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bittersweetarts · 2 years

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Little Lamb - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Chapter 12)

Aemond Targaryen x You – Chapter 1

Word count: 4943 words

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

WARNINGS: Sexual content, misogyny, dub-con (kind of)

Spotify Playlist – AO3 Page

Chapter 12: Tenderness

Unlike Aemond, who also spoke Valyrian, you were only fluent in apologies. So, when the Prince found you in the corner of the Keep’s Kitchens, where you hid amidst the many servants cleaning after the Feast, drinking yourself to obscurity, it was unsurprising that “I am sorry” is the first sentence you spoke. And the second, and the third, and so on.

After running away from the Great Hall, embarrassing yourself in front of so many, you could not bear to return to your chambers. You should have, but you had felt overwhelmed and restless. The idea of haunting your room, with only your embarrassing memories of the day keeping you company, scared you. It was illogical, you were aware, but you also had the privilege of knowing where plentiful of honey wine was stored, and of being in the good graces of the individuals who warded it. Hence, you found yourself drinking and being a quiet participant of the gossip between servants.

The matron of the Kitchens, Myna, was a gaunt woman who had served the Targaryens for decades, and the two of you had gotten along well. Though you were not friends per se, as such a relation would be frowned upon, you did get along well, and she used to be your previous supplier of your sleeping elixir, back when you relied upon it many moons ago. Like many at the Keep, she had a vague understanding of your circumstances and was empathetic. You reminded her of her daughter, a girl around your age, who now worked in a brothel, finding her mother’s servitude to be a worse fate. Likewise, you empathised with Myna and always went out of your way to show her kindness, something she had little experience with in her life.

After you had fled the Great Hall, there was many whispers about what had happened, but the drinking and revelry continued, for your presence was a mere moment of entertainment. Despite his Queen Alicent’s pleas, who had asked for her son to stay, Prince Aemond Targaryen left the Feast in search of you, meanwhile the Lord Cregan Stark stayed, for he did not know where even to look.

When you had left, the two men stared after you in silence. The Lord of Winterfell waited for the Prince to speak ill or hit him – anything to allow the Northman to retaliate, to chase after you, for his honour stopped him from being the aggressor. But the one-eyed Prince did no such thing, instead opting to pretend that the Stark Lord did not even exist, mere dirt under his boots.

No one in the Hall knew what Aemond Targaryen was thinking, but at that moment, all the Heads of Houses in the Seven Kingdoms understood that you, a nameless girl who happened to be Helaena’s Lady-in-Waiting. They understood that you were someone important to the unliked Targaryen Prince, and this was only affirmed after he chased after you, despite his Queen Mother’s pleas. So, for the rest of the night, fomenting conversations regarding how this revelation could be weaponised was whispered between some men and women in attendance.

Prince Aemond Targaryen searched the Keep in search for you for a second time that day, and this had irritated him greatly. Why was it always so bloody difficult for him to find you? When the one-eyed Prince finally spotted your loyal knight, who followed you everywhere, Aemond Targaryent let out a breath of relief. The blonde did not expect you to seek refuge at the Kitchens, though he should have, because upon seeing you drinking out of a wine jug, he realised that you had an unfortunate inclination towards drinking, not too dissimilar to that of his older brother.

It did not help that you didn’t even register the Targaryen Prince’s arrival, despite the sudden silence of the room, with all except you freezing. Upon entering, he found you quietly sat at one of the tables, with a hand on your face, as though you were about to fall asleep. It took being loudly called out by your name to rouse your wake.

“Aemond!” You jump to your feet and hug him affectionately.

Your lack of formal greeting was not missed, and the servants around quickly began retreating out of the room, fearing the Prince’s retaliation if they were to hear or view something he would prefer to keep private. This was as the Prince expected, so when a hunched frail servant greeted him, asking for you to be taken care of, this vexed Aemond, who dismissed the woman with an irritated tone.

