination, Elizabeth, that would be lovely. Thank you," Estelle smiled.

"Of course, Miss," Elizabeth nodded in deference.

Estelle turned back to her friend, "Well, Anna. This has been lovely. I should probably get going, but I'll see you at the Great Spring Show tomorrow."

"I'm excited for the fireworks at the end of the event."

Estelle smiled as she stood and smoothed out her skirts. "They're said to be spectacular this year. "

"Have a safe trip home," Annalise smiled as Estelle made her way back through the garden gate to her waiting carriage.

Estelle made her way home and enjoyed a quiet evening at home for the first time in days. It was almost odd to not have spent some part of the day with Christian, but she had to get used to it. After all, even if they were to get married someday, there could be times when they didn't see each other. She would have to learn to make do. That didn't change the fact that she was so very bored as she worked on her sewing pattern.

"Sister, that's the fifth time you've sighed in the past ten minutes," Mary grumbled. "If you're going to be like this, then just go to bed. The sooner you sleep, the sooner tomorrow can come."

"I suppose you're right," she sighed. "Maybe I'll go up to my room to write a bit before going to bed."

"I don't care what you do as long as you stop sighing in my ear. It is loud, obnoxious, and annoying," Mary snapped.

Estelle chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'm leaving."

She put her sewing pattern down and went up to retire for the evening. After getting dressed for bed, she sat down at her desk to write. Originally, she had planned on writing in her journal, but instead she found herself writing poems. The words poured out from her soul, and she realized upon rereading them, that they all were about Christian.

"Oh, I truly have it bad," she sighed at herself. A part of her grimaced upon hearing her sigh. Mary was right. It was irksome. With a shake of her head, she gave up and went to bed. Falling asleep in eager anticipation for the next morning.

When she awoke the next morning, she breezed through the hours before Christian came to fetch her for the Great Spring Show. She was excited. The Great Spring Show had always been one of her mother's favorite events of the season due to the colorful flower displays. She practically ran out the door when he arrived.

He had to chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Are you excited for the Garden Show?"

She smiled. "Yes, I am, Mr. Thompson. A whole bunch of flowers... I can almost smell them."

He smiled as he offered her his arm, taking in her green dress with a floral pattern on it. "I see you are dressed for the occasion."

She shrugged. "When in Rome."

"Well, Darling, you might be the loveliest flower there today," he grinned.

Estelle blushed, "Speaking of other attendees... will Mr. Cavanaugh be there? Annalise was hoping to meet him."

"I sent him the invitation. Whether or not he chooses to appear is up to him. William is a bit of a free spirit," Christian grinned.

"I figured as much," Estelle smiled, "Well, let's get going. Flowers wait for no one."

The two of them quickly made their way to the Temple Gardens, taking in the colorful explosion on the various marquees.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many flowers in one place," Estelle murmured in awe. The displays were spectacular. There was one that was in the shape of an Elephant, crowned with roses. It was titled the Maharaja. There were steps built into the side so that one could walk up to sit in the caravan of sunflowers on its back. They walked along, admiring the various displays until they came across Annalise waiting by a woman selling roses. Coincidentally, they saw Mr. Cavanaugh waiting across the way.

"William!" Christian called out, waving him over. The four met up near a bench off to the side of the foot traffic.

"Christian," William smiled, clapping him on the back. He then respectfully bowed to Estelle. "Ms. Devereux, a pleasure as always."

"Mr. Cavanaugh, I'd like you to meet my friend, Annalise Renton," Estelle said, gesturing to Anna. "Anna, this is Mr. William Cavanaugh."

William's eyes widened slightly as he met Annalise's eyes. He gallantly stepped forward to take her hand and kiss it. "Ms. Renton, I'm thoroughly enchanted by your presence."

Annalise blushed, "Mr. Cavanaugh, I've heard quite a bit about you."

William blushed, "All good things, I pray."

"Only the best," Annalise smiled.

With some reluctance, he let go of her hand. Christian and Estelle shared a smile and a look.

"Well, since Mr. Thompson is escorting me around, I think it would only make sense for you to escort Ms. Renton, don't you, Mr. Cavanaugh?"

William swallowed, and nodded. "O-of course. I would be delighted." He offered Annalise his arm. "Ms. Renton, may I have the honor?"

"You may," Annalise replied coyly, slipping her arm into his. The couples broke off to explore more, but Estelle kept an eye on her friends.

"They're getting along quite nicely," Estelle murmured to Christian.

"Even if they are in two different leagues," Christian replied sadly.

Estelle felt a slight pang of guilt. "Do you think I shouldn't have introduced them?"

"I don't know, Darling. Part of me feels as though we've set them up for failure, but they are also adults and can make their own decisions. If I'm being honest, William does have some background in society. He just turned his back on it for the Bohemian lifestyle. His sister is currently in charge of the estate, but I'm sure if he ever wanted to come back, he'd be welcomed with open arms," he explained.

Estelle nodded. That made her feel a little better.

They stopped in front of a maze. It was made out of hedges and potted trees.

"Step up and test the strength of your love!" a barker said beside it.

"How do you suppose we do that?" Christian asked, taking the bait.

"You see, lad. You and your lovely lady here will each enter the maze from two different sides. You'll each be given a map, but the directions are for your partner's path. It's up to you to make it to the center of the maze together, because you need two hands to open the gate under the lover's arch which leads to the stairs to get out of the maze," the barker replied as he pointed at the stairs. They were decorated with a rainbow made of flowers, going over the entire maze, leading from what was presumably the center to the a path outside the maze which led back to the event.

"What do you say, Ms. Devereux, shall we test our relationship?" Christian asked in amusement.

"I think it will be fun," she smiled.

Christian paid the man for their maps and then they lined up at their respective starting lines. When the barker nodded at them, they entered the maze.

"Alright, Ellie, it looks like you need to take a right at the fork up ahead," Christian called out.

"And you had better take the middle path," Estelle replied.

Together, they worked their way through the maze of green. The further along they got, the darker the sky became as the day whittled away. When they broke into the opposite sides of the center clearing, it was like an explosion of color between the sunset above and the flowers around. There were red roses, pink peonies, yellow sunflowers, and many more flowers that Estelle didn't even recognize. She slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in before facing the heart shaped arch covered in flowers. There was a door with instructions as to how to open it.

"This is beautiful," she murmured.

"It is," Christian replied, coming up behind her. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist as they spent a moment together in silence, just admiring the view.

"I suppose we should figure out the gate," she replied, looking up at the sky. "It's getting late. They should be starting the end of event fireworks soon."

"In a moment," he replied. "I was wondering if we could talk about something important."

Estelle turned in his arms to face him. "Of course."

"Well, I think this maze proved the strength of our bond rather nicely," he smirked.

"We did manage to get through it together," she smiled back.

"And that's just it. We did it together, just like old times. You make all of this not feel like I'm just playing a part. My father and I have been having some difficulties at home due to how I present myself and the fact that I probably talk too much. I love the fact that with you, I can just be myself, even if for a moment. Part of me... wants to make that moment last forever," he murmured, gently reaching out to cup her cheek. He stroked his thumb across her soft skin. The darkness was quickly setting in around them as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon. All around, little fireflies came to life from within the flowers.

"That's the problem with moments," she replied, "Their own nature means that they can't last forever."

"I suppose I'll just have to create so many moments that it feels as if they never end," he smiled, pulling her into him.

