October Tale

October tale

by Neil Gaiman

A Meal fit for a King by Amelia Davis @ameliaddraws

“That feels good,” I said, and I stretched my neck to get out the last of the cramp.

It didn’t just feel good, it felt great, actually. I’d been squashed up inside that lamp for so long. You start to think that nobody’s ever going to rub it again.

“You’re a genie,” said the young lady with the polishing-cloth in her hand.

“I am. You’re a smart girl, toots. What gave me away?”

“The appearing in a puff of smoke,” she said. “And you look like a genie. You’ve got the turban and the pointy shoes.

I folded my arms and blinked. Now I was wearing blue jeans, grey sneakers, and a faded grey sweater: the male uniform of this time and this place. I raised a hand to my forehead, and I bowed deeply.

“I am the genie of the lamp,” I told her. “Rejoice, O fortunate one. I have it in my power to grant you three wishes. And don’t try the ‘I wish for more wishes’ thing – I won’t play and you’ll lose a wish. Right. Go for it.”

I folded my arms again.

“No,” she said. “I mean thanks and all that, but it’s fine. I’m good.”

“Honey,” I said. “Toots. Sweetie. Perhaps you misheard me. I’m a genie. And the three wishes? We’re talking anything you want. You ever dreamed of flying? I can give you wings. You want to be wealthy, richer than Croesus? You want power? Just say it. Three wishes. Whatever you want.”

“Like I said,” she said, “Thanks. I’m fine. Would you like something to drink? You must be parched after spending so much time in that lamp. Wine? Water? Tea?”

“Uh…” Actually, now she came to mention it, I was thirsty. “Do you have any mint tea?”

She made me some mint tea in a teapot that was almost a twin to the lamp in which I’d spent the greater part of the last thousand years.

“Thank you for the tea.”

“No problem.”

“But I don’t get it. Everyone I’ve ever met, they start asking for things. A fancy house. A harem of gorgeous women – not that you’d want that, of course…”

“I might,” she said. “You can’t just make assumptions about people. Oh, and don’t call me toots, or sweetie or any of those things. My name’s Hazel.”

“Ah!” I understood. “You want a beautiful woman then? My apologies. You have but to wish. ” I folded my arms.

“No,” she said. “I’m good. No wishes. How’s the tea?”

I told her that the mint tea was the finest I had ever tasted.

She asked me when I had started feeling a need to grant people’s wishes, and whether I felt a desperate need to please. She asked about my mother, and I told her that she could not judge me as she would judge mortals, for I was a djinn, powerful and wise, magical and mysterious.

She asked me if I liked hummus, and when I said that I did, she toasted a pita bread, and sliced it up, for me to dip into the hummus.

I dipped my bread slices into the hummus, and ate it with delight. The hummus gave me an idea.

“Just make a wish,” I said, helpfully, “and I could have a meal fit for a sultan brought in to you. Each dish would be finer than the one before, and all served upon golden plates. And you could keep the plates afterwards.”

“It’s good,” she said, with a smile. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

We walked together through the town. It felt good to stretch my legs after so many years in the lamp. We wound up in a public park, sitting on a bench by a lake. It was warm, but gusty, and the autumn leaves fell in flurries each time the wind blew.

I told Hazel about my youth as a djinn, of how we used to eavesdrop on the angels and how they would throw comets at us if they spied us listening. I told her of the bad days of the djinn-wars, and how King Suleiman had imprisoned us inside hollow objects: bottles, lamps, clay pots, that kind of thing.

She told me of her parents, who were both killed in the same plane crash, and who had left her the house. She told me of her job, illustrating children’s books, a job she had backed into, accidentally, at the point she realised she would never be a really competent medical illustrator, and of how happy she became whenever she was sent a new book to illustrate. She told me she taught life drawing to adults at the local community college one evening a week.

I saw no obvious flaw in her life, no hole that she could fill by wishing, save one.

“Your life is good,” I told her. “But you have no one to share it with. Wish, and I will bring you the perfect man. Or woman. A film star. A rich… person…”

“No need. I’m good,” she said.

We walked back to her house, past houses dressed for Hallowe'en.

“This is not right,” I told her. “People always want things.”

“Not me. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Then what do I do?”

She thought about it for a moment. Then she pointed at her front yard. “Can you rake the leaves?”

“Is that your wish?”

“Nope. Just something you could do while I’m getting our dinner ready.”

I raked the leaves into a heap by the hedge, to stop the wind from blowing it apart. After dinner, I washed up the dishes. I spent the night in Hazel’s spare bedroom.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want help. She let me help. I ran errands for her, picked up art supplies and groceries. On days she had been painting for a long time, she let me rub her neck and shoulders. I have good, firm hands.

Shortly before Thanksgiving I moved out of the spare bedroom, across the hall, into the main bedroom, and Hazel’s bed.

I watched her face this morning as she slept. I stared at the shapes her lips make when she sleeps. The creeping sunlight touched her face, and she opened her eyes and stared at me, and she smiled.

“You know what I never asked,” she said. “Is what about you? What would you wish for if I asked what your three wishes were?”

I thought for a moment. I put my arm around her, and she snuggled her head into my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’m good.”

Thank you, @neil-gaiman, for such a fantastic project

Nightmares

Pairing: Tangerine X Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Tangerine has a nightmare and you comfort him.

Warning: mentions of blood.

Could You Please Write A Tangerine X Reader Where The Reader Comforts Him After He Has A Nightmare? I

The cloak of the night hid the sun, stars shimmering in its obscurity. The street was quiet, all the houses locked and everyone sleeping in their beds. You and Tangerine were doing the same, following normality for once. Your sheets were bunched up at the bottom of your bed, the warm summer air making them impossible to stand.

You were sleeping with one leg hanging off the mattress, sleeping in just a pair of panties and one of Tangerine’s large, white shirts. Your boyfriend was snoring next to you, only wearing a pair of silk pants, low on his hips to combat the heat. You had a hazy smile on your face, picturing Tangerine in your mind. You dream was extremely enjoyable, as Tangerine was currently spreading your legs open and diving in.

Tangerine was also dreaming about you, but rather than a pleasant smile, his face was contorted into a dark frown. His dream had started pleasantly: you and him dancing in your living room, the dying sunlight painting the room orange. You were gorgeous as usual, wearing a white dress that made you look like a nymph. He was having the time of his life, holding the love of his life tight in his arms, and swaying to the music grazing your ears.

The pleasant bubble that surrounded both of you was suddenly shattered by someone barging into your house. The door banged open, altering both of you, and a man stormed inside. Tangerine quickly recognized him, knowing he was his last victim’s partner. But he looked…weird: the lines of his face were shimmering, as if unclear. His eyes were filled with anger, and his unkept beard shivered with rage. A Glock trembled in his hands, announcing death. Tangerine’s heart immediately went out to you, fear clawing at his stomach. He quickly threw you behind him, ready to sacrifice his life for yours.

The man aimed the gun, not hesitating to press the trigger. Tangerine kept his eyes open, ready to die if it meant you could live. Time slowed down, and he could clearly see the bullet tearing through the air, hurdling towards his open chest, ready to bleed for love. But the bullet glided straight through him, as if he was made of air. It instead pierced your soft body, dragging the air out of you with a chocked exhale. Tangerine turned around, eyes wide with panic, seeing the white dress you were wearing darken with blood and your face whiten as life trickled out of you, one drop at a time. Your knees buckled, and Tangerine managed to catch you before you crashed to the ground.

“No! No! (Y/N)!” He screamed, tears starting to blur his vision. He roughly wiped them away, wanting to see you one last time. The sadness was so painful he could hardly breath, and felt a block of ice in his throat. You smiled, blood starting to poor out of your mouth. Tangerine could do nothing, his heart tearing itself to shreds. His hands shook, and a panic attack squatted in his chest, ready to bounce.

Sobs quivered his body, and he tried to stop the flow of blood by pressing his hand against your breast, right where the bullet had so cruelly decided to end the best thing he had ever had. The warmth of your blood made him feel dizzy, almost fainting. Your heartbeat was weakening underneath his palm.

You slowly lifted one of your shivering hands toward his cheek, painting his face with blood. Tangerine didn’t mind. “My dear,” you whispered, your words coated with spurts of blood. Tangerine’s tears slid down his cheeks, dripping on your face. They mixed with the blood on your face, becoming dark before they disappeared just as your life did. He tried to subdue his sobs, wanting to hear your last words. He pressed a hand to his mouth, steadying his heartbeat, wanting to treasure and remember what words you would whisper in his ear.