Annoyed, the one-eyed Prince does not return your embrace. This confused you, and as you looked up to see silent anger in his expression, you suddenly start sobbing, your emotions as unstable as your balance. Pulling away, you begin apologising profusely, though you were not sure what for. You felt as though everything you had ever done in your life was wrong, and that you not only needed to apologise to Aemond, but to everyone else – your family, Lord Cregan, Queen Alicent, Jayse, Lord Wylde, Lord Baratheon, his daughter Flora, Queen Helaena, King Aegon, the children, everyone! You felt like your very existence has brought so much suffering, and that you were better off not existing.

This was your train of thought, and you were so intoxicated that you were not aware that you began rambling your thoughts through your sobs, which dampened Aemond’s fury. He was angry with you and wished to tell you this, yet he could not be when you were in this state. All he could do was to pull you back in and hold you as you cried, not saying anything, because there was no point, as you were not sober. Once your sobbing lessened, he wiped away the tears on your face with the back of his hand and began caressing your head, which seemed to help you calm down.

Taking care of drunk people has never been something Aemond Targaryen was fond of, but you were a better drunk than Aegon was. For one, you did not try to fuck every single person in sight, nor did you spew offensive bullshit. And once you were done crying, you were actually pleasant, in that you were simply quiet. Or at least you were pleasant, until you began chundering.

You felt depleted as the blonde held you, and though his actions were comforting, you felt wrong, or rather, something felt wrong in you. You had felt dizzy for some time, and now, a disagreeable sensation began to swim in your stomach. Feeling physically overwhelmed, you completely pushed yourself away from the Prince, only to turn around and lean over, heaving the contents of your stomach.

This was the first time drinking has brought you to this state, and perhaps it was the mixing of different wines, or the copious amount you had, but you could not stop yourself, nor feel anything other than nauseousness.

Though initially taken aback by the abrupt shift in your state, Aemond swiftly stepped towards you without second thought, collecting your long hair behind you whilst slowly rubbing your back in circular motions. This was the role he was used to taking with his family, the supportive brother who took care of his siblings and mother, the one that looked after them, protected them, even from themselves at times. Though initially annoyed, Aemond Targaryen realised that he did not mind looking after you.

You on the other hand, felt completely mortified, for having let yourself become reduced to this state, and in front of Prince Aemond no less. So, through brief lulls between your churning, you kept uttering apologies, to which Aemond now dismissed in acceptance, telling you that you have nothing to apologise for.

“I am sorry, Aemond.” You would have to stop to churn. “I really am. Please leave me be. Let me die like this, it’s the least I deserve.”

Your begging only serves to humour the Prince, who could not help but chuckle, as your reaction was funny, yet he still worried. Once you seemed to have emptied your stomach, the Prince helped you straighten, put one of your arms around his shoulders, and put a hand around your waist, steadying you.

“Come. We should get you to sleep.”

Without asking, the one-eyed Prince escorted you to his chambers. Though he was sure that you would have preferred your own, he wanted to be there to make sure you were safe, and his quarters lacked the presence of pestering lords and ladies. He could have asked Ser Landor to watch over you as you slept, but the notion of having another man taking care of you, made him want to knife said man.

Anyhow, if you had any objection, you were unable to voice it, as you were almost entirely reliant on Aemond for physical support. The hallways were empty, except for the knights on watch, and when the Prince silently slipped you into an unfamiliar room, you understood that it was his. You were more lucid now, having sobered up from throwing up so much alcohol, and you were too exhausted to protest when you realised that you were being escorted not to your chambers, but to his.

As the two of you entered, it was dark, yet you could still see that it was a room befit for a Targaryen Prince. Against the moonlight, you could see that the chambers was opulent, and what immediately caught your eye was the faint outline of massives shelves stocked with countless of volumes.

Upon entering the room, Aemond had set you down on a soft divan, and you immediately sank into it when he let you go. You silently watched him as he then proceeded to light the fireplace before you, as well as some candles around. He also entered a door near his wardrobe (which you presume is his bathing room), and returned with a metal bucket, which he placed near your feet.

