Angel, The hope only / Of empty men
Title: The hope only / Of empty men
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After all, life is very long...
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. All property belongs to Joss and co.
Notes: For voleuse for the Gwen Ficathon. Request was Gwen/Spike with cynicism and reciprocal lust.
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
--T. S. Eliot
i. We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men
Generations of children growing up on Pollyanna. The girl that everyone loves. The girl that saves the day. Happy endings, The End, and Life tied up in a pretty little bow.
Well not her kids. Her children would read Old Yeller and Little Women. Stories of hope and courage true, but most importantly stories that were real. The princess doesn't always find her prince. The little girl isn't always loved and adored by everyone. And occasionally the dog has to die.
Yes, these were the stories she would read her children.
Ah, but there’s the rub. Because she'd never meet them, these biologically impossible children. Someone else would have them. Someone else would tuck them in at night. Someone else would read them stories. Someone else would fill their heads with happily ever after. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
They would not be her children.
ii. Eyes I dare not meet in dream / In death’s dream kingdom
He gets itchy sometimes. When he’s sat by the sidelines for too long. When a job hasn’t been difficult enough or involved enough broken dead bodies. When he gets too comfortable with his surroundings, it starts.
The soul wears too thin. He feels the edges that can’t be smoothed over. The things that were buried rise to the top. The deaths, the screams, the laughter all muddle together inside his head. He can’t remember how to make it go away. How to gain control again.
iii. This is the dead land / This is cactus land
She gets itchy sometimes. When she's sat by the sidelines for too long. When a job hasn't been difficult enough or involved an acceptable level of treachery. When she gets too comfortable with her surroundings, it starts.
A slow burn in her stomach. Slowly stretching and growing. She feels the heat travel down her legs, her toes start to curl. Then her arms get warm, the gloves trapping the heat inside, until she feels sweat bead up on her palms and she has to take them off. Runs her damp palms through her hair, lifting the mass around her neck. She closes her eyes and imagines the sparks swelling her body until she glows.
She used to make it go away through tricks and teases, fooling her body into a release. But then Gunn-
And now it doesn't go away. She can’t find a way to release it. Someone to release it on.
iv. The eyes are not here / There are no eyes here
He could lie and say that he uses her to feel alive. That feeling his heart pumping blood for the first time in centuries is everything he could hope for. That the sensation of blood flowing through his veins makes him joyful and happy.
But it’d be a lie.
He uses her because she uses him. Simple as that.
v. In this last of meeting places / We grope together
She could lie and say that she uses him to feel alive. That the feeling of his skin so close to hers is everything she could hope for. That the sensation of someone moving inside her makes her feel content and at peace.
But it’d be a lie.
She uses him because he uses her. Simple as that.
vi. Between the idea / And the reality
They come to each other when it gets too much. When his soul gets too uncomfortable, when the burn inside her builds too high. When they can’t trust themselves anymore.
They burn and they scratch and they claw at each other. They rub on, over, in each other. Trying to satisfy some itch, some craving for companionship, for contact. Instead, they create a desire for something else.
It’s not enough, not really, but it’s all they have. So they make do. After all life is very long, and they’re going to live forever.
--
The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After all, life is very long...
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. All property belongs to Joss and co.
Notes: For voleuse for the Gwen Ficathon. Request was Gwen/Spike with cynicism and reciprocal lust.
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
--T. S. Eliot
i. We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men
Generations of children growing up on Pollyanna. The girl that everyone loves. The girl that saves the day. Happy endings, The End, and Life tied up in a pretty little bow.
Well not her kids. Her children would read Old Yeller and Little Women. Stories of hope and courage true, but most importantly stories that were real. The princess doesn't always find her prince. The little girl isn't always loved and adored by everyone. And occasionally the dog has to die.
Yes, these were the stories she would read her children.
Ah, but there’s the rub. Because she'd never meet them, these biologically impossible children. Someone else would have them. Someone else would tuck them in at night. Someone else would read them stories. Someone else would fill their heads with happily ever after. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
They would not be her children.
ii. Eyes I dare not meet in dream / In death’s dream kingdom
He gets itchy sometimes. When he’s sat by the sidelines for too long. When a job hasn’t been difficult enough or involved enough broken dead bodies. When he gets too comfortable with his surroundings, it starts.
The soul wears too thin. He feels the edges that can’t be smoothed over. The things that were buried rise to the top. The deaths, the screams, the laughter all muddle together inside his head. He can’t remember how to make it go away. How to gain control again.
iii. This is the dead land / This is cactus land
She gets itchy sometimes. When she's sat by the sidelines for too long. When a job hasn't been difficult enough or involved an acceptable level of treachery. When she gets too comfortable with her surroundings, it starts.
A slow burn in her stomach. Slowly stretching and growing. She feels the heat travel down her legs, her toes start to curl. Then her arms get warm, the gloves trapping the heat inside, until she feels sweat bead up on her palms and she has to take them off. Runs her damp palms through her hair, lifting the mass around her neck. She closes her eyes and imagines the sparks swelling her body until she glows.
She used to make it go away through tricks and teases, fooling her body into a release. But then Gunn-
And now it doesn't go away. She can’t find a way to release it. Someone to release it on.
iv. The eyes are not here / There are no eyes here
He could lie and say that he uses her to feel alive. That feeling his heart pumping blood for the first time in centuries is everything he could hope for. That the sensation of blood flowing through his veins makes him joyful and happy.
But it’d be a lie.
He uses her because she uses him. Simple as that.
v. In this last of meeting places / We grope together
She could lie and say that she uses him to feel alive. That the feeling of his skin so close to hers is everything she could hope for. That the sensation of someone moving inside her makes her feel content and at peace.
But it’d be a lie.
She uses him because he uses her. Simple as that.
vi. Between the idea / And the reality
They come to each other when it gets too much. When his soul gets too uncomfortable, when the burn inside her builds too high. When they can’t trust themselves anymore.
They burn and they scratch and they claw at each other. They rub on, over, in each other. Trying to satisfy some itch, some craving for companionship, for contact. Instead, they create a desire for something else.
It’s not enough, not really, but it’s all they have. So they make do. After all life is very long, and they’re going to live forever.
--
The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.