She broke out in a grin as he hugged her close, spinning her around a bit. When he set her back down, she felt that familiar magnetic pull into him. Her eyes closed as his hands settled on her face to bring her in for a kiss. She melted into him as flickers of light lit up the sky as fireworks boomed themselves into noisy existence before twinkling out into the vast expanse of the night sky. It was funny, really, seeing the physical manifestations of the way kissing him made her feel. As the fireworks started to speed up, crackling in a crescendo above them to signify the finale, they pulled apart, looking up at the sky to watch. Well, Estelle watched. Christian was too busy watching how the lights illuminated Estelle's face, highlighting her features in a way that he wish he could put into words. A silence settled in after the last firework fizzled out of existence with less fanfare than had accompanied its creation. Estelle's eyes settled back down from the sky to find Christian's blue gaze intent on her face.

"They'll be looking for us," she replied.

"We should go find them," he agreed.

Together, they opened the gate and crossed the rainbow bridge back to the event. They found their friends deep in discussion on a bench.

"There you two are," Annalise grinned. "We were beginning to think that you had left us behind."

"And leave without saying goodbye? Perish the thought," Estelle teased.

Annalise's eyes narrowed on Estelle and Christian, taking in how they were standing with each other. Something had changed. That much she knew.

"Well, Ms. Renton, I've had a lovely evening with you," William announced.

"Perhaps we could share a carriage?" Annalise proposed.

"That will be a trip for the two of you," Christian replied. "I'll be walking Ms. Devereux home. It isn't far and it's a lovely night."

Annalise nodded. "Alright, well, take care, you two." Then, she turned to Mr. Cavanaugh. "Shall we?"

"We shall," he smiled as he led her away.

Christian and Estelle chuckled as they watched them leave.

As Estelle and Christian made their way back to her home, they walked in silence for a moment.

"Thank you," Christian finally said.

"For what?" she asked in confusion.

"Always supporting me. With everything going on with at home, having your support has meant a lot," he murmured.

Estelle tipped up and kissed his cheek. "I'll always be here for you. Besides, the sooner that society sees that the Bohemians value some of the same things as they do, the better. For instance, that flower show would be a Bohemian's dream. All that beauty in one place? Truly magnificent."

He gave her a slight smile. "I guess you're right."

They came to a stop in front of her house. "Well, here we are now. This has been a perfect night," she sighed in content.

"It really has," he grinned.

"Will I see you soon?" she asked.

"I hope so," he replied, "Well, good night, Ms. Devereux."

He bowed slightly to her before turning to leave, but she took hold of his arm to stop him.

"Christian, wait."

"What is it?" he asked in concern.

"Well... I couldn't let you leave without letting you know that I want to create as many moments with you as you'll allow," she said softly.

He broke out in a wide grin, "And now that you have?"

"Now I can say good night," she smiled, gently letting her hand drop from his arm.

"Good night, Ellie."

"Good night, Christian."

Estelle made her way back into her house, leaning her back against the door as she heard it click closed behind her. Oh, what a night.

#The Greatest Thing #Christian x OC #Ch 5 #Here We Are Now

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weeping-petals · 5 years

Text

Loser of the Game

A New Game - Part 2

Word Count - 4,330

Steven is captured by a strange gem who he has no hint or knowledge of. With a loose handle on his gem powers, he is at the total mercy of this villain.

The shades jammed over his face helped somewhat when the light blazed, though long after spots still swarmed through his vision. It didn’t help that he was being hauled with the erratic movements of the character that dragged him out of Garnet’s grip. He was without his hamburger backpack, and without the other gems, totally unprepared to be kidnapped. They would come for him. He hoped they could find him.

With some time his vision began to clear, though he almost wished it hadn’t. The person, or gem he supposed was accurate, kept up in the high branches of the trees. She raced the length of branches and leapt off, or swung arm and foot. One arm kept coiled tightly around his shoulders and waist, and tucked beside her chest – like a football or something – still, the strong vertigo gave Steven the impression that any moment he would plummet like a sack. All around branches and leafy clumps swept by, sometimes the ground zoomed within mere inches. This was worse than any ride at Funland, at least he could go on those a couple dozens times and get desensitized to the g-forces. He felt very near dying. The gem cackled, rambling about a thing or other that he didn’t quite understand.

“Oh boy! Gee, that—” A whirlwind of laughter burst from her, as she flipped between another set of branches. She landed among a cluster of limbs and bounced, legs coiled, “—I haven’t had that much fun in, oh, how long? Decades! The look on their faces.” More laughter.

The shades went spiraling from Steven’s face, lost somewhere far below. He crushed his eyes shut, only comforted by the strange hold looped about his body. At least his arms were free, and this allowed him to hold on as tight as he could to the coils. In some agonizing long time, the reckless slinging came to a halt. He dared not open his eyes, but could tell by the sensation of blood rushing to his head, that he was upside down. How high up would they be now? Please, don’t drop him! She hurt the others. Did she plan to hurt him?

“Lemme get a good look at you. Wowwie, how you’ve grown!” The strange gem snickered. “You’re a proper handful now. And a star of your very own. Look’t that, must’ve gottan Greg’s hair!” She continued turning him over, laughing. “Have you poofed yet? Or is this a glowup?”

“E-excuse me,” Steven stammered. He dared creep an eye open. “Do I... know you?” The expression the gem gave him, was not what he wanted. He shut his eye again. They were falling—

“AHHH!”

Their plummet braked gradually, and the odd gem flipped over. She landed on her feet, still holding Steven aloft, examining, tilting him side-to-side. “You don’t remember me?”

“Um, should I?”

“Should you?” she echoed back. Her eyes narrowed, the lines on her cheeks arching. “Should you!”

That was probably not the best response. Steven tried to get a better grip of the twists wound over his chest, but the loops were unwinding. “Don’t drop me! Don’t drop me!”

“I’m not gonna drop you. Think I’m like the others, careless and aloof.” She scoffed. “Did they, uh, mention anything about me?”

“Er, no. Why wou—” His better sense of self-preservation ended that trail of thought. “Are you a… Crystal Gem?” She tossed her head back and laughed.

“Don’t lump me with the grit.” She set Steven down on the branch. Abruptly, he dropped to his tummy and wrapped his arms over the tree limb. The gem crouched, leaning close. “You really don’t remember, do you? Your best friend?”

“I just told you! I’m sorry! I have no idea who you are! I’ve never ever heard about you, until…” How long had he been kidnapped? “Just now!”

“Not even a snide comment, vague annoyance? No ambiguous so-so, about dear, pitiful, discarded Spinel?” She clasped her hands in front of her chest.

“Spinel?” That was what Garnet said. Shouted, actually. “Is that your name?” The gem deflated, melting over the branch. “Sorry.”

“No honorable mentions or a wee cameo? Gee, that’s depressing. Hah.” From where her body hung over the tree branch, she peered up into Steven’s face. He locked his eyes tight and tried to shuffle away. “Pfff, I shouldn’t be surprised. Yee… left an impression, I did. Not the best, I guess. One little….” The voice faded out, and the invading presence dissipated.

Steven chanced a glance. The Spinel moved off and was seated a few feet from him. The dark markings under her eyes resembled warpaint, and the ratty pigtails drooped down her back. He had absolutely no recollection of where or when she might’ve appeared in his life, but she insisted. And she knew his friends, and they really knew her. Knew enough to clash and fight it out, try and get him out of there ASAP.

Steven cast his eyes over the branch side, and immediately regretted. THEY WERE SO HIGH UP! Not only were they in a giant tree, it was a giant tree growing out from the side of a cliff. Below them was nothing but fog and birds. BIRDS FLYING BELOW THEM.

He smothered the scream in his throat and whined. “Hey! hello!” he groaned.

“Hmm?”

“Are you… do you plan to hurt me?” His shoulders and knees ached from how hard he was locked to that tree.

“N..oooo.” A sly grin split her face as she turned to him. “What gave you that idea?”

“You kidnapped me!” And the inquiry about if he poofed or not. Steven internally screamed. “Can we please go to the ground. Nice and gentle, like a feather. Please!”

“You afraid of heights, or sumthin’?”