It was odd watching the Prince complete such mundane tasks. The idea of it was humorous really, and it was amusing enough that you could not help but let out a quiet laugh when he handed you a glass of water. You expected the Prince to be find offence and get angry with you, but he did not, instead tucking a loose strand behind your ear and pressing the glass against your mouth when you did not take it from his hand.

“Drink.” Aemond demanded, and you obeyed, taking small sips while watching him.

As you stared at him, you could not help but feel affection towards him. You could not comprehend how this was the same person you met on the balcony at the Summer Solstice Festival almost a year ago. That person was a cruel Prince who had found joy in your agony, or so you thought. How could that be the same person standing before you now, looking after you?

You think about kissing him, or rather yearn for it. But you were lucid enough to know that it would be disgusting after your churning, so you restrain yourself, and pull back, wrapping an arm around yourself.

“Thank you.” You say in earnest. The Prince hums in approval, before seating himself down next to you. You watch attentively as begins removing the outer layer of his clothing, tossing it onto the table before you, as well his eye mask, which you see he does so apprehensively. When he faces you, you wonder whether he would find it repulsive if you touched him.

Against the auburn glow of the fireplace, Aemond’s sapphire glowed brilliantly, and you could not look away. Pressing your lips together, you remove your shoes and tuck your feet underneath you, so that you can turn and face him completely. Unconsciously, a hand moves slowly towards his face, and as it does, the Prince closes his eyes, which makes you frown. This reminds you of your night together at your family home, and you do what you did back then as well, and run your hands onto his hair, gently grasping the tie around his hair and softly pulling it away, letting blonde strands fall to his face. Aemond however does not open his eyes this time, which frustrates you.

“Are you angry with me?” You ask, your voice brim with apology. Aemond shakes his head, but keeps his eyes closed.

“… then why won’t you even look at me?”

Sighing, the Prince Aemond opens his eyes regretfully, and stands, facing away from you, towards the fire place. As you stare at him from behind, you cannot help but feel hurt. This was so much worse than his anger, because his reaction right now felt justifiable, like you deserve it. Desperate for reconciliation, you walk up to him, and grasp his hands together, begging him to look at you.

“Please, Aemond. Just say something. Please.”

Aemond Targaryen has never been able to refuse you before, no matter how much he wished otherwise, and pressed his lips before speaking your name, before speaking plainly.

“You have me, but I have never had you.”

Your eyes furrow in confusion, not understanding what he was saying, not understanding him. This makes you contemplate whether you were still drunk, as his words make no sense, and upon seeing your confusion, Aemond felt himself madden. Letting out a hysterical laugh, the one-eyed Prince continued.

“My love, you possessed me the very moment we met, and I have felt cursed by your existence since then. Worst of all, I am to you but a passing fancy, someone you think you may like. You have called me cruel so many times, yet it is you that is cruel, entertaining other men, letting me in with the intention to leave me.”

Your eyes begin to water as you shake your head vehemently, unaccepting of this. You did not want to leave him, not anymore. But his proclamation is convincing, and you feel as though you have been slapped, as his claims are not entirely untrue. Though you did not allow your sister’s plans to manifest, you did happily dance with Lord Cregan in front of the whole of court and Aemond, and you did not feel apologetic for it.

“Just tell me this. Do you even care for me?”

Aemond’s coarse voice cracks, and you feel your tears fall, your heart aching in pain. You did care for him, so deeply you realise now, so why could you not admit it? You did care for him and you did not want anyone else.

Unfortunately, the Prince misinterpreted your silence. Shaking his head, Aemond removed himself from you, his face consumed with sadness, and walked towards the doorway. Seeing him leave scared you, and this fear helped you finally find the words to express how you feel.

“I love you.”

Your soft voice echoed throughout the chamber, forcing the Prince to halt. He does not turn to face you though, remaining silent, and you wonder whether you had misjudged him, whether what you felt was unrequited. Your tears have stopped, but the pain in your chest did not, so you closed your eyes, begin praying to the Seven that you could just will this entire night away.

Because of the deafening beating of your heart, you do not hear the Prince approach you, and are taken by surprise when you feel warm lips briefly press against yours. Opening your eyes, you see Aemond staring at you, with a sincere smile on his face.

Wordlessly, Aemond pulled you by the waist to his washing room, and you let him do with you as he pleased. You knew that you were in a revolting state, sweaty and foul in scent. The fact that he made no complaints was astounding to you. Thus, when he untied the back of your modest dress, you said nothing, and as he pulled it over your head, you said nothing as well. If you were confessing to a septa, you would admit that you actually enjoyed being taken care of like this.

Your body had been completely covered by your pink gown, concealing the many bruises and marks on your body left by the one-eyed Prince. But in your undergarments, this was again visible to Aemond, and he found himself tighten at the sight of it. Stood before you, you watched as his gaze travelled across your body, his fingers tracing over each mark. As he is a man after all, you expect him to take you, to do what a man does to wife or whore, so when he pulls away and begins drawing water into the bath, you are surprised.

“I am sorry that the water is cold. The water was drawn this morning, but I can fetch a servant for hot water.”

“There is no need.” You respond, wrapping your arms around yourself shyly. You felt exposed in front of Aemond, who was entirely clothed. When Aemond sees you do this, he frowns and approaches you. Or so you think, until he walks past you towards the door.

“I will be just outside. There is a towel and a tunic for you.”

Not waiting for your response, he leaves you alone in the room, shocking you. This was not as you expected, and you are left speechless.

After relieving yourself and rubbing your teeth with a rough linen cloth the Prince had laid out for you, you stripped yourself completely and entered the freezing bath.

It was much colder than you had anticipated, and you wondered whether it was because you felt heated from drinking so much. Or perhaps you had simply become spoiled by the luxury of warm baths at King’s Landing, something not customary back home. Nevertheless, you found yourself shivering in the water, unable to even begin to wash your hair. Defeated, you call out the Prince’s name, hoping that he would be willing to help you.

When he does not enter, you contemplate whether he did not want to help you, or he simply did not hear you. Taking a deep breath, you call out his name again, this time more loudly. You watched the door nervously, hoping he would come.

And he does, painfully slowly and cautiously, with his eyes glued to the ground. As he approaches you, you call out his name again.

“Aemond. You can look at me.” You say, your teeth chattering. Realising that you were shivering, the Prince immediately looks at you with worry, kneeling over the bath.

“I will call for hot water right away.” You grasp his hand with your wet ones before he can move away.

“There is no need. I will be fine.” Aemond’s brows cross with worry, but you ignore this.

“I will be fine. But can you help me?”

In the bath, you were sat in a hunched position. Though you were nude, the Prince could not entirely see your most intimate parts. But you felt bashful, for you were still a maiden after all, and the silence only made you feel more conscious. You felt a lifetime pass before the Prince finally nodded. Taking a breath, you let go of his hand, and wrap your arms around your knees, looking away from him, still shivering.

“My hair. I cannot get myself to wet it.”

Again, the Prince nods, before taking a small bucket near the bath, filling it with water. As he lifts it over your head, you close your eyes and take a sharp breath, preparing yourself for the assault of coldness. But nothing comes, so you open your eyes and see the Prince staring at you with apprehension, as though he was afraid of hurting you, and this irritates you greatly, so naturally you yell at him.

“Just do it!”

Suddenly, all the water drops on your head, and you feel as though someone had resuscitated you. Through your shivering, you begin to laugh maniacally, and as does Aemond, finding your laugh contagious. The only sound that echoes through the room is laughter, endearingly melodic.

As you continue laughing, you feel more water poured onto your hair, more gently this time, and a hand softly runs through your tangled locks. Wordlessly, Aemond grasps the soap near him, and begins massaging your hair with it, his movements providing you some warmth. Your eyes flutter as his fingers knead into your scalp, and the musky scent that overwhelms the bathing room is comforting, the smell of him you realise.

Eventually, your laughing has dies down now. As Aemond finishes rinsing the soap out of your hair, he begins to do the same to your body, carefully running water and soapy hands across, causing your breath to hitch. You watch him in anticipation, waiting for his mood to shift, for him to make the first move, but he does not. Instead, he attentively observes your body, illuminated by candlelight. He moves away your arms, exposing your chest for the first time, running hands smoothly across the swell of your breasts, and you feel yourself boil, not feeling the coldness of the water whatsoever. Aemond meanwhile remains neutral, and continues cleaning you, only staring at your body in silence.

When he finishes, you let out a cry out his name in surprise as he swiftly lifts you by your feet, wetting his clothing. He says nothing though, setting you out the bath, and grabbing the towel nearby, gently drying your hair and body with it. You watch his face carefully, for any betrayal of lust or emotion, but there is none. As he pulls a cotton tunic over your head, you break the silence.

“Thank you. Truly.” Aemond hums in approval, but still says nothing. Your hands then move to his shirt, dampened by the bathwater, and you hold the fabric. You felt sure that the wet cloth was unpleasant to wear.

“Can I?” You ask, and he nods again.

You then lift it over his head, struggling due to his height, yet he does nothing to help, instead endearingly grinning at you. When you finally manage to, you feel victorious, and as you stare at his sculpted chest, your fingers trace the lines and scars present. As you do, the Prince watches your face carefully, waiting for you to be disgusted and pull away. But you do not, and pull him into his chambers, onto his bed, never straying from him.

Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen’s oath ceremony was a somber affair, the mood completely different from last night’s Feast.

At noon on the following day, the Great Hall was now devoid of life. The Prince Jaehaerys, King Aegon II, the Hand and Prince Aemond stood in front of the Iron Throne, with countless lords and ladies kneeling before them, unfortunately with the exception of a few.

As you stood on the stone balcony, watching them along with the Queens and Jaehaerys’s siblings, you could not help but feel uneasy, especially as your brother, now the Lord of your House (you found out only that morning), and Lord Cregan Stark were some of the few that stood in protest. The silence in the room was suffocating, and as you glanced at the Queen Alicent, you could see the worry in her face. It was Lady Merryweather of Longtable who spoke up first when the King demanded all to kneel.

“House Merryweather has not forgotten how House Hightower stole our wealth only a few years back. You steal from our lands, and then you demand loyalty? Is that the way of the Iron Throne now?”

“The Iron Throne has not forgotten how House Merryweather supported my whore sister’s illegitimate claim. Instead, our House has offered forgiveness.”

King Aegon quickly responded, vehemently, his words echoing through the hallway. You had expected protest or negotiation, but wondered why they had decided to voice it now during the ceremony, not earlier. Nevertheless, Lady Merryweather’s proclamation had opened doubt in the room, and as you watched Prince Jaehaerys, a boy of only ten that you deeply cared for, you felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy, as he struggled to conceal his nerves.

“Forgiveness does not absolve that the King has made oath breakers of most in this hall.”

The Lord of Winterfell’s deep voice thundered through the Hall. The Starks were renowned for their virtue, so his argument did not surprise anyone present. Yet, you desperately wished the Northman did not speak, and could not understand why he had travelled all the way to King’s Landing if he did not intend to pledge fealty towards the young Prince. Even if they did not possess dragons, it would not be safe for him to be at King’s Landing if not as a sworn ally. Whether you worried for him because of your sister was of House Stark now, or because it was Cregan you worried for, you were unsure.

Following Lord Stark’s declaration, the Hall was deathly silent, and you could see fury manifest in the King. What the Lord of Winterfell had said was an truth, which was easy to ignore during the chaos that followed the death of Rhyaenyra Targaryen and her children. But now, when the Seven Kingdoms were at peace, this was not something easy to ignore.

As all present were guests, they were offered safety and the promise of no bloodshed, but if this issue would not be resolved, another war could be on the horizon, and the prospect of this made you worry. You unconsciously begin picking on the hem of your dress, a modest gown similar to what you had worn the previous night, but black in colour, with gold-threaded embroidery. You are reminded of something that Aemond had told you once before.

“History is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again.” The one-eyed Prince had told you that war is never truly over. Did he know this would happen even then?

“Lord Cregan, you may correct me if I am wrong, but was it not your ancestor, Torren Stark, the last King of the North, that voluntarily swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity, in exchange for his life and the life of the Northman.”

The one-eyed Prince’s voice echoed throughout the Hall, as he stepped forward, to face the Lord of Winterfell. Every word was calculating and callous, and the tone in his speech was venomous. Even a blind person could see that there was bad blood between the two.

“Yes.” Lord Cregan gritted between his teeth, jaws tightly clenched. As you watched the scene, you could feel your heart beating outside of your chest.

“Hm. An oath is an oath, and this particular one being in perpetuity. What does perpetuity mean, Lord Stark?”

When the Lord of Winterfell does not answer, merely glaring back, Prince Aemond smiles in malice, continuing his monologue.

“Perpetuity means forever, Lord Stark. Meanwhile, the oath your father swore to my father, towards my half-sister, died with him. I am aware that you swore an oath to brotherhood towards my bastard nephew, but did that not die with him as well?”

The Lord of Winterfell still says nothing, and Aemond decides to press on. “So many oaths. I would think that if one is going choose which oath to uphold, the oaths to the living should be prioritised over those of the dead.”

Again, the Lord of Winterfell remained silent, seething in anger, and this only served to embolden the wayward Prince. Turning to face the rest of the lord and ladies, Prince Aemond addressed them now as well.

“My Lords and Ladies. Conflicting pledges have been made throughout the war, but your generous King is willing to forgive, for the peace of the realm. Like Torren Stark, all of your ancestors had sworn oaths of loyalty towards the Targaryens, and now the only legitimate claim to the Iron Throne stands before you. Your future King stands before you. The question now, without any conflict or confusion, is whether you will promise to be faithful to King Aegon, second in his name, and his named heir, the Prince Jaehaerys. Or will you choose to become craven oath breakers instead.”

As you watched Prince Aemond command the room, you are reminded who Aemond really was; a cunning, calculating man, guileful in nature. And as you watched Lord Stark, Tommen and other remaining Heads of Houses kneel, you felt your feat of the one-eyed Prince resurface. Because Aemond had shown you tenderness, you had mistaken him to be tender, when this was far from the truth.

One-by-one, every Lord and Lady present, young and old, swore their oaths of fealty towards the King and Prince Jaehaerys, some more enthusiastic than others. When you finally tore your eyes from the scene and looked at Queen Helaena, you saw her watching expressionless, which saddened you greatly. You did not expect her to enjoy the affair, but had hoped that perhaps if it went smoothly, she would at least smile. Walking up to her, you do not touch her, as you knew her aversion to physical contact, but smile at her when she looks at you, which she hesitantly returns, and this relieves you.

As you turn back to observe the ceremony, your eyes meet Aemond’s, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment, as some boy Lord from the Reach pledges fealty. Under his scrutiny, you feel your nerves overwhelm you, yet you still force a smile, which he returns triumphantly.

Author’s Note: My brain literally feels like mush, so please be patient with me if it takes some time for the next chapter to be drafted. As always, I hope that you enjoyed, and that you are having a lovely weekend!

– Chapter 13

Tags: girl-obsessed-with-things 404slayer404 moonmaiden1996 rosaryos roseanimelover jovialfanatic wishfulwithwine missusnora maat-the-prescriptive @let-love-bleeds-red shnadaidas klutzyfreak mistalli pearlstiare nctma15 weepingfashionwritingplaid ihaveadogithink verycollectivecreator @thelibraperspective eddies-bat-tattoos marcs-luver kpopdistoyedmylife-blog solacestyles lonadane

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targeryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemondtargaryen!thots #hotd #house of the dragon #fanfiction #aemond fanfiction

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banished-lore · 1 month

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i finally roughly translated zarthrae, maykacha and snow's backstory :D

maykacha and zarthrae are twins.

Their mother chessquiri was an extremely ambitious new noble, but she was struggling to have children and also wanted kids that would be powerful and worