My sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
- My November Guest, Robert Frost
Gentle rays of sunlight filter through the mist, casting a soft glow over the snow-clad North Shore mountains. It's a serene winter wonderland near Vancouver, BC, where nature's tranquility meets the quiet majesty of the peaks.
On misty mornings
the wind whispers
of forgotten names…
cold currents
spiriting souls
out of fantasy and folklore,
each susurrated syllable
the knifepoint of a fingernail…
peeling back the rough
edges of my memory
like bits of dried wallpaper
that adorn haunted halls.
Those wild winds
sweep through willow trees
turning swirling leaves
into scattered recollections,
pieces of the past
I’d rather remain
long lost to the grey
of solemn skies
on misty mornings.
Ok, as this came a bit...fast...I've written something for my Calendar fic AU of last year :D
-> Calendar Fic 2022
-> Addition 1
-> Addition 2
Characters: Ori x OC
Words: 1 500
Warnings: sexual innuendo, transmasc Ori, social pressure, anxiety
Dotty shivered violently as a surge of cold air struck her naked skin mercilessly, and—with a disgruntled moan—she pried open one eye.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she hissed begrudgingly as she suddenly understood that it had been Ori’s attempt at slipping out of her bed unnoticed that had subjected her to the icy fingers of the misty morning air, blowing in through the half-open window. “And why is my window open?”
“I was just checking whether someone was in the courtyard,” Ori explained, giving her an indulgent smile and a fond pat on the cheek. “You and I, dearest Dotty, are not yet married. I cannot be seen sneaking out of your room.”
Another menacing growl escaped the sensual, pouty lips of his beloved.
“Dotty, darling,” he pleaded, and—drawn in by the flicker of hurt in her flashing eyes—he committed the grave mistake of sitting down on the edge of her bed once more.
Instantly, her soft arms wrapped around his waist and her warm mouth slid along the side of his throat beguilingly.
“Dotty, please,” he whispered as sticky heat started gathering between his thighs. “Do you so yearn to ruin your name?”
Had Ori been even just a tiny bit less honourable, he would have let himself be dragged back into the comfortable, secret heat of Dotty’s blankets. Nothing he had hitherto experienced compared to the feeling of having her crouch over his body, her fingers parting his flesh and her lips closing around his sensitive nipples, but he didn’t even want to think about that now, lest he be swayed after all.
He loved her. There was no doubt about that—indeed, it was because he loved her so much that he admittedly delayed approaching her father to beg for the right to court her.
Truth be told, Ori was still afraid that Dortha’s father would refuse—he didn’t know what he’d do if he were officially told that his most precious, painfully fragile hope was dead.
At the same time, he did not want to start his courtship with a lie.
“I do not understand why you are hesitating,” she mumbled into his hair, and his heart broke as he caught a sliver of that suffering she consistently and stubbornly tried to hide from him.
Of course, he thought, he was being despicably selfish, and she deserved so much better.
“I shall…” Ori fell silent again—he had made that promise once too often for her to believe him anymore, and he felt terrible about his own insecurities that kept him from claiming what mattered most to him in this life.
“I have something for you,” she then admitted softly. “Meet me at the ramparts after lunch?”
He nodded, gave her another deep kiss, and hoped that she could feel how desperately he loved her just by the way he always melted into her clutching embrace.
The hours went by slowly, and—more than once—he forgot where he had put down a specific tome or had to ask one of his colleagues to repeat what they had said because he had not been paying attention.
He wondered what it was that Dotty wanted to show him. A part of him was afraid that it was a letter, explaining that she had waited long enough for him to make a formal request for her hand, and he berated himself sharply for doubting the devotion and love of a woman who had clung to him so affectionately only this morning.
Another voice, sweet and tender, whispered of gifts and tokens that would force him to admit to the world that he and Dotty were more than just faithful friends.
Surely, the good people of Erebor must have noticed that they were seen together more often than was seemly or easily explainable, but—if they had doubts or misgivings—they never brought them up with either one of them.
When it was finally time for lunch, Ori had to admit that he had fallen behind on his work so much that he had to skip the meal if he wanted to meet Dotty without having too much of a bad conscience.
Thus it came to pass that he was wobbling, feeling faint and dizzy, to the ramparts to find her standing there, wreathed in a cloak of stubborn autumnal mist—his heart nearly stopped.
Dotty, for all her sunny, cheery words, was a creature made for foggy afternoons; she looked positively regal in her long, dark purple dress, overlooking the vast lands surrounding the Lonely Mountain, and Ori’s head started spinning even faster and more violently than before.
Before he could hail her, though, she caught sight of him and rushed into his arms.
“You look so very pale, my love,” she crooned, a worried hand pressing against his clammy brow. "Did you eat? I should have brought a sandwich.”
She bit her lip and returned to her previous spot—there, on the smooth stone, lay a wooden box which she eyed uncertainly now.
“Please do forgive me,” she whispered and sought his gaze with a pleading expression on her soft, gentle face. “I might have given away our plans by purchasing this.”
Cold sweat beaded along Ori’s spine, but he took the expertly made container willingly when she picked it up and handed it over.
If his fingers trembled on the latch, it was due to the lack of sustenance and not his all-consuming fear of unexpectedly losing Dotty, he told himself, but he had never been a very convincing liar.
Finally, he had fumbled open the lid and swung it back in a brusque, decisive movement.
On a shrine of dark velvet lay the most beautiful reproduction of a phallus he had ever seen—he gasped softly while she stared at him expectantly.
“Dotty,” he gasped incredulously even as his fingertips brushed reverently against the precious metal and the finely crafted leather straps. “What…”
“I thought,” she admitted in a hushed croak, “that if we were to get married, we’d want to try this as well. We don’t have to, of course, but I thought it would be worth a consideration.”
“You had this made to measure,” Ori mumbled, recognising the stamp of a renowned craftsman who had only recently arrived in Erebor from the Blue Mountains. “Is it for you or me?”
Shrugging, Dotty slung her arms around his waist and pressed a winning kiss onto his bearded cheek. “Either, the straps are adjustable. Do you like it?”
He was overwhelmed and exceedingly shocked by her brazen valour, but Ori could not deny that the mere sight of the implement made his heart clench with longing and his stomach roil with desire.
She wanted him. She wanted him so much that the thought of growing tired of his limitations had never even crossed her mind—no, Dotty had instead made provisions so they could explore, grow, and conquer together.
“Does your family know that you’ve commissioned this?” he asked, suddenly remembering her initial warning with a shudder of apprehension.
“Of course not,” she laughed. “But the craftsman does…I am afraid that you shall have to ask my dear father now, lest I really become the subject of vicious rumours.”
“Ask me what?” A burly dwarf came around the corner, carrying a cloak in the same rich colour as Dotty’s dress. “You’ve forgotten your coat—it’s too misty and cold for you to stand outside without it.”
Visibly taken aback, Dotty sauntered over and took it from him with a grateful kiss. Over her father’s shoulder, though, she sent Ori a flaming look of encouragement.
“Sir,” Ori said hastily, his voice breaking as he stumbled over that single word already. “I wanted to humbly ask whether I could be granted the immense honour of courting your daughter.”
“This here daughter? Dotty, The Menace?” the dwarf chuckled, clapping a broad, heavy hand onto the young dam’s shoulder. “I was afraid you’d never ask. She’s just silly enough to go let herself starve to death because of a broken heart.”
Snorting derisively, Dotty punched him in the ribs none too gently which didn’t seem to faze her parent in the least.
“Sir,” Ori said with a sigh. “There is something you need to know about me, however.”
“No,” Dotty’s father contradicted calmly. “There isn’t. Dot, do you want to be courted by this dwarf? Can you imagine entering a sacred bond with him and staying by his side for the rest of your life?”
“Yes,” Dotty said, her gaze flitting to and fro between her father and Ori. These were the two men who meant the most to her, and she was overjoyed to bathe in the light of their pride and affection.
“My daughter has accepted your suit,” the old dwarf declared and nodded at the open box Ori was still holding in his hands like a sacrificial offering. “Everything else is for you to settle between the two of you.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: T
Relationship: Hoshigaki Kisame/Uchiha Itachi
Tags: Canon Compliant, sometime during the time skip, Established Relationship, just a little angst, Kisame thinking about things, and itachi being uncharacteristically soft, one of them is homesick
Summary:
“Does mist like this make you think of Kiri?” Itachi’s question was quiet, like he was afraid of ruining the strange quiet that the morning was still holding on to. Kisame laughed to himself, still impressed with the easy way Itachi had always been able to read him.
“It does.” Kisame didn’t say anything else as he had nothing else to say. He was sure it was enough for Itachi who rarely said more than he needed to, but his partner surprised him, pressing more of his weight against Kisame.
“Does it ever make you homesick?” There was an odd lilt to Itachi’s voice that almost sounded like longing.
“No. Kiri was never really my home.”
A fic for day 6 misty mornings for @kisames-corner kisame week!!!