“No!” Steven felt like he might just slip through the solid tree. Or slip off the side, the trees surface was slick and glossy. “I’m just uncomfortable about being a million feet in the air above jagged rocks!”

“We’re not that high up. And if anything, we’re above water. Or more trees.”

“This is high up!” he yelped. “And I bruise easily.” He tried glaring at her, but Spinel didn’t look near ready to do anything other than be pleased by his fear.

“I’ll take you to the ground, on the condition you answer a few questions.”

“Okay,” Steven hissed. “But can we do that once I’m on solid, stable ground? Wait!” Spinel rose, but dallied to approach. “Take me to actual ground. I don’t wanna be stuck in a bottomless chasm.”

“Aw, no fun,” she sniggered. She strolled over casual as could be and gripped his shoulders. “Leggo. I’m not prying you loose, ya lil grub.”

It took a few seconds and some mental coaxing, but Steven allowed his joints to unclamp. A little. The gem’s arms snaked around his body and she hefted him up; Steven did NOT like the sensation of open air around his feet, and the recollection there was absolutely nothing but open abyss. He poured every ounce of self-control into not thrashing, and settled for grabbing the gem by the shoulder-pad thing.

“I’m not gunna drop you,” muttered Spinel. She began a janky ascent, bouncing branch to branch, headed to the precipice high above. She did tug Steven close to her side, and he in turn wrapped arms and legs around her neck and torso. Tight like a koala.

“I don’t have very good control of my gem powers,” he blurted.

“So you have gem powers?”

“I don’t know! Don’t fall.”

Spinel unlatched an arm, and used it like a grappling line. “You need to learn some trust.”

“You kidnapped me!” He buried his face into her neck. Quite abruptly, they dropped. He howled, even after Spinel regained control. “What was that?!”

“Slipped.”

“Don’t do that!” They were going to die.

What felt like days gone by, Spinel stopped moving. Steven refused to open his eyes expecting a trick or something worse. The arm came undone from his chest, prompting him to reinforce his grip. “Check it out. Solid ground. Or would you prefer I remove you by force, and if I do, I’ll hang you in the highest tree.”

That got Steven to look. The forest floor, as promised. He sprang off Spinel and landed, undertaking a tense stance fully prepared to run. Though no doubt if he fled at his best speed, she’d catch up. He looked around, hoping for some familiarity to their surroundings. With any luck, the others wouldn’t be far away, or he could make a break and catch up with them in short time.

Everything looked foreign, and the thicket was dense. The final coup de grâce was it getting dark.

“Why are you in my forest?” The question brought him back. Steven didn’t have great vigor, and the gem looked like a sprinter. A rubber band, even.

“You’re forest? Doesn’t it—”

“I’ll ask the questions!” she snapped, stamping a foot. “Why are you here? Did they come for me? Are they here, to take me away? Put me someplace? Bubble me!”

Steven took a step back. “N-no. Uh, something about a temple, and a warp pad breaking? I kind of forgot?” He tried smiling and looking innocent, but the gem glowered, expression ominous. Today would be the day he would die. Farewell, Cookie Cats.

“Fine,” she exhaled. And began walking away. When Steven remained rooted (pun intended), she looked back. “What? You wanna stay here? Or, would you rather I carry you? Through the trees? It was such fun the first time, ya think?” Steven hurried forward, in no great hurry despite the threat. The shadows among the trees began to thicken, but some of the crystals dotting the soil and tree trunks shimmered with an inner light. “This is going to take forever,” she grumbled.

“Um, can I ask a question?”

“Ya just did.”

“Okay. Can I ask one more question, after this one?”

“I can’t promise I’ll answer, but shoot. What’s on your mind?”

Steven climbed over a shattered chunk of chalcedony and hurried, already huffing with the effort. The gem had long strides, and any obstacles she need only step over. “Where are we going?”

“The temple. That’s where you and the others were going, wasn’t it? I have a hunch they’ll head there, first.”

“Oh. Really?”

She looked over her shoulder. “You don’t have much of a choice, d’ya?”

Well, he lived a good life. It wasn’t long, but, mostly good. “Can I ask… more questions? And maybe get answers.” Spinel shrugged. She did stop at the top of a steep incline and waited for him to catch up. Steven struggled, with his rasping breath and the stiffness in his joints. Likely from holding to the tree so tightly.

“How do you know, the others? Aren’t you a Crystal Gem?” The gem choked and laughed. It was abrupt and startled him, but the thick guffaws bled off and the gem was looking at him. A smile repelled by her dark eyes graced her face.

“What makes you think I’mma Crystal Gem?” She reached behind her back and touched the area where her shoulder blades would be. “No star.”

“You knew about the stars,” Steven tentatively added. He didn’t want to get abandoned out here. Or, hung from a high tree branch.

“Hmm. Clever. Good catch.” She nodded. “Pretty remarkable the others remembered me at all. Or, maybe they tried to forget me, and couldn’t do that right. I don’t know which is worse.” Her shoulders sagged. “Tried to erase me, did they? Heh-heh. I hoped they would’ve… kept the better parts of me. There were good times. I remember the good times.” She shook her head.

“Um, so, you were a Crystal Gem?” That brought some hope to Steven. He might be safe around her, and perhaps wasn’t in immediate danger. That left only the question, why the fighting? The anger.

“A while back. C’mon. I’m pretty sure Garnet will go with the scenario where I leave you at the temple. Unless… something goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong?” Steven had to haul himself over a log. Sure, it might’ve been easier to go around, it wasn’t a long log. But he wanted to go over, like she did.

“Not too sure. Anything, I guess. I’ve lived here for a while. I mean, pfft, I don’t keep track. How old are you?”

“Thir…teen.” He stopped when she did.

Spinel was gazing off, at clusters of crystals jutting from the roots breaching the soil. “Thirteen. Thiiiirteeen? You sure you’re not, five or somethin’?”

“Nope. Pretty sure. Thirteen birthdays. Thirteen birthday cakes. Thir— er, are you okay?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing!” She cackled, holding her side. “What’s a decade to me? Nothin’, that’s what. I’ve stood around waiting longer. No biggie. Hurry those legs!” She swiped a tear from her eye and resumed, down an incline. Steven was eager to catch up. A downward slope, at last!

“She won’t… hurt him. She can’t!” Pearl insisted. She leaned on a tree, eyes downcast and shoulders shaking.

Garnet struggled and sought, but couldn’t focus on browsing through the scenarios and keeping the team together. Even Amethyst for the most part was quiet, and her light jests came dry, void of mirth. To top it all off, the sun was descending beyond the distant mountains. The hamburger backpack she carried, as it should be, sat nestled against her back.

A purplish owl descended from the canopy, as it careened for the floor, the shape flashed and suddenly Amethyst was coming in for a landing.

“Jerk jock hawk!” she screamed, skyward.

“No luck?” Pearl presumed. She gripped Amethyst by the shoulder’s and looked her in the face. “Anything? Please tell me you saw something!”

“Naw. Got halfway to the temple, and nada.”

“Is it wise to try and head her off at the temple?” Pearl directed to Garnet. “She’ll reason that’s the first place we would look. That’s what she does!”

“Precisely.” Garnet stepped by the others, encouraging them to continue. “He’s bait. The temple is the trap.” She dithered, while squeezing through a tight knit of bent trunks. “We will stay vigilant and cautious. Though she can’t preset traps, she seems firmly established in this area.”

“Like she stands a chance against all of us?” Amethyst tucked her hands behind her head and followed. Garnet gave her a stoic stare.

“Last I checked, we were caught by surprise. Let’s not have that repeated.”

“Still, she ran away,” Amethyst insisted. “That’s what she does.”

“We don’t want her to run away, again!” Pearl harped. “Why now? Why suddenly reappear? I was certain the warp…” she trailed off. It was too awful to think, too awful to speculate. One time, Spinel was their friend. But when Rose… they all took it hard, but Spinel was impossible. Inconsolable. They needed to find the two and fast. Rose had warned her, made her promise to keep Spinel away from Steven at all costs.

“Even if it means bubbling her,” Rose spoke, calm and refined. “Someday, we can try releasing her. But she’s too wild and unpredictable. And if I’m honest, I’m frightened of what she could do. She’s not the Spinel I used to adore.”

What she could do was take outdated gem tech, risk blowing them all up, Steven included, and drag the child off into the forest where, who knows what lurked.

Pearl hastened after the others, the three charging through the undergrowth pursuing the general direction of the destination. She dreaded what danger Steven could be in, and what his chances for survival would be. Time was running against them, escaping like it always did.

“Are all gems stretchy? I’ve seen Garnet stretch, but not like you. You’re like, a melty twizzler.” Steven yawned.

“I’m unique.” Spinel set Steven down on the other side of a massive cluster of crystal, and recalled her arm. The shimmering light of her gem gave distinction to their surroundings, while turning everything a crimson-rose hue. It made Spinel’s face eerie, but Steven liked seeing where his feet were going better. Still, he stumbled periodically on uneven lumps that looked like harmless shadows.

Throughout the trek, he came up with a variety of questions to quench his curiosity. Most revolved around why he never saw or heard of her, which topics the Spinel danced around effortlessly. Time and again, Steven edged towards her history with the other Crystal Gems. But same as her reason for being in the forest, she skittered aside. A few inquiries about herself the would humor, such as the flashes she utilized to blind the gems – and himself. She was much the same as the other gems, but that was the most of the information she would offer.

“Why won’t you tell me why you and the others were fighting?”

“That’s confidential. And I told you, we have our… differences.”

“That’s no reason,” Steven countered. He had his hands jammed in his pockets and his arms pressed to his sides. There was a coat in his backpack. Alas. “There has to be a reason.”

“Nah-uh. They don’t like me, and that’s the facts.” She looked very creepy when she cast a grin back, eyes wily and swirly. How did she do that? More importantly, why? “That’s all there is. Leave it alone.”

Dissatisfied but unwilling to pursue the topic further, Steven did as asked, “How much further to the temple?” Simultaneously, losing his footing and stumbling over a shallow pit. “Ow.” He stopped momentarily to knock a few stones out of his flipflops.

“Another two miles, I think.” Spinel came to a halt and cast her gaze to the canopy. “We would’ve been there forever ago if we’d taken the treetops. Heh. Old game.”

“WHAT? We we’ve been walking for years.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, you pitiful lil grub, it’s only been five.” She paused. “Years.”

“Are you really taking me to the temple, or are we going in circles? Be honest!” Steven was bruised, sore, and hungry. He wanted a snack more than finding the temple, or reuniting with the Crystal Gems. And if he looked deep in himself, he knew he was scared too. But he didn’t want to acknowledge that. To believe he was frightened, would mean he was in real danger.

“We’re going to the temple,” the gem rasped. “If I really wanted, I could just leave you here and go on by myself. Why should I bother leading you astray? You do it so slowly, anyway.”

Steven inched back, entertaining the idea that he might’ve been better off on his own. “If you left me, I might just be able to find my way to the temple all on my own. I am a pretty capable person.”

Spinel blinked slowly, looking bored. “No. You couldn’t. You’re hopeless on your own. More so, when you got your other friends with you,” she sneered, none too kindly. “Four minds, and nothing between them.”

“Oh yeah!” He barked. “I got you now, which means we’re both hopeless!” He jarred, realizing – by the shot expression the gem wore – that was an insult. He clasped his hands over his mouth and retreated a step, losing his footing all at once and tumbled to his butt.

Spinel broke down with laughter. “Whew! You got me there. No argument!” The chuckles faded as she observed Steven, gawking at her like he was ready for the grave. “You look a tad trail weary, pardner.” Steven scooted backwards when she approached. She held out her hand. “C’mon. You’re eager to get back with… them.”

Hesitant, Steven took the offered hand. He gave a yelp when Spinel hefted him off the ground completely and plopped him onto her back. He wrapped his arms around her neck, fully expecting her to shoot skyward like before.

“No heights! No heights!”

“Relax,” she sighed, exasperation apparent. “We’ll stay grounded. Or do you wanna walk. I’m just tired of all this waiting on you.”

Steven loosened his hold by a margin and watched the grassy soil fly by. She was moving fast, and his legs – he couldn’t imagine taking one more step. “Okay. If you stay out of the tree, then that’s fine,” he mumbled. “Um, do you think the others will already be there?”

Spinel laughed. “Not likely. This place is… pretty not safe. Er, I’ve been here a while, so I would know that.”

Steven frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that lie. “Did… you set boobytraps?”

“Ooh, I wish. Honest to stars, I did not expect company.” She cackled, while skidding down a grassy slope. “I have bigger things in the works, and I don’t need the setbacks. I admit, prying you out of Garnet’s gauntlets was not my brightest scheme, but how else was I going to get to see you.” Spinel grumbled something under her breath, which he didn’t catch.

“You did this… ‘coz you wanted to see me?”

“Doi. They went on the immediate evacuate of lil Stev-o, right? And fighting! Always solving problems with the fighting!” Spinel was back to hiking uphill, weaving around trees and splintered chalcedony.

“You did attack them… first,” he was hesitant, to say. But he needed to say it.

Spinel stopped atop a fallen log and laughed. “I merely announced my presence. With flair!”

“Okay.” In the distance, through the towering tree tops, Steven spied something glittering under the night sky. A sort of building or structure, but it looked embedded with tree limbs. They must really be headed for the temple. That was a relief.

“Gem powers,” she suddenly announced. Spinel cast off, pouncing between spikes of crystal and petrified timber. “You have them, then?”

“Uh… not very well.”

“A shield? Like your mom?”

Steven was shook. This person, gem, he never met before, knew about his mother. And her shield. Not even Lars knew. “Yeah?”

“Perfect,” grinned Spinel.

“You knew my mom? Really?” He leaned his head a little more over Spinel’s shoulder, trying to see her face. She leaned away, like, stretched her neck. It was weird, but he’d seen Amethyst do weirder antics with her shapeshifting, and he was once a cat abomination thing.

“Yup-yup. I was her bestest friend, after all. Very…” Spinel stalled, as she crept through a hallowed tree log. It was a blanket of black, aside from the haze of pink encircling the two, “close. For many years. We go, I guess… went, far back. Eh, that’s enough about Rose.”

“But I wanna hear more about my mom. You knew her! Tell me more! C’mon, you kidnapped me and everything, I deserve to know more. Lot’s more.”

“That’s a story for another day.” Spinel curved her arm over her shoulder and patted his head. “And I’m still irritated… about stuff. How ‘bout you? What did the others tell you, about great, flawless, Rose?”

Steven cast his eyes down, hurt with a side of bitterness. The Crystal Gems gave him the same treatment, in regards to topics about his mom. Here and there, a little story, a piece of the puzzle he lacked in his life.

“They don’t like to talk much about her, either,” he admitted. “Not my dad, though, he’s told me more. And, I don’t think he knew her as long.” He exhaled. He understood that they hurt, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know, he wanted to understand.

“They’re still sad.” he continued, softly. “But there’s so much I want to know. The people that knew her best, the longest, don’t want to share her with me.” He braced himself for another of those sneering jabs he was becoming accustomed to, but Spinel retained silence. Her pace had slowed, too. They exited the dark hollow and moved up and steep incline.

“Kiddo,” she uttered, at last. “Y’know, it wasn’t— you’re not— Oh! Would ya snag a view of that.” She inclined her head forward. “The temple. Piece of old gem junk. Be awed dazzled.”

Steven was very nearly floored. The trees nearest to the structure, splint vertically and the mineral layers up the outer fortitude of the castle. Though clearly in a state of disrepair, or incomplete, the vague cylinder assembly was apparent. The forest was twisting inward, spiraling and jagged, to construct the layers of the temple, while some layers splint backwards. Steven was awed dazzled.

“Are they here?” he demanded. “Can we go inside?” He tried climbing onto Spinel’s shoulders, but lost his footing. She didn’t let him fall.

“Quiet, and listen,” she whispered, while holding a finger to her grin. “I’ll sneak in, stealthy like. And if we find your friends – and we will find them first, that’s a promise – I’ll let you go back to them. No holds, no bars. You can reunite, be all happy and sappy, and get the dickens out of my forest. Capiche?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ‘get out of my forest, or I’ll chuck ya into the nearest star.’ Fair trade?”

Steven dangled by his arms. She let go of him so he could slip off her back, but he wasn’t ready to walk yet. His arms were getting tired though. “You promise? You’re not trying to trick me, are you? You’ll let us leave?”

“I said so. Promise.” Spinel made a motion across her gem. “Cross my heart and hope to, eh, shatter.” She adjusted Steven on her back and began a methodical and cautious approach down the clear path, towards the towering edifice.

Steven was uncertain if he could trust her unconditionally, but he had faith in his friends. They arrived at the temple, at least she was true to her word in some area. And if she did try anything, he could always impede her by… covering her eyes or pulling her pigtails. He could do something. He was more capable than what she gave him credit for.

Even if his legs were tired.

#steven universe #su #steven universe the movie #su fanfic #su fanfiction #steven fanfic #steven fanfiction #spinel fanfic #spinel fanfiction #garnet fanfic #pearl fanfic #fanfiction #steven universe fanfiction #amethyst fanfic

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hortascountrysidenotes · 5 years

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The Rhythm of Summer

At last we have had some slightly more settled weather and the garden has responded with the later roses looking spectacular and the first of the mid to late summer perennials coming into flower. The hay has been cut and baled at the top end of the common - a great year for hay all over the country I am told so prices are not exorbitant! I cant remember many years when it hasnt rained from the cut to the stacking in the barns!

The best of the late roses are the Sweet Juliet - a David Austin class act - actually I still think although one of his earliest English Shrub Roses, it is the best with a gorgeous citrussy scent and unblemished foliage. Several of his roses are very prone to blackspot, and I feel in some cases the flower heads are so big and densely petalled that they cant take wet weather at all, but Juliet does him proud. Equally the Great Maidens Blush a lovely old Alba rose has escaped the mid June wet by being a late performer and currently looks exactly how an English rose should look, soft pink heavily scented flowers with a background of greyish green leaves. The Alba roses all have these lovely grey green leaves and dont seem to have any problems with blackspot or disease. I also have Celestial which is nearly over now, but another great one is Mme Hardy, surprisingly tolerant of a bit of shade - they dont repeat but flower for a good long time.

Wimbledon is in the background and it is a great couple of weeks! The broad beans are nearly finished but the courgettes are under way, and the first beetroot is nearly ready. We are picking tomatoes - I think earlier than last year even though the weather has not been as good.

Insect life around the green is we feel on an upward trajectory which is encouraging - the meadow butterflies are flitting above the pollen heavy grasses and the gentle noise of grasshoppers can be heard on warm afternoons. The new cattle are peacefully grazing each morning so the swallows and swifts are happy to retrieve the insect life lifting off the areas where the cattle are moving and swishing.

In the main perennial border, the Monarda I think was Fireball, and it is now really making a show. It is exciting to see the new Salvias poking up, the new Dahlia Blanc y Verde also in flower. I have one Vernonia plant which I can just see poking above the phlox towards the back and if this is successful I shall get more. It is time however to shear off the catmint to encourage the September flush and remove the now dreary Allium cristophii heads.

We have had fun over the weekend with a bunch of labradors from Yorkshire - not related tho the humans are!! We had a delightful 16 weeker called Muddler who everyone fell in love with - so quiet and sensible, and such a brave little person. She had her first swim in the North Sea, took a wave full on, but paddled out to find her master swimming before turning and paddling back to her mistress. All the dogs got on so well, and it was lovely having 6, fast asleep after the trip to the beach on Saturday so content and peaceful. Muddlers father is Castlemans Sonoran from Yorkshire, owned by Pippa Williams who some may have seen doing the gundog demonstrations at Crufts - I think this maybe why Muddler has such a bombproof temperament, so I am keen to perhaps use him for Mavis - he is yellow but I dont mind that, so I am hoping to meet her in September as she picks up on the moor we are going to.

Training has got better with Mavis and I feel she is really going well now. We have a short lesson on Wednesday and one just before the Sandringham Flower Show.

Main focus of attention now is deadheading, getting the fruit trees summer pruned and numbers of fruits reduced. A bit of light strimming of banks and under the walnut trees just to reduce unwanted nettle and old cow parsley. Feeding pots when watering. Keeping hydrangeas, beans and courgettes well watered. Clipping bay bushes now. Once jasmines have finished flowering, cut them back and thin out the excess so some of the new foliage comes low down. Cut back catmint hard so it comes with a second flush. Pick sweet peas hard and fast to make them continue and feed them with liquid seaweed.

Keep up care of tomatoes, chillies, peppers etc and shade greenhouse rooves if you have the capacity. Leeks can follow where potatoes have been lifted in the lovely loose soil. Prepare to plant out next springs brassicas such as Purple Sprouting Broccoli. Cut back any spring flowered comfrey - especially the white one so again the new foliage can take over. Feed roses once the big deadhead is complete. Watch for the gall midge in Hemerocallis buds - where the buds are distorted and fat they will usually contain a revolting maggot thing - I squash the buds so the grubs cannot hatch!

The mole is back - it makes me laugh, we have been at loggerheads since February - I hope it just goes away eventually as like Moriarty he has been a great adversary.

HORTA

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kroska-pup · 7 years

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Welp I impulse bought a Hercules beetle larvae Saturday and guess who just arrived in the mail!!! My new grub-child C: I THINK it's supposed to get maybe twice this size? I don't have any experience with these. They were selling them second instar I think. I had been watching these on the website for a while, and they were out of stock for the longest time. I finally was able to snag one! I'm not sure if it's a male or female, and you can't really tell at this point lol. The bottom two pics are its new home. I got some maple wood shavings from work and mixed it in with some soil substrate from the pet store. I also threw in some moss and loaded the whole thing up with springtails. Lots of burrowing areas and some logs for him/her.

#grub-child #dynastes tityus #Hercules beetle #eastern Hercules beetle #bug #bugs

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kaiti-lynn-lucas-blog · 8 years

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The Madness of Keln: Three

I waited on the back steps of my house for Robert to arrive. The last sun rays of the day fell on my face and bare legs, blindingly bright. My cheeks felt hot, the skin taunt across my face as mixing hues of red, yellow, and orange rained down on me. I secretly hoped the sun would return in the morning, it was so painfully delicious. Something about the sun felt extra good this evening. My heart raced in anticipation for Robert, and as the heat of the sun kissed me I felt something stirring inside. Some strange longing.

I was also secretly glad my own husband was out of town, working in the mines, digging for food. He’d graciously volunteered to go while the rest of Keln participated in the sun-soaking. He wouldn’t be here to witness the monstrosities I had running through my mind. He wouldn’t fall victim to the sun’s tantalizing temptations, safe in the damp tunnels where the worms, super-pedes, and grubs multiplied in happy ignorance of the upper world.

I heard a scream come from the neighbor’s house, a white two story block identical to my own. Mrs. Fallsen ran out of the back door and into her backyard, coming to a sudden stop at her beloved mushroom garden. Her grey hair was disheveled, her wrinkled skin blistered. She had already put on her nightgown. She stood there, soaking up the sun with her arms outstretched, staring blankly at her mushrooms.

She began singing a haunting lullaby in an unintelligible, mumbling ramble, dancing from foot to foot as if the ground were on fire. She pointed to her mushrooms as if they would somehow sing back, joining her in singing back up to her soft melody. She smiled for a moment, but then her smile turned to a snarl. She bared her teeth and howled. The sun finally sank down below the horizon. As soon as it did, she pounced on her garden and began shoveling the mushrooms into her mouth.

“Mrs. Fallsen?” I called. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t reply in any way other than to pick up her song where she left off, humming through mouthfuls. She ate, and I watched her eat, until every single mushroom was devoured. When they were all gone she looked at the garden with a confused expression on her face. She then picked up a handful of the black dirt from the garden bed, now dry and dusty, and shoved it in her mouth. I didn’t stop her. I don’t know why I didn’t stop her. I just watched her, fascinated. She ate another handful of dirt. Then Another. And another. She began shoveling it in ravenously, tears streaming down her cheeks, still singing without words. I watched her until it became too dark to see her. Light spilled from one of the Fallsen’s windows, and I could both see and hear Mr. Fallsen inside. His face was the brightest shade of red I had ever seen, and he was throwing his belongings across the room. His words, like his wife’s, were also gibberish. Sharp crashes echoed out of the open window as he broke every single one of their plates. He punched the wall repeatedly, shouting, leaving fist sized holes in the plaster.

I heard the soft purr of an engine, and a vehicle pulled up to my parking space, its lights cutting through the quiet darkness. When it parked it’s engine immediately died and Robert stepped out clumsily.

Robert was 6’3 and muscular, a rather large man. Almost intimidatingly so. I felt twinge of uncertainty, of doubt in the plan my brain had thrown together haphazardly. Robert glanced from side to side nervously. He had showered and groomed himself, though he hadn’t shaved and his skin still oozed. Light from the Fallsen’s window reflected in his face, it was so slick and shiny. He first looked at me, then at Mrs. Fallsen, still eating the soil that she worked so hard to fertilize. His gaze was wary.

“She’s been at it for a while.” I said to him, gesturing to the old woman. “I don’t think she noticed you. Or even can.”

“Good.” He said, quietly. “Let’s get inside then, quick.”

I turned and walked through the back door, and he dutifully followed. Something told me that Robert stared at my ass as I walked inside, some sixth sense all women somehow possess. That restored my confidence. I pranced a little more, my back straight. That growing sense of confidence began to pour out of me like a river (and with it adrenaline) as I glided into the kitchen.

“I thought we could share a super-pede and split a bottle of wine, if that sounds suitable to you.” I said. I tried to make my voice seductive by lowering it and almost whispering.

“Fine, that sounds fine.” He replied. He had grown more nervous and he was now trembling slightly.

“Sadie, I don’t quite understand what you- “

“That doesn’t matter.” I interrupted. “Not yet, anyway. Dinner is first, then we will have a conversation. Go sit at the table, it’ll only take a few minutes to nuke the ‘pede.”

He tried to argue with me but seemed to catch himself, then reluctantly obeyed me. When he was safely out of the kitchen and seated sulkily at the dining room table, I took out the pills. I found wine in the fridge, dark purple liquid sloshing as I poured two glasses. I filled one all the way to the brim, the other only halfway. I put the pills in the overly full glass and they immediately began to dissolve. I then took the super-pede out of the fridge and placed it on a cooking tray. It was a good 12 pounds if it was an ounce, about the size of a baby. It’s hundreds of thick, plump legs all curled skyward. After quickly squirting butter over the entire creature, I picked up the cooking tray and placed the entire thing in the microwave. I set it to ten minutes and hit the start button, then turned and checked on the pills as the super-pede rotated and sizzled. They had completely disappeared.

I picked up both glasses and waltzed into the dining room.

“Here we are!” I said cheerily. It was important to keep the energy positive, his guard down. I handed him his glass. When he saw how full it was, he looked at mine questioningly.

“Trying to get me wasted?” He asked.

“I’ve already had quite a bit.” I replied, raising my glass. “Sorry to have started without you. I felt a little nervous.”

“Yeah.” He said quietly, taking his wine from me, “Yeah I’m nervous too.”

He drank it eagerly, gulping it down until the glass was drained. I sipped at mine, watching him. I offered to get him more and he grunted a reply. I turned back to the kitchen and refilled his glass, wondering how long it would take the pills to work. I hoped it would stave off putting him to sleep long enough for me to pry a confession out of him. I needed that confession.

I came back into the dining room and watched him silently as he gulped the second glass down his gullet. He blinked at me sleepily, shaking his head back and forth, seemingly already drunk.

“You ready to talk yet?” He asked.

Just then the microwave beeped, and dinner was ready.

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#writing bizarro horror fiction shortstory

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mycasandstarrs · 6 years

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SPN 10x01: “Black”

I believe Netflix stops giving recaps at this point of the series. Shame.

Sam wasn’t even using Ruby’s knife to torture, goddamn.

He made a damn demon cry!

New title card. It is gorgeous.

Four Weeks Later.

"Demonic Possession" and "Rituals of Human Possession". Sam thought Dean was possessed...

Poor Sam was all by himself...damn it, why not bring Cas to the Bunker?

Damn it, how much of this are we gonna see again in S14?

“Sammy, let me go.”

Cas! You sad sap.

Cas is dangerously close to coughing up a lung.

“Actually...you know what...now that I'm looking at this more I think I uh...I think I jumped the gun here, buddy.”

“No, Sam, you said it was something.”

“Yeah...uh...it's...it's not. I was wrong, sorry.”

SAM PLS.

“How are you, Sam?”

“Good. I'm alright. I'm just...tired, you know. Be better when we get him back...after...after I kick his butt.”

“I miss him.”

I CAN’T. THIS IS SO HARD TO WATCH NOW.

Oh crap, here we go.

“I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred.

Deanmon is such a douche.

“Mmm hmm...just uh...don't get too excited, you know. Or too attached...cause I'm just...rollin' through.”

“You know, there's about a million other ways you could have said that.”

Or you couldn’t have said it at all!

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

NO, DO NOT SOIL THAT.

Crowley really enjoyed his bromance with Dean.

“Girl seemed nice. Slightly damaged. I could see the old you falling for that.”

“Yeah, well, not to worry. She means nothing.”

“Good, good. 'Cause you and I, we're rolling stones. No distractions.”

Jealous boyfriend much?

Yeah, guy you had sex with? Fucking crazy town banana pants.

Where the hell was Cas?

“Hannah. I'm sensing awkwardness.” lmao. Yeah hon, close your robe.

Daniel and Adina.

“We can do this however you want. Don't pretend I didn't see you this afternoon Did you get a good look? You see my moves? I hope so, 'cause I sure could use the competition.” Demons really like to hear themselves talk.

Sam found Dean.

“Porn guy”

Really nice editing here.

RIP demon. Killed by Deanmon.

RIP Drew Neely. Killed by Deanmon.

There’s the black eyes.

And then there’s this jackass.

Seems like Cole and his wife were having marital problems over how obsessed he was in his mission of finding Dean.

The pimpmobile just truckin’ along...

“I didn't know angels could get nauseous.” Pfft. Is Cas a bad driver? Who even taught him how to drive?

“It's my fault. I'll take the curves faster.” NOOO.

“You must take care of yourself, Castiel.”

One of my favorite things about Hannah is how much she cared for Cas, even if it went a little far.

Mickey is fantastic at telling stories, lmao.

“So some guy comes in, kills another guy in your store on your watch, and you just -- you what? Just keep on keepin' on?”

“You mean when porn guy was stabbing the other guy to death 10 feet in front of me, and I was having a total code-brown moment in my favorite freakin' pants because I thought I was next, did I conduct a field interview?...No.”

lmao, poor kid. He’d be dead if he got involved in any way.

Text message: "Winchester. Amherst Junction, WI Gas n' Sip B/W 11a-12p. Long live Abaddon."

Text from Crowley...

“Moose. Took you long enough. Your brother and I were beginning to wonder if you'd hit another dog. You know?” hardy har har

“My brother is dead, Crowley. I know you have some freaking demon parading around in his meatsuit, and trust me, you are gonna pay for that.” No, hon. It’s worse.

“You know what tickles me about all this? It's what's really eating you up. You don't care that he's a demon. Heck, you've been a demon. We've all been demons. No, it's that he's with me and he's having the time of his life. You can't stand the fact that he's mine.” OH CRAM IT, CROWLEY.

Sam! You genius!!

These angels eat? Or are they fishing for sport?

“Daniel. What are you fishing for?”

“Trout, mostly. They do love a good curlytail grub. Trick is to find that special spot just outside the run, where the big ones -- the smart ones -- are holding low.”

“The ones who truly want to be free? They do.”

Do they -- do they put up much of a fight?

Is this metaphor/analogy talk?

“You are an angel, once and forever.”

“Dropped unwillingly...Unknowingly...Into a strange land, a land that, as it turns out, celebrates the free, the individual. For the first time in thousands of years, I have choices. And with each choice... I begin to discover who I really am.”

Another human-esque angel.

“You'll have to stay for sunset. Nighttime around here is a revelation.” Angels really love nature.

Crowley confessing to Dean before Dean finds out the truth from someone else.

“If I have to spend one more night in this fetid petri dish of broken dreams and B.O., I will cut off my own face.” Were they just hanging around this ONE bar??

“Think of it --the king of hell, Dean Winchester by his side. Together we rule. Together we create the perfect hell. And all of this that's bloomed between us never ends.” Crowley was quite in love with Dean. Good lord.

“Uh, apparently, he's been tracking us for some time now. He got my text from the cell of that demon that you stabbed in blah, blah, blah. It was --words were spoken -- emotions. I realize, in retrospect, perhaps too many words, too many emotions.”

“He traced the call.”

“My bad. I guess he'll be here by morning -- the latest.”

“You sold me out.”

Not really...he just got carried away.

Sam driving some car he probably stole; either Dean took the Impala or Sam didn’t want to drive it when Dean was away.

“Give you a hand with that?” OH NO YOU DON’T.

Well shit.

“Imaginary Lover” by Atlanta Rhythm Section.

Anne Marie was still hanging around Dean?

“I-I protected your honor, didn't I?” No, you made an ass out of yourself.

“I wait tables at a roadhouse. I meet the bad guys. I meet the good guys. And maybe for a second there, I thought you were a good guy playing bad. I don't know. It doesn't matter. Maybe you're just --”

“The kind of guy who sleeps with every skank in every small-town dive that he passes through? Well, you really do know how to read people, 'cause that sure as hell sounds like me.”

“Now, see? I'm so screwed up myself I'm gonna walk out of here thinking I actually deserved that.”

Yeah, you made NO DEFENSE OR ARGUMENT about the “skank” thing.

“If you are to be free, that is to be decided by all angels.” Really?

Adina joins the party.

“You should've thought of that before slaughtering one of your own.”

JEEZ STOP

Oh damn, Hannah!

RIP Daniel. Killed by Cas.

Damn it. 0 to -100 real quick.

“First time I broke my arm, my older brother, Davey, had me riding on the handles of his three-speed. Decided to pop us a wheelie, look real fancy for all the little pretties outside the DQ. Well, we were looking mighty good for a little bit. And then, whoop, ass end over teakettle, boy. Hurt like a son of a bitch.”

I don’t think Sam wants to hear your stories, dude.

“Look, buddy, I-I don't know who you are, all right? I don't what you want or what my brother did, but if you got any sense, I suggest you turn tail and run back to that army recruiting ad that spit you out in the first place.” lmao

“He’s a monster.”

‘Well, he was. Yeah, he was... Many, many moons ago.”

No, he IS.

Already at the end of the episode.

“We have to report this.”

“And say what? Things got out of control? Another angel has died.”

“He was going to kill me, Castiel.”

“They just wanted to be left alone.”

“Without rules, there is chaos. Out of chaos rise angels like Naomi, Bartholomew...Metatron.”

Those are fair points, but you gotta draw the line somewhere before you either become like them or worse.

“Well, perhaps I've been down here with them for too long. There's seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.”

“But those are human things.”

“Yes.”

If S4!Anna could hear him now!

“You listen to me. There's no trade. There's no meet-up. There's no nothing -- except the 100% guarantee that, somewhere down the road, I will find you, and I will kill you.”

“Well, that'll be a cold comfort to your dead brother.”

“I told him to let me go. So whatever jam he's in now, that is his problem.”

“Yeah, well, I'll be sure to pass that on to him as I'm slitting his throat.”

“Yeah, you do that, 'cause he knows me...”

“I am a man of my word.” True.

#supernatural #spn summer rewatch #spn liveblog #spn 10x01 #black

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dailynynews-blog · 7 years

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Southern Slang Dictionary

New Post has been published on https://www.usatelegraph.com/2018/southern-slang-dictionary/

Southern Slang Dictionary

The Southern Slang Dictionary will help you avoid confusion if you are planning to visit the South. These are some of them most common (and not so common) Southern slang terms heard in Arkansas. After you’re done, brush up on some Southern manners and learn how to pronounce these commonly mispronounced Arkansas names.

Ain’t

Pronunciation: ‘Ant Etymology: contraction of are not Date: 1778 1: am not : are not : is not 2: have not : has not 3: do not : does not : did not (used in some varieties of Black English)

Air-Up

Function: Verb To pressurize or inflate. Example: “Air-up your car tires before you go on a long trip.”

A larking

Function: Verbal phrase Originates from the word “lark” which means to engage in harmless fun or mischief. To go a larking means to play a prank or joke on someone.

All y’all

Etymology: Intensive form of y’all This usage states “you all” more emphatically. For example, saying “I know y’all,” would mean that one knows a group of people; saying, “I know all y’all” would mean that one knows the members of the group individually.

Arkansas toothpick

Function: Noun A large knife.

Arkansawyer, Arkansan, Arkie

Function: Adjective or noun 1: A resident or native of Arkansas. 2: Referring to a resident or native of Arkansas. Residents who refer to themselves as Arkansawyers commonly proclaim, “There is no Kansas in Arkansas.” when you call them Arkansans.

Bowed Up

Function: Colloquialism Marked by impatience or ill humor.

Refers to the way a snake bows up his head before he strikes.

Bread Basket

Function: Colloquialism Stomach.

Cattywampus

Function: Adjective Askew. Example: The storm knocked the boat cattywampus and it started to take on water.

Chief Cook and Bottle Washer

Function: Colloquialism A person capable of doing many things.

Darn tootin’

Function: Colloquialism For sure. Correct. “You’re darn tootin’, that is oil.”

Egg on

Function: Verbal phrase To urge to do something. Example: “He only did it because the crowd egged him on.”

Figure

Function: Verb To calculate, consider, conclude or decide. Example: “He hadn’t figured on winning the lottery.”

Fit As A Fiddle

Function: Colloquialism In good shape, healthy.

Fit to be tied

Function: Colloquialism Angry.

Fixin’

Function: Verb To get set: be on the verge Example: We’re fixin’ to leave soon. Function: Noun Customary accompaniments. Example: We had a turkey dinner with all the fixins.

Frog Gig

Function: Noun A pole used to spear frogs for cooking. Function: Verb The act of hunting frogs for meat. Often called “frog gigging.”

Goobers

Function: Noun Peanuts.

Grab A Root

Function: Colloquialism Have dinner. “Root” refers to potatoes.

Grits (Hominy Grits)

Function: Noun Hominy or plain corn that’s been ground until it has the consistency of coarse sand. It’s used as a side dish, a breakfast cereal, or as an ingredient in baked goods.

Hankering

Etymology: probably from Flemish hankeren, frequentative of hangen to hang; akin to Old English hangian Function: Noun A strong or persistent desire or yearning often used with for or after.

Example: I have a hankering for fried okra. I’ve really been craving it.”

Heap

Function: Noun A large quantity. Example: Billy got into a heap of trouble when he stole his dad’s car.

Hear tell

Function: Verbal phrase A form of “hear it told.” Often conveys that the information was passed second hand. Example: “I hear tell that the new mini-mall is going up next month.”

Hoecake

Pronunciation: ‘hO-“kAk Function: Noun Date: 1745 A small cake made of cornmeal.

Hominy

Pronunciation: ‘hä-m&-nE Function: Noun Etymology: Virginia Algonquian -homen, literally, that treated (in the way specified) Date: 1629 Kernels of corn that have been soaked in a caustic solution (as of lye) and then washed to remove the hulls.

Horse sense

Function: Colloquialism Smart. Example: She has horse sense. She’ll make it in business.

Howdy

Pronunciation: ‘hau-dE Function: Interjection Etymology: alteration of how do ye Date: 1712 Used to express greeting.

Hush puppies

Function: Noun A Southern food made with cornmeal. They are small, round balls of cornbread and spices that are deep fried and often served with fish. These were originally fed to dogs to quiet their begging at the table.

Hunkey Dorey

Function: Adjective Everything is great.

June bug

Function: Noun Date: 1829 Any of numerous rather large leaf-eating scarab beetles (subfamily Melolonthinae) that fly chiefly in late spring and have larvae that are white grubs which live in soil and feed chiefly on the roots of grasses and other plants. Also called june beetles.

Laying out [all night]

Function: Verbal phrase Staying out all night, often drinking of doing something illicit. Example: “I was laying out at the bar last night so I had a hangover.”

Lazy man’s load

Function: Colloquialism A lazy man’s load is an unmanageably large load carried to avoid making more than one trip. This colloquial phrase is often used to indicate that someone is too lazy to think properly. Example: ‘Sam took a lazy man’s load of groceries out of the car and ended up spilling them all over the sidewalk.”

Lickety split

Function: Colloquialism Very quick.

Like to

Function: Adverbial phrase Almost. Example: “I like to pee my pants when that car hit me.”

Nearabout

Function: Adverb Almost. Example: “I nearabout ran over that squirrel in the road.”

No ‘count

Function: Contraction Of no account; good for nothing.

Nuss

Function: Verb To nurse. Example: “She nussed the sick dog to bring it back to health.”

Okie or Sooner

Function: Noun A resident or native of Oklahoma.

Okra

Function: Noun A green, cylindrical vegetable that is often fried in the South.

Ornery

Pronunciation: ‘or-n&-rE, ‘är-; ‘orn-rE, ‘ärn- Function: Adjective Inflected Form(s): or·neri·er; -est Etymology: alteration of ordinary Date: 1816 Having an irritable disposition.

Out of kilter

Function: Colloquialism Not right. Out of sorts. Example: John was out of kilter for a while when he was relocated to New York.”

Pack or Tote

Function: Verb To carry.

Particular

Function: Adjective Concerned over or attentive to details: meticulous.

People

Function: Noun Relatives, kinfolk. Example: “Shelly went to see her people on vacation.”

Piddlin’

Function: Adjective Small or inferior. Example: “His work only gave him a piddlin’ 1% raise. Function: Adverb Poorly. Example: “She felt piddlin’ so she didn’t go to school.” Function: Verb To waste time. Example: He spent all his time piddlin’ and never got anything done.”

Poke, Pokeweed, Poke Salad

Function: Noun A type of salad often eaten in the South. Pokeweed can be toxic if not chosen and prepared properly.

Possum Pie

Function: Noun A meat pie made from possum. This is not actually eaten in Arkansas!

Purdy

Function: Adjective Pretty.

Rag-baby

Function: Noun A doll.

Reckon

Function: Verb Etymology: Middle English rekenen, from Old English -recenian (as in gerecenian to narrate, akin to Old English reccan Date: 13th century 1: Count Example: To reckon the days till Christmas 2: to regard or think of as : Consider 3: Think, suppose Example: “I reckon I’ve outlived my time — Ellen Glasgow”

Redneck Caviar

Function: Noun Potted meat.

Right

Function: Adjective Very. Example: “You’re right near the street you want to be on.”

Rile

Function: Transitive verb Inflected Form(s): riled; ril·ing Etymology: var. of roil Date: 1825 To make agitated and angry : Upset

Ruther

Function: Verb Form of rather.

Scarce As Hen’s Teeth

Function: Colloquialism Rare or scarce.

Sho ‘Nuff

Function: Contraction Sure enough.

Show

Function: Noun A movie.

Shuck

Function: Verb To remove the outer covering of a nut, corn or shellfish.

Skedaddle

Function: Verb Run, scatter.

Slap your pappy

Function: Colloquialism To pat your stomach.

Snug As A Bug

Function: Colloquialism Comfortable, cozy.

Tarnation

Function: Noun Etymology: alteration of darnation, euphemism for damnation Date: 1790 Used to indicate surprise, shock, displeasure, or censure.

Tarred and Feathered

Refers to the practice of tarring and feathering people who committed small crimes such as distilling in colonial America (and in England). Today, it is often used to denote great suprise. Example: “I’ll be tarred and feathered, that dog just flew!”

That dog won’t hunt

Function: Colloquialism The idea or argument won’t work.

Tore up

Function: Adjectival phrase 1: Broken. 2: Upset. Example: He was tore about wrecking his new Corvette. Tote Pronunciation: ‘tOt Function: Transitive verb Inflected Form(s): tot·ed; tot·ing Etymology: perhaps from an English-based creole; akin to Gullah & Krio tot to carry Date: 1677 To carry by hand : bear on the person

Trotline

Function: Noun A long line on which short lines are attached, each with a hook, for catching catfish. Some times mispronounced as trout line.

Tump

Function: Verb Etymology: perhaps akin to British dialect tumpoke to fall head over heels Date: 1967 To tip or turn over especially accidentally.

Uppity

Function: Adjective Conceited.

Varmint

Function: Noun Etymology: alteration of vermin Date: 1539 An animal considered a pest; specifically : one classed as vermin and unprotected by game law.

Walking on a slant

Function: Colloquialism Drunk.

War between the States; War for Southern Independence; War of Northern Aggression

Function: Noun The Civil War

Washateria

Variant(s): also wash·e·te·ria /wä-sh&-‘tir-E-&, wo- Function: Noun Etymology: wash + -ateria or -eteria (as in cafeteria) Date: 1937 chiefly Southern : a self-service laundry

Whup or whoop

Pronunciation: ‘hüp, ‘hup, ‘hwüp, ‘hwup, ‘wüp, ‘wup Function: Verb Variant of “to whip”. To hit or spank.

Y’all

Pronunciation: ‘yol Function: Contraction Ye all or you all.

Yaller dog

Function: Colloquialism A coward.

Yankee

Function: Noun Someone from the North.

Yeens

Function: Contraction Ye ones. Example: “Yeens better go before you’re late.”

Yonder

Function: adverb Etymology: Middle English, from yond + -er (as in hither) Date: 14th century At or in that indicated more or less distant place usually within sight.

Your druthers is my ruthers

Function: Colloquialism “Your preferences are mine,” “We agree.”

#arkansas #arkansas guide #arkansas place #guides #places #Southern Slang Dictionary

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