#i wish i could make him holding a harp or something in it tho but its good enough lol

[ambalambs]

Here's some pics of the goober too

[aerltarg]

Maybe this is a stupid question, buuuuut:

I just can't imagine a world that Rhaegar comes back from the Trident, wins the war and becomes king. No, I'm not a anti Rhaegar, matter of fact I like him very much, I'm just can imagine how would Lya, little Jon, this whole affair, would settle in the capital. The norm that fics (at least those I read) tend to follow is to make Rhaegar:

1. A douche, paranoid and destiny-obessed king.

2. Completely incompetent, aloof monarch, that deep down has a heart of gold, but can't really be understood.

I mean, isn't he supposed to be a scholar since he was a kid? What's are your thoughts about it?

oh, yeah, i can totally understand this! it's is the whole point in canon actually, "the wrong man came back from the trident". you would expect a hero win against his antagonist and have a happy ending w his lady love but it doesn't happen. instead the subversion happens to them with rhaegar being killed by robert who becomes obviously a shitty king and lyanna dying after him. they were never supposed to have happy ending, they were created as tragic and doomed and dead from the beginning for the whole plot to start, jon to have his parentage mystery and dany to take the passed baton as the last dragon, prophesied savoir and the heir who has to carry entire house on her back now.

as for the realistic rhaegar wins aus that's the difficult question. tbh we just don't know enough abt their situation, plans and wishes. you see, e.g. in agot we can be right in ned's head and see his motivations, what he was thinking abt, what he was planning, what he was hoping to do. but if his story was told the way rhaegar's was i bet he would have his own crowd of haters and ~intellectuals~ jumping out every two seconds w their "hot takes" how actually all hints abt what rlly happened (ned being a good man w his own sense of honour, justice and experiences affecting him and the deal w cersei's children) doesn't matter and he was an ambitious prick, planned to grasp the power by being joffrey's regent and make his daughter sansa queen. (you can actually insert there any bullshit and still don't reach the level of stupidity of such "hot takes" this fandom loves so much lmao). also he would be blamed to the hell and beyond for being too stupid and not foreseeing the future and actions of other ppl bc ofc after everything happened it's so easy to say what was so obvious to notice. also they would say that the deaths of his men and horrible fates of his kids are 100% his fault and even straight up say he killed them lmao. i can rant abt it for hours so yeah. this is a situation w too many unknown variables bc it depends too much on actions of too many characters we don't know enough abt. the only thing it's possible to tell for sure is the fact that there couldn't be any perfect solutions since things got too complicated at this point.

such fics as you've mentioned tho are just a part of this dumb fanon where rhaegar is "too prophecy obsessed"/"incapable of love"/shrodinger's rhaegar both smart and stupid at the same time/whatever/all of this combined lmfao. the man was notably intelligent from the early age as you've absolutely rightly mentioned, his guesses abt himself being tptwp have nothing to do w egocentrism as some parts of the fandom would want us all to believe unless he wouldn't be so reasonable abt it and later on, after so many years, wouldn't have changed his mind and thought his son could be tptwp.

and literally fuck all antis that think you shouldn't consider prophecies that hold real power in this fantasy world lol. you know, aegon the conqueror was said to be motivated (or at least partly) to unify westeros by the prophecy and still got the treatment of perfect/maximum close to perfect figure of a leader everyone should look up to from the narrative and grrm. prophecy obsessed much, huh? i don't even talk abt all these parallels between him and rhaegar grrm put there not for bitches to ignore them completely! and i will never get tired of reminding that dismissing prophecies is UNWISE for targaryens of all people. the house whose story is built on the dream of young daenys and her father aenar that listened to her despite common sense (or what local "anti magic"/"anti prophecies" clowns consider to be common sense). targs would be as dead as the rest of dragonlords if not for daenys the dreamer. who else in the world has as many reasons to take prophecies seriously as them?

yet antis out there act as if rhaegar is one dimensional weirdo whose every character trait is abt mf ~prophecy obsession~. like how can they miss one of the main points so badly?? the game of thrones distracts ppl from the real danger beyond the wall, yk, the one rhaegar was aware of and meant to deal with. there wouldn't be such a problem if he became king and had as many years of head start before ice zombies apocalypse as ignorant bobby b did. rhaegar had to die just for westeros to sink in shit and our main heroes to save everyone to make this story more epic LMAO

so yeah, too many ppl portray rhaegar as this one dimensional robotic creature without any knowledge of what feelings are idk even for what reason. it seems these ppl can't read for real bc rhaegar was not only intelligent af as well as dutiful ("it seems i must be a warrior" but "he loved his harp more than his lance") but also. ugh emotional?? my boy had constant emo sessions w brooding at ruins of summerhall, sleeping out there beneath the stars all alone and writing songs that made all women cry. does it sound as someone who "isn't capable of love" lol? folks act as if he was completely heartless from the day he was born (bc he didnt play w other kids ig??) but in reality their emotional range is less than the one of a spoon in comparison to rhaegar's lol. i'm not even gonna address the horrible attitude of demonizing him for his implied depression, vile clowns never listen to themselves when they talk abt targaryens and their "madness".

tldr; these fics are mostly lame af and suck at characterization if they're making rhaegar like that lol. anyway his character isn't abt being a good or a bad king, it's abt being a would-be-king for characters in books and readers in reality to sigh over his tragic aura and pretty aesthetic abt how it could've been. however, grrm clearly doesn't write rhaegar as evil or incapable as some parts of the fandom would want to try to persuade others. realistically speaking in the scenario where he wins there couldn't be any perfect decisions but it's a territory of speculations on thin air and lit nothing more since canon doesn't provide us with enough information to rlly theorize anything instead of building biased headcanons some ppl call "analysis".

but remember what barristan said about rhaegar while practically watching him all his life, from a literal baby to the man grown:

“I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded.” (ASOS, Daenerys I)

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.” (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

[kris-p-banana-bread]

Here DOAFP fandom, have some organic, locally-sourced, home-grown pain. This is basically just me, a scarred older sibling, projecting on Bobby, another scarred older sibling. I really reached into my post-loss psyche for this, so I hope you enjoy the headcanons and meta (AKA I hope you shed at least one tear).

It won’t let me link it here so the post that inspired this is under the read more at the bottom ✨

- When I first watched doafp, I couldn't understand Elena's aversion to Sam becoming a prominent figure in her mom's and her life. Now I understand it almost too perfectly. There was never supposed to be someone after Robert. He and Gabi were deeply in love and happy. Robert was it; he was the first and true love of Gabi's life. Sam showing up probably felt like a huge and utterly disrespectful slap in the face of Robert's memory, because he wasn't even supposed to be there. I don't know if that's as eloquent as I wish it was, or if it makes sense, and it probably sounds really mean to Sam, but it's not even really about him. It was always supposed to be Robert; Sam hasn’t earned the right to be apart of or associated with her family

- After Robert dies, Gabi and Bobby make it a habit to find and keep photos and recordings/videos of Robert, even if the latter only has him saying one sentence. They won't make Elena join them for the search, but after they find some of those old audios of Robert, they'll sometimes play them back for little Elena

- Bobby put up the keep out sign (I credit this to a few other blogs for discussing this tho) because that's where he would cry sometimes. He actually used to be pretty close with Elena, but after he put up that sign and started distancing himself from them a bit so they wouldn't see the times he cracked, he got a little more short and jaded with her. It's that, plus just growing into a teenager and stuff. And I'm not saying that he and Elena have a bad relationship, but he's become more snappy and has more walls up than he used to

- Sometimes Elena feels bad because she doesn't always remember her dad's voice. She was pretty young when he died, so even though she recalls it a bit, and the recordings help, it's been a while since she's talked to him in person, so of course she doesn't quite remember what it's like to actually talk to Robert and she's forgotten some of his mannerisms. She likes to think she's all done (she marked the stages down in her grief journal after all) but grief isn't linear or all that rational, so it hits her hard sometimes

- I keep reading as an action close to my heart because that's a strong bond me and my mom shared. She would rec books to me, and we would joke and talk about them, or she would hint to some future event and then refuse to tell me until I caught up to that part. So Elena and Bobby do something similar in their grief. Elena has writing and words, because that's something Robert loved if I remember correctly (but if I’m not and that’s not canon, then I now declare it so) and Bobby has tennis. But besides tennis (I sent a couple anons to @freshlybakedfandoms about it but I'm not sure where she went) Bobby also was taught to play guitar by Robert (I liken it to Devi Vishwakumar and her harp) so when he misses his dad or is just sad, he'll take out his dad's old acoustic and strum

- (This next one is something I also think a lot about so this is pretty much 98% projection) Bobby thinks sometimes about the fact that he was never able to come out to his dad. He hadn't really started growing into that part of himself yet, and he never got to show it to his father. He wonders what he would have thought of him. Would he be angry? Would he dismiss him and say it was just a phase? Bobby didn't think so, but a little part of him insisted that you could never be too sure. After he comes out, Gabi and Cami assure him that Robert would've been so proud of him and would've loved him regardless (Since we know virtually nothing about him, I maintain that Robert was one of those dads who teases their kid relentlessly about their crushes and I think he would've done that with Bobby and eventually Elena)

- When Elena's quince rolls around (if she chooses to have one of course), Sam dances with her during the father-daughter dance. A part of her still hurts, still aches and wishes that Robert were dancing with her too; still knows on some fundamental level that he and Gabi had planned for this day, but he had simply never made it. But she's known Sam long enough that she feels comfortable here. Nobody can replace Robert, but Sam is her family, and it feels right like this.

- I might do some more research and deliberate, but for the moment I'm saying that Robert had cancer, I’m thinking along the lines of colon. My mom was terminal, but idk if I should make Robert terminal? Maybe towards the end. Or maybe he was diagnosed as incurable early on but Gabi kept it from the kids because, tbh, being told your parent is balancing on that kind of edge is traumatic for them. So anyways, I’m going on that assumption for this last point, and I’ll see if I can recover some of my old knowledge and talk about technical stuff later if anybody would like to hear it

- Elena and Bobby were both pretty young. Bobby understood about PET scans and tests somewhat, and knew generally what different answers from doctors meant. Elena mainly just understood what was happening by reading her parents' and brother's expressions when getting lab results in from the doctor. They both remember on some level what it was like when Gabi would leave the kids with Cami and take Robert out to the car (later she would have to help him) and they would all feel like they were holding their breath until they got back and confirmed that everything was ok (and later, the little shocks of fear when the answers were no longer as positive and there was more apprehension and risks. After all, cancer doesn’t deal in absolutes)

- Bobby can still remember Robert when he had to stop walking around a lot. He still remembers the phone call that Cami got from his mom, saying that something had gone wrong, and if this last treatment didn’t work, he wouldn’t have much time before he passed. Still remembers Cami rushing into a room when she got that call, and trying to hide what was happening until Gabi could get home and explain it; but Bobby was a sharp kid believe it or not. He heard about the treatment, heard Cami crying. He still had hope... but when Robert came home in a gurney, when he could barely stay awake sometimes, when his voice was quiet and his skin was a little jaundiced, Bobby felt incredibly empty. But Robert always had a smile for his wife and his beautiful kids, even if it was small and very tired, his eyes still crinkled the same. He always had a smile; right up until they had to say goodnight and get some sleep one night. And then... he passed.

- After he passed, the Cañero-Reeds needed help, and a lot of Gabi’s coworkers would bring food or materials if they were running low. Cami and Danielle would babysit and would distract the kids when Gabi needed a good cry.

- Like you’d imagine, and because of what is sort of implied in canon and in my own head, the kids dealt with it in different ways. Bobby put up that sign, and withdrew. He wasn’t awful, but his patience with certain people got a bit shorter and he was a bit quieter. And he was a really good helper when he had the energy and he cared deeply, but he would sometimes get physically and emotionally exhausted after helping Gabi/Elena/Cami/anybody else with something and would go into his room or mentally tap out to recharge. He took comfort in things that seemed natural and that he sometimes took for granted before, like video games and skateboarding (hehe bobby skateboards. Anybody second me on this?) and clothes etc... and other stuff. A lot of materialistic things or experiences that he would skip out on before. But they bring normalcy back to his life now so he loves them for that.

- Bobby doesn’t wanna think about big themes or anything anymore, which I can’t remember but I think it was Vi (freshlybakedfandoms, again, idk where she is and I hope she’s ok) who said he was a math and science person and I think that as much as that could transfer over to those subjects as well, it’s much harder to avoid existential and emotional themes in English and History class and Bobby doesn’t like it as much as Elena does for that reason. He had to live with the back and forth of his dad’s treatments and tests, so math and science is comforting because it’s more concrete (There could be a million arguments for why he would distrust math and science because of his dad’s passing though, I realize) Ultimately, though, it reminds him of Robert too much.

- On the other hand, after a period of shock and confusion, Elena threw herself into new things. First it was a grief journal, to make sure she was going through the motions. Then she read a lot, and when she felt too alone or like she wasn’t doing enough, like she was stagnant, she’d just find something to focus and persevere on again. That feels like her personality type to me; something is wrong so let’s fix it right away. But that could also transfer sort of negatively into “Something feels off or I’m very sad, let’s get this thing done and be productive so we can put off having to confront that but at least we get work out of it” but I could be entirely wrong (this is based off some of my family members and how they dealt with the loss.) And Elena throws herself into history and english because her dad loved it, and she wants to remember more of him. Because she believes words have power and history is a lesson and that’s incredibly interesting for her

[neonbluewaves]

spare neon lore? i love her

My brain shut down for a moment because I wasn’t sure what to say that I haven’t before, so I’m going to try to explain things I haven’t before, if I repeat myself forgive me :v

Careful what you wish for tho, here comes a longass rant, and I mean LONG

·Something I’ve barely talked about is Neon’s residences. She spent her childhood in Spain, in the Prieto Manor, big enough for her, her granparents and her uncles to live in, and still have much space to spare. The land around it is really large, with a field of almond trees that turn everything pink when in bloom, so part of their income comes from almond production. They also have different cultives, mainly to substain themselves, because her family isn’t exactly beloved, as in many think they’re better of dead. They also have vineyards with grapes specifically for wine production. Another way of income they have is with art. The manor has a room full of (mostly) spanish art pieces that they sell from time to time. Neon has sold pieces to the Thyssens, and donates some to certain collections when the museum opens later on.

Those are the things they’re known for, there’s rumors that they also deal with illegal stuff, but nobody can say for sure. Once they’ve graduated, Neon hires Jae to work under him. If you ask him, he says he’s the “financial administrator”, but he most definetly works as something else.

All their lands are surrounded by a thick forest charmed to work like a labyrinth. Only family members know the way, and there’s no chance of finding your way out to the other side by luck, the labyrinth will throw people away the way they came in. The forest is also full of stray dogs along with other average animals you’d find there. Neon has spent so much time in that forest she knows the whole place by memory, not just the way in and out, so it’s impossible for her to get lost.

On that note, Neon showed early signs of magic, many of which resulted in selfinjuries, like things exploding or catching fire when holding them or around her, as well as being capable of making dogs do her bidding unknowingly, thinking they just really liked her and could understand her.

Her second residence is in England, Yorkshire. Living in her old granparents house, in a small, mostly full of wizards town. A pretty big two story victorian house, Neon didn’t like it nearly as much as the manor, mainly because it has a small garden, unlike the big fields they have in Spain. Still she made it work for herself. Currently she lives with her uncles in their house, down the street, but she drops by from time to time keep the house clean.

· If it weren’t for her grandfather, they would all be spoiled brats. Coming from nothing, Gonzalo Prieto made sure he taught them humility amongst other things. Rocio was a pretty strict mother and it rubbed off on them, making them strict mothers in turn. Teaching to their kids was pretty serious, things like writing with good caligraphy, reading, maths, history and art, (no wonder Neon hates paying attention yet gets good grades, she’s used to studying). Carmen sent Nuria and Neon to get some work on summer after their third year as a way for them to learn what she and Luisa had learn working with their father. With him being gone, Carmen decided the best way for them to learn what they did was to just work, so Nuria ends up in a bakery, where she learns not to burn the whole kitchen, and she made the bakers cry a lot with whatever she ended up cooking until she got decent. Neon on the other hand went to a blacksmith and just like Nuria, at the beggining it was a complete disaster. After a month of just cleaning and watching she got to try making a knife blade and it ended horribly, and broken. The next year she managed to make an actual knife blade that could cut. By year 6 she’s managed to forge many swords, they’re not the finest work, but they’ll do for this one spell she’s been planing to invent for a while. She uses it for the first time against her uncle.

·There’s many projects unfinished saved away by family members, mainly because they died before they could get midway or start. Neon’s dad had blueprints of a house on the beach he wanted to make for the family to go on vacation. Neon also starts her own project when she’s 14/15, her own scholarship for orphan wizards. Romul was the one who encouraged her to go through with it, and joined in the idea, her scholarship centered in Hogwarts students, and his in Beauxbatons students.

·Here’s an essay I wrote some time ago about character soundtrack themes, behold:

When creating the themes for the Prieto members (Neon, Nuria, Laura, Argon and Narciso) they all need one intrument in common that ties them together, the organ. The organ is the one instrument all members learn to play from a young age and they have one in the Prieto manor. This one intrument plays along with the motif chosen for them. The Dies Irae. The Dies Irae is an hymn in latin about judgement death, and is used frequently in media to signify death, this makes reference to the fact that all the family has a reputation of commiting homicides and the fear we see in the main four that their uncle is going to kill them. All the titles make allusion to church and religion. Although they are not religious, the play comes from the fact it all seems to go beyond what they can choose, as if a bigger force decided their fates from the start, like a marciless god, and the darkness of the songs plays more like requiems than character themes.It also rounds up with their symbol, the church grimm.

Each of them get their own special instruments within their themes, so:

Neon's themes would be:

-Church: composed with organ, violin (another instrument she plays) and some percussion, it's sombre and dark and is usually played when Neon is alone, either figuring out mysteryes around her or in introspection scenes.

- Grimm's wail: composed with an organ, violins and double bass, and strong percussion like a bass drum, it's a reprise of church meant for action scenes like duels, specially the one's within storyline, like the fight with the ice knight or the dragon.

Nuria's themes would be:

-Shrine: composed with organ and some acoustic guitar. it's a simple theme made for scenes where Nuria (or other members) are seen contemplating choices, past memories, etc. It has a certain nostalgia to it

-Golden cross: composed of just organ and electric guitar, it's a more rebelious theme played for Nuria's duels and stronger moments of emotion, the change of guitar mimics her change from sweet and docile to determined and more "violent"

Laura's themes would be:

-Faith: composed with organ alone it's a soft sad melody that goes along her guilt of having lost Argon and her denial of involving herself with Neon and Nuria's life out of fear of screwing up and losing them too. It starts out quite depressing and builds up to a darker tone, but always quiet like her, as if the melody also tries to hold in rage.

-Sin: another reprise of the original (Faith), made with organ and heavy percussion, brass drums and kettleddrums, used specially in moments of high tension, the closer she is to finding her uncle, the longer we hear this piece.

Argon's themes would be:

-Finding Solace: We hear this song in flashbacks. Depending on who is remembering we hear one part or another. Made of organ and harp at the begining, it's the part that plays on Neon/Nuria/Laura's memories of him, sweet and naive, and organ and brass air instruments in later parts are used in memories by Duncan/Rakepick/anyone who dealt with him when he was manipulating other's/doing shady stuff, more sincere but dark.

-Broken Prayer: made with organ, violins and strong percussion in paralel's Neon's theme "Grimm's wail", also used on more intense scenes.

Narcisso has one theme:

-Lost religion: made up of organ alone and one drum set. Plays with both the Dies Irae and a couple of notes that remind of the theme song of The phantom of the opera, playing both with death and mystery as to what this character really wants and seeks.

The family has it's own theme, played only twice in full. Made up of organs, electric guitar, violins and percussion intruments plays like a violent, dark orchestra, with punctual moments of choral voices singing as if a church choir, giving it a more gloom feel. The two instances played in full are in the memory of Rocio losing all her siblings and father, and the start of the battle between Narciso and his nieces. Small parts may be heard in scenes where Neon and Narcisso clash, like the river incident or when he injures her leg before year 6.

There could be more themes, but these are the most important ones I thought about.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I hope this was enough for now

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 26

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

          ‘You know I love you, yeah?’ Michelle’s voice didn’t waver, but her eyes remained focused on the cup she clutched between her hands. They were sat together on the sofa, enough space that Daisy could fit between them, had she been awake; Eggsy hummed in agreement, mouth preoccupied with the tea they had masterfully made themselves to give them a way not to talk. 

           They both knew they had to, the way they were going just couldn’t continue for much longer. Something had to give.

           ‘... I’ve spen’ a lot of time, mum, tryin’ to find a way to explain my shit in a way you’d get it- but, see, knowin’ how to talk to someone means you gotta know ‘em. An’ it kinda hit me that we don’ know each other well ‘nough for that.’ Eggsy sighed, one hand tugging through his hair while the other held the cup on the armrest. ‘Not as adults, at least- an’ I don’t want to be harsh on you, but it feels like you still see me as a kid cos you weren’ really awake enough to see me when I was one.’

           ‘I know your age, Eggsy-’

           ‘It ain’t about age, mum- least, it’s not about the number. It’s about where my head’s at, the age I am here,’ he brought the hand from his hair to hiss temple, ‘an’ here,’ his heart, ‘not some numbers.’

           ‘I don’t understand.’ It’s quiet, muttered around the lip of her mug, with a furrow between her brows. ‘I know the estates and… and Dean,’ she swallowed heavily, ‘weren’t very forgiving or anythin’ but we got by.’

           ‘When Harry came by and told you about dad,’ Eggsy turned fully toward his mother, who was buried in her mug and growing tenser by the moment, ‘when he gave me this medal cos you were just gonna toss it out of spite,’ Eggsy pulled it from his shirt and over his head, laying it on the cushion between them, ‘he told me to take care of you.’ Michelle’s head shot up, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

           ‘The first time Harry ever saw me, he knew who we were- dad talked about us constantly. He knew the news he was going to deliver was awful and that nothin’ could replace what he saw as his having taken from us. He blamed himself- he fought tooth an’ nail to get that medal for us against every regulation there was- and he knew you weren’ gonna accept help from anyone but he gave me the medal anyway. Told me to take care of it- and you.

           ‘I didn’ really get it at the time, but then you just… didn’ get up for a while. I had to go to school, I had to eat, and you didn’t seem to hear me askin’ you about that stuff. I didn’t get a buncha stuff at school and you wouldn’ help me so I ended up talkin’ to my teachers and figuring it out me’self. I started figurin’ my own food- an’ then I started figuring yours. Tried to pester you into much of anything but it was just so hard. An’ then you started dating again- or, well, going out, an’ I had a whole new challenge.’

           ‘It weren’t all that, babes-’

           ‘Mum, I love you, but it was. My fears for Daisy, the reasons I didn’ tell you when I found out what really happened to dad, aren’ just nightmares an’ shit made up. I don’ want her havin’ to do even a fraction of what I did at her age. The fact that you can’ see, even now, everythin’ that was wrong back then scares me.’ Eggsy lifted his mug back to his face, barely sipping as an excuse to pass the buck for a bit. 

           ‘I just… I guess I can’t put it all together in a way that makes sense, Eggsy. Harry- the one who told me about your dad’s death, who died ‘imself, and then wasn’t dead- his guilt ain’t yours, and I don’ get why you’d be so torn up abou’ the death of a man you barely knew. An’ keeping secrets is one of the few things I know the estates taught well, I don’ like it but I understand that bit. Mostly. Still hurt, tho.’ Michelle sounded entirely lost, and wished desperately for a cig or a stiffer drink than tea- but she was trying not to rely on shit like that anymore.

           ‘Harry told me to take care of you- so I did. Not that I really thought he existed for a bit there, to be honest. Without the medal I’d’ve chalked ‘im up as a figment of my imagination. I just knew that someone ‘ad given me an important job, and I was gonna do it. But, to be honest mum, you’re tough as shit to take care of. I started to give up, an’ I went off to the Marines to try an’ make something of myself for me. Figured you was okay, what with a live-in boyfriend an’ all, but that weren’t the case at all, cos-’

           ‘Daisy.’

           ‘Yeah, mum, Daisy. You called up me in a panic, bangin’ on about losin’ me like you lost dad and I dunno if you really knew what you was doing. Maybe you weren’t doing it on purpose- I hope you weren’t-’ the last was murmured, ‘but you used my takin’ care of you against me. You pushed every button, pulled every trigger, and then- d’you remember the last bit o’ that call? I can’t forget it.’ 

           Michelle shook her head, mug forgotten on her lap.

           ‘You tol’ me that it wasn’t like I could make a career out of that anyway. You just… dismissed my choices like they didn’ matter a whit- I was nearly twenty, mum! Did you know there’d been Olympic scouts at my gymnastics practises? That girly shit Dean said was a waste of money coulda gotten us out of there, no medal necessary- I liked gymnastics, but someone else said different and you leapt to please ’em. 

           ‘You didn’ really treat me like a person; you didn’ explain or ask what I thought or even talk to my coaches. One day I was doin’ something amazing and the next day I was told we were never going back there again, and yeah I wasn’ an adult but I’ve never been an idiot, mum. Just. Over an’ over again you showed me that I wasn’t the most important thing in your life, or even like top five sometimes, so I stopped tryin’ to be. I let Dean get to me, let ‘im use me to run his shit and whatever the fuck else he wanted to keep ‘im from goin’ after you or Daisy an’ I stopped trying to find a way out.

           ‘I gave up, got myself stuck, an’ Harry just abou’ dragged me back into bein’ a person again withou’ even knowin’ it! He was a right prick about it at first- said he though’ dad’d be “bitterly disappointed” in me.’ Much to MIchelle’s confusion, Eggsy grinned his way around the words and huffed a laugh. ‘He was actin’ on the assumption that my life choices were my own- but I set him straight quick. Got me goin’ off about posh arseholes and silver spoons, an’ looking back I think he was a bit proud I didn’ hold my tongue, but then Poodle and the boys showed up. And, well, you know what happened after that. Fuckin’ Dean, and Harry saving my arse cos I refused to grass on ‘im even after… well, after everything.’

           ‘I think you’ve gotten off topic, Eggsy. I don’t need a step-by-step of you ‘n Harry-’

           ‘Except that’s exactly what you asked for, mum. You don’ get why his death fucked me up so badly an’ I’m tryin’ to explain it to you- but you don’t really want to know why it affected me so badly- you’se wonderin’ why his death affected you long after you’d put ‘im and his message from your mind.’

           ‘Now wait a minute, Eggsy- I ain’t lying to you about wanting to know shit. I’m not lying about wanting to understand why his death put you in such a state. I’m not making shit up about not understanding and trying to understand you. I don’t get it, I’m trying here,’ she wiped at her eyes angrily, refusing to look away from Eggsy despite the state she’d suddenly put herself into, ‘but you’ve got to give me something to work with, babe! You’re going on about bein’ grown up and at the same time you‘re harping on about shit I can’t even remember!’

           ‘EXACTLY!’ Eggsy jumped to his feet and threw his hands up, thankfully having dropped his empty mug to the ground beforehand, ‘That’s the fucking problem, mum- you don’t remember. And, maybe, what you do remember somehow measures up as not as bad as some other shit but I don’t have that luxury! You know what I remember? You, blacked out on the couch; you, lettin’ Dean’s boys paw at you in the livin’ room; you, turning away the first time Dean hit me; you, ignorin’ Daisy crying for hours until I gave in and got what she needed.

           ‘And, yeah, I know shit was tough- I’m not tryin’ to compare sufferings or some other bullshit- I know you think you were doing the best you could; I know you think you did the best you could with the shitty hand you were dealt. I know.’ Eggsy stopped, took a deep breath in his nose and out his mouth, lips pursed tightly, and did it again. Again. Until the red faded from his face and his heart slowed down enough to feel rational again.

           Michelle hadn’t moved. She tried to convince herself that she was listening out for Daisy moving about in her room, what with the ruckus, but adept as she was at lying to herself it wouldn’t stick. This man in front of her was a stranger to her- she knew he was her son, but she didn’t know anything about him, apparently. She didn’t know his goals or his struggles, she didn’t know his friendships beyond the tangential moments they crossed her path directly; how was she ever supposed to bridge this gap she hadn’t known was there?

           ‘Eggs-’

           ‘Let me finish, mum- if I don’ do it now I don’t think I’ll try again later.’

           ‘Okay.’ She swallowed heavily, hands so tight around the mug she was surprised it hadn’t shattered, and waited.

           And waited.

           ‘D’you know what I don’t remember, mum? I don’t remember dad’s voice. I don’t remember his laugh or much of anythin’ about him to be honest. Sometimes I think I see him when I’m asleep but I dunno how much of that’s just my head making shit up with the one picture I’ve got of him, and how much of it is an actual memory I can’t get to when I’m awake. I don't want to find out how much of it's all in my head, honest. An’ maybe all that’s not the healthiest start to a relationship, of any kind, but it’s a sight better than drugs and a meal ticket.

           ‘Harry didn’t save me, and fuck knows he was a right arse at the start of it; but my refusing to grass gave him enough reason, I guess, to give me the chance to prove myself. He threw every one of my biggest regrets, especially the ones I didn’t get a choice in failing at, in my face. An’ then he turned it about in a way only someone used to getting his way can- he told me to jump. And I said “why not” instead of “how high” an’ he was glad for it. He didn’t give me shit besides a chance; he didn’ tell me what was goin’ on ‘til it were too late to turn back and let me prove myself. Not to him, but-’

           ‘To yourself. He… He took you away from everythin’ that held you back an’ let you push yourself. He let you figure yourself out without any of us stoppin’ you.’

           ‘He believed in me, mum; and, yeah, it all started cos he figured he’d as good as killed dad himself but he let me figure it out myself. Never treated me like a kid or like I was less a person for bein’ different- and I fucked it up anyway, mind, but he let me try- and then he died and the one person who’d believed in me was gone. An’ the last thing I’d said to him was accuse ‘im of havin’ dad stuffed somewhere in his house like one of them pinned butterflies. He went straight off for America from that fight, an’ then he died-’

           ‘And you blamed yourself.’ Her Eggsy, if she could call him that to herself without wincing, had gone and fallen into the same pit Harry had after Lee. He slumped back into the sofa, head hung low, and Michelle took the moment just to look at him. To see the way his jaw clenched and unclenched the same way Lee’s had when he was upset. The way Eggsy’s eyes had the same tilt his dad had had. All the little pieces of Lee that Eggsy had no idea he’d inherited because she’d refused to talk about him and brought people into their lives who forbade it. Because she’d... let her grief consume her.

           ‘Well, now I know what Merlin was on about,’  Michelle muttered to herself, one hand propped against her chin, ‘when he said I’d let my grief consume me. I didn’ even see you was strugglin’ more than I was, babes, cos it was different. I ain’t gonna claim that I get it now,’ she shook her head and a self-deprecating laugh escaped, ‘but I’m gonna say that I’m gonna try and see that I don’ understand and that’s okay.

           ‘I know I didn’ do right by you, Eggsy; I know I let other shit be more important and I pushed you away cos you reminded me so much of Lee that it… it made me angry. How could I keep bein’ who I’d been before, when he was gone? And I didn’ even realise that I was takin’ it out on you. Or,’ she corrected herself, ‘maybe I did, but I didn’t want to admit it to meself. I spent so much time tryin’ to ignore everything that’d changed and not enough trying to figure out how to be your mum- a mum, actually- after everythin’. You kept gettin’ bigger and then you were grown and leavin’ me and I just… panicked.’

           Eggsy refused to meet her gaze, one hand clenched tightly in a fist while the other rubbed itself aimlessly against the sofa cushion. He’d always known his mum was fucked up; the older he got the more obvious it was that she’d just had all her strings cut when his dad died and she let just about anyone make choices for her cos she couldn’t handle the responsibility of being a person. And yeah, having the explanation helped and all, but it was a bit like finding out that Snape’d been a dick because he was a spy and loved Harry’s mum- it was a good reason, but it wasn’t an excuse. It didn’t make things better in retrospect, it didn’t make him happier to know; it didn’t bridge the gap she’d dug between them. It was a good way to learn what not to do- but didn’t help much when trying to figure out what TO do.

           ‘I don’ think I’m ever gonna understand, Eggsy, but I don’ want you avoiding me- or Daisy- cos of the shit I did before. Or didn’ do. I ain’t gonna claim to fix it or anything- but I want to try an’ do better; I want to learn how to be… well, maybe not a mum- think you’re a bit old for that, an’ that’s where I fucked this up in the first place. I tried to push you to talk an’ you weren’t ready, or maybe just not ready to talk with me ‘bout it, cos I thought I knew best. And it’s pretty obvious here that I don’t. So, maybe I can learn to be your friend- one that’s got a load of stories to teach you what not to do.’

           ‘You’re always gonna be my mum, tho. You fucked up, a lot, and I’m tryin’ not to… to project my past onto Daisy cos you’ve changed. V-Day made us all re-think a lot of shit, in a lot o’ ways, and I know you’re trying. There ain’t much to drink here, you’ve been chattin’ with Harry and takin’ Daisy to school and being a proper person. I can see it. But, sometimes, seein’ you trying makes me mad as hell- cos why wasn’ I enough to try for?’ Eggsy felt a tear escape, traitorously run it's way down his cheek, but refused to wipe it away. He was allowed to feel, damnit.

           ‘Oh, Eggsy, there was nothin’ you coulda done. You did your best- I just… wasn’t quite there yet. I couldn’t see past the moment I was stuck in like- like your bloody snowglobe, that one Lee brought home for you his last leave. Everythin’ was fine long as I didn’t leave that bubble and tha’s on me, babes. My shit ain’t your responsibility, an’ that goes double for your guilt over Harry. Obviously his dying didn’ stick, but you’ve gotta let that shit go or you’re never going to see eveythin’ that’s in front of you.’ Michelle thought briefly of Harry the first time he’d come by, how lost he’d been when she’d just brushed aside his guilt like a stray bit of dirt where it shouldn’t be. ‘And I ain’t talkin’ about being grateful- I know you’re plenty grateful that shit’s landed as it has, love- but you… I dunno, maybe it’s just cos I see you so little with that “tailoring” job,’ Michelle mimed the quotations with her fingers, ‘but it feels like you’re doin’ the same shit I did, but, like, the opposite. You’re tryin’ to keep yourself in that moment back when shit wasn’t all fucked up, an’ if you’re moving forward it’s fuckin’ slowly.’

           ‘Like you’re one to talk, mum.’

           ‘But tha’s just it- I was doing that. I was stuck and stickin’ there and I didn’t even care I was doing it ‘til some madman decided to shove my faults in my face in a way I can only thank every god above and below Daisy doesn’t seem to remember.

           ‘Learn from me, Eggsy- don’ get stuck just cos it seems safer.’

           ‘I don’t know how to be safe, mum- I just know how to get from one crisis to the next.’

           ‘Good thing you’ve got the time to learn, then. Even if you’ve got yourself a group of folk who prolly don’t know any better than you do.’ That seemed to cut loose some of the tension, both chuckling and bumping shoulders, and when had the space between them shrunk so much? Physically, mind, but hopefully they’d started filling in the emotional gaps.

           They sat in silence for a while, finishing off their now-so-cold-it-was-a-little-gross tea and clearing the sitting room. They got up to wash their mugs, stood comfortably beside each other at the sink, a happier echo of tense moments past. Michelle didn’t want to leave anything for Eggsy to wonder at, cos chances were that they wouldn’t ever speak like this again. This was the only chance she’d have, probably; but even if it weren’t she needed to know that Eggsy had heard her.

           ‘I need you to know that I mean it when I tell you I love you, Eggsy. I don’ really know how to love you, now, but I know it’s there- I just can’t express it right, I guess. And I’m so proud of you- you grew up so much when I wasn’t looking. When I was lookin’ away on purpose. But you’re an amazing young man and I am so proud of you- even when you won’t tell me all about your fancy dangerous job and I have to imagine what’s goin’ on.’ Eggsy smiled ruefully and scrubbed a hand at his neck, cheeks flushed but unrepentant. Michelle smiled and slowly opened her arms, wriggling her fingers to goad Eggsy into her embrace- which he did without protest, and she lifted herself just enough to reach his ear and whisper the words she couldn’t bring herself to say to his face.

           ‘You’re so much like your dad; you’ve got his justice and his fury and I’m gonna try an' tell you that more often. You deserve to know that you’re doin’ him proud- and he deserves to be remembered.’

[cefstickles]

Tickled Pink

Heyo! Drabble for @golden-honeyhoney. From the prompt: “Logan’s been showing off a bit too much lately and the other three sides are tired of it. I just really think that Logan needs tickles because he’s a cutie.” I may have deviated from the actual prompt slightly. I still hope you like it though. 

SO MUCH FLUFFF!! Logan’s my fav side so, naturally I wanted to make it super fluffy. :3 Please enjoy:

Tickled Pink

(Ships): Can come across as Logicality, doesnt have to.

Words ~ 1,803 ~

“No. Use black! Pink does not look professional!”

“But it shows the creative skills that Thomas displays.” Princey struck a fanciful pose. You want your resume to be dramatic don’t you?”

“As dramatic as you? No. Not even a sewage company would hire him if the font on his resume was pink.”

“Hey take that back! And how would you know?”

Logan adjusted his glasses haughtily. “Pink is a very light color and it would strain the eyes of whomever was trying to read your credentials. Let’s not also mention all the ‘fine’ print that would have to exist within the document to show your eligibility for the job you are trying to obtain.”

“Logan...it’s not even a real resume. We don’t need to make it professional. Its just a prop for a play.”

“Thomas, I understand that. However, this is a perfect practice opportunity for when you decide to type out a real one.”

“Logan you are taking this too seriously. Just shut up and go with the pink font. Do you think I like it? I don’t, but wasting time arguing about it isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“See Logan? Virgil agrees with me.”

“I never said I agreed with you Roman noodle.”

Roman growled. “Both of you take it back!”

“No. If we are making a resume, we will do it right!

“Aw, come on Logan. Have a little fun once and awhile. You used to be all for fancy decorating. What changed?”

“Patton. Resumes are serious documents that displays one’s life work. Applying pink font to something this serious is like showering a seventy dollar tuxedo in glitter!”

“But it can't be that serious. The document itself isn't wearing a necktie.”

Logan blinked at his dichotomy as the rest of the room erupted into laughter. “Documents do not wear neckties Patton.”

“Oh for crying out loud Logan. It was a joke. Would you just laugh once in awhile?!” Roman clutched his stomach after he finished doubling over in laughter.

“Logan! Please just shut your mouth and agree for once! I don't get why you're arguing against everyone over this! I’m making the font pink, because I feel like it!” Thomas held his head in his hands, as the logical trait continued to protest.

“That is no logical explanation to just do something! Simply because one just ‘feels’ like it.”

“Logan! You shut your mouth and agree with everyone right now. Or else…”

Logan faced the parental aspect and looked at him dead in the eyes. “Or else what Patton? Your threats are hollow.”

“Or else I’m gonna come over there are show Thomas and the rest of his sides just how adorably ticklish you are.” Patton’s frown evolved itself into a threatening grin. The faces of the room then turned from looks of irritation to confusion.

“Logan’s ticklish?” Roman scratched his chin thoughtfully as he was obviously trying to picture the normally stoic aspect laughing his head off.

Logan was about to say something else, but thought better of it and lowered his head to the floor, avoiding eye contact with his fellow aspects.

“Well that shut him up.” Virgil glared at Logan who was almost cowering away from the four other entities in the room.

“Virge, be nice.” Thomas warned. “Look Logan. I appreciate your input, but...you have been overruled. I would have thought you understood that when everyone had already voiced their opinions.”

Logan sighed in defeat. “You are right. I am sorry everyone. I was blinded by my own understanding.” The logical aspect’s gaze did not deviate from the ground. In fact, he was still slightly pouting at the fact he wasn’t getting his way.

“Aw come on, kiddo! Don’t give us that bottom lip.” Patton very slowly began to move from his spot towards the logical trait. “I can give you a hug to make it better?”

Logan lifted his head and an eyebrow at the aspect that was now slowly walking towards him. The mischievous glint in his eyes could not be mistaken.

“I am not an idiot Patton. Do you really think I’d fall for that?”

“Yeah! Because you just did!” While Logan had his eyes on Patton, he did not notice that Prince had moved from his spot to behind the logical trait with such stealth and ease. Soon after he did notice, he felt himself being lifted into the air by a pair of arms that came from behind.

“No. I do not want this! Please put me down, Roman! Virge! Thomas! Help!” All the darker aspect did was lean on the banister with a smirk plastered on his face. “Tickle him for me will you? I’m too lazy.”

Thomas continued typing away, trying to pretend he wasn’t hearing his logical sides pleas, his mouth beginning to curve upwards.

“With pleasure!” Logan could not see it, but Roman was grinning as well. Princey managed to restrain Logan’s hands behind his back much to the logical trait’s dismay.

“He’s all yours Patton!”

“Heehee!!! Good…” Patton then continued teasing the Logical trait with his fingers as he walked closer. “I can’t wait until you all hear his squeals! They are so adorable. Or when he snorts!”

“Oh? Is that so? Well then I can’t wait to hear them either then. He needs to laugh more” The maliciously grinning Princey held fast onto Logan despite his attempts to escape. To say Logan was only nervous or slightly fidgety was an understatement.

“Patton! You said you weren’t going to tell anyone!” The shakiness in his voice could not be more defined.

“I know Logan.” The parental aspect was now about a foot from him. “But, you told me you would laugh more! That was the deal! And how much laughter have I gotten from you since then? Not even a giggle! I think it's payback time Mr. Gloomy-Gus teacher.” Patton stopped right in front of him and wiggled a finger under Logan’s chin, to which the logical trait made a face at.

“Plus, maybe this’ll teach you to know when to stop arguing and/or providing so much exposition.”

“It’s important tho-” Logan was cut off from providing more of said exposition as he felt Patton’s wiggling fingers begin to graze his tummy. He breathed slowly and did his best to suppress the grin from spreading on his face. He looked at his tickler dead in the eyes. “You will not break me.”

Patton giggled. “Oh that’s the worst lie you’ve ever told Logan.” And it was. And everyone in the room knew it too, including the one who said it. For a moment, the only thing that could be heard was Thomas typing away on his keyboard, trying his best not to focus on what was about to happen.

Instantly, a giggle broke the silence. Patton had managed to catch his dichotomy by surprise as he wiggled his fingers into the logical trait’s belly.

“Oh my Gosh! That was you Logan? That was adorable. I wish to hear more!”

“Urghhhh...I am...not adorable.” Logan clenched his teeth as the sensations began to weaken him slowly.

“Oh don’t worry you will Roman.” Patton put on his innocent face, and decided to change tactics by shooting his hands straight up into the logical trait’s armpits, reaching into the sleeves of his polo and teasing Logan verbally.

“Laugh for us Logan! You need it as much as we do! Tickle tickle tickle!”

Logan’s straight face faltered as his arms tried to clamp down only found to be raised higher by Roman, allowing Patton more accessibility.

“Snrk! Noooooooohohoho!!!” Logan’s frown formed itself into a smile as he threw his head back to shake off the giggles that were close to bubbling out.

“Aha! Laughter! The logical aspect can laugh?! What is this madness?”

Virgil scoffed, obviously enjoying this scene. “Sparta maybe.”

Thomas raised his eyes from the computer for a second only to compliment Virgil’s reference. “Ah! I get it.”

“This conversahahahahation isn’t heehehehehlpihihihihng!!!” Logan could not hold back the giggles any longer as they escaped his mouth, encouraging Patton to move to his ribs. Upon contact, Logan’s giggles turned into subtle laughter, squirming under Patton’s fingers.

“Wow Logan! Your ticklishness is RIBdiculous! I’m not trying to HARP on it too much, but I think STRUMthings got ya giggling.”

“PPAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHTTTOOOOHOHOHHONNNN!!!!” That did it. Logan instantly burst out laughing from the groaning that he was trying to convey when Patton began plucking his ribs like a harp.

Virgil and Roman didn’t know which was funnier. Patton’s puns or Logan’s response to Patton’s puns. Either way they were both laughing along with the Logical trait.

Patton’s fingers decided they had their fun with Logan’s ribs and travelled down to his worst spot of all. “I remember when I found his most ticklish spot, he gave the cutest squeal! Let’s see if he’ll do it again!”

“Pahahahahtton don’ttttaYEEEEEEEEEEEET!” The parental trait began to squeeze Logan’s sides rapidly up and down producing a squeal of the same volume over and over again. Had Roman not been holding Logic up, he would be on the ground, curled up into a giggly ball unable to move for the life of him.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAPPPP!”

Patton frowned. “Oh alright, but not before I do this!!” Two of Morality’s fingers on each hand dug into Logan’s hips stimulating the pressure points that resided there. Logan’s laughter went silent as he actually began to cry he was laughing so hard. After a minute of this, Patton let up and signaled Roman to let go of him. Once he was free though, Logan wasted no time. He tackled Patton to the ground ready for retaliation, still giggling.

With much struggle and play wrestling, Logan managed to slip a hand under Patton’s shirt to tickle his belly button. Patton was instantly beside himself with laughter.

“Do not pretend there was not a tickle fight. I know your tickle spots just as well.” Logan could feel himself smirking as he was crumbling Patton’s defenses with only a single finger. It only lasted a second, when Patton grabbed onto Logan’s sides once again, resulting in an all out tickle war between the two aspects.

Roman, Thomas, and Virgil were now all laughing hysterically. The once stoic trait was now having the time of his life trying to sort out his issues with his opposite by means he had never once considered. By the end of it all, Logan and Patton sprawled out giggling, cheeks pink as the font they had all been arguing about earlier.

Logan was the first to sit up closely followed by Patton, both wearing the same bright and happy smile.

“Promise to laugh more?” The parental trait booped Logan’s nose causing the ladder to wrinkle it cutely.

“Yes Patton. I promise...not only to you, but...to all of you.”

[livmoose]

Locksley Hall

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn. 'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall; Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts. Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the West. Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade, Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid. Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time; When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed: When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see; Saw the Vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.— In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. And she turn'd—her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs— All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes— Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong"; Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved thee long." Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the Spring. Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips. O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more! O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore! Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue! Is it well to wish thee happy?—having known me—to decline On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine! Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day by day, What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with clay. As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down. He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not they are glazed with wine. Go to him, it is thy duty, kiss him, take his hand in thine. It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought: Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought. He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand— Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand! Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace. Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth! Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool! Well—'t is well that I should bluster!—Hadst thou less unworthy proved— Would to God—for I had loved thee more than ever wife was loved. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart be at the root. Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home. Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind? I remember one that perish'd; sweetly did she speak and move; Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love. Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore? No—she never loved me truly; love is love for evermore. Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof. Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall. Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken sleep, To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep. Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whisper'd by the phantom years, And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again. Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry. 'T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry. Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival brings thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast. O, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not his due. Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two. O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. "They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself was not exempt— Truly, she herself had suffer'd"—Perish in thy self-contempt! Overlive it—lower yet—be happy! wherefore should I care? I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these? Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but to golden keys. Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the markets overflow. I have but an angry fancy; what is that which I should do? I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound. But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother-Age! Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life; Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field, And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn; And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men: Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new: That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do: For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight dropping down with costly bales; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'd a ghastly dew From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue; Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm; Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battle-flags were furl'd In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. So I triumph'd ere my passion sweeping thro' me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye; Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint: Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point: Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire. Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns. What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's? Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more. Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest. Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn, They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn: Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string? I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing. Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's pleasure, woman's pain— Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower brain: Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine— Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah, for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat; Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father evil-starr'd,— I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward. Or to burst all links of habit—there to wander far away, On from island unto island at the gateways of the day. Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Paradise. Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag, Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from the crag; Droops the heavy-blossom'd bower, hangs the heavy-fruited tree— Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. There methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind. There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run, Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their lances in the sun; Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the rainbows of the brooks, Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books— Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild, But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage—what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time— I that rather held it better men should perish one by one, Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in Ajalon! Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun: Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun. O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.