Your hand tugged him closer to your lips, your voice weak. He bent down, almost bursting into tears again. Your lips moved but Tangerine didn’t hear anything. You inhaled, choking on the blood for a few moments before calming down again. “Tangerine…wake up!” You suddenly shouted in his ear.

Tangerine shot up, sweat covering his body and drenching the sheets below him. His eyes were wide, his heartbeat wild. Panic was searing through his veins, scathing hot. He quickly looked down at his hands, seeing them clean and free of your blood. Instantly, he turned around, his heart brimming with hope as he saw you. Your hair was disheveled, your pillow wet with drool. “Darling, are you alright? You were shaking, and whimpering. I tried waking you up gently, but it didn’t work.” You murmured, still soaked with sleep.

Tangerine didn’t hear a word you said and wrapped his arms around you, crushing you against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, shaking you like an earthquake. “Thank God your safe, oh thank God. I’m not religious, you know that darlin’ but oh I thank God.” He rambled against your hair, stroking your sweat soaked back. Tears slid down his cheeks, dampening your head. You put two and two together, realizing he had had a nightmare, and a bad one at that.

“I’m here. I’m here,” you whispered, slowing your words to a lilt, lifting your hand to gently scratch his scalp. Tangerine closed his eyes, going to hide his tear soaked face in your neck, his whole body quaking with shivers. The mighty assassin that was feared by all, was now hiding in your arms like a child, but you didn’t mind, slowly caressing his back.

Tangerine’s breaths were quick and shallow, but as he felt your familiar smell envelope him, he slowly started calming down. The image of your blood covered body started leaving his mind, but he still needed to make sure your heart was beating. He knew it was useless, since you were alive and well, but your heartbeat would help him erase the terrifying image that haunted his brain once and for all.

You knew it was coming: Tangerine often had nightmares, and when you were the victim of these nightmares plaguing his sleep, Tangerine always did the same thing.

His hand gripped the edge of your shirt and you smiled, knowing you knew the love of your life so well. Tangerine yanked your shirt up, uncovering your stomach and your breasts. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, pressing his ear against your chest, exhaling when he felt your strong heartbeat vibrate through his body.

You pressed a kiss against his head, waiting for him to pull away when he felt calm enough.

Tangerine’s eyes were closed, and his breath started evening out. When his mind was clean from any image of your lifeless body in his arms, he pulled away, pressing a soft kiss to your heart, before he let the shirt drop back into place.

Tangerine’s eyes flicked up to yours, and he leaned down to kiss you. A soft chaste kiss that lasted only a second. “What would I do without you?” He murmured, caressing your cheek with the pad of this thumb. You leaned into his touch, taking his other hand and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles.

“What would I be without you?” You replied, snuggling into his chest, grazing your hand through his hair.

The two questions were never answered, as you both knew the answer: nothing. Your lives depended on each other, your hearts would never be able to live alone again.

Tangerine’s hand slid down your back wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer, as you both lied down on the bed, ready to go back to sleep. You quickly threw your leg around his waist, making your boyfriend smile.

“I love you, petal.” He murmured softly, the nightmare far from his mind.

“I love you too.” You whispered back, closing your eyes, both of you lulled to sleep by each other’s heartbeats.

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nesspt2

5 years ago

Greg Lake, 1972

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nesspt2

4 years ago

71K notes View Post

nesspt2

5 years ago

331 notes View Post

nesspt2

5 years ago

“I’ve Seen Another World” - Jim Caviezel As Private Witt Is The Thin Red Line.

“I’ve seen another world” - Jim Caviezel as Private Witt is The Thin Red Line.

One of my favorite scenes in Jim’s entire career. I’ve always felt Jim was at his best in those one-on-one scenes. Just him and another actor, talking. And that was the perfect scene to highlight with those recent increased gif limits :-)

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nesspt2

3 years ago

Sometimes it blows my mind that there are people that don’t wear glasses/contacts. Like they can literally see with no aid. Like they wake up and just be out here seeing. What a wild concept.

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nesspt2

3 years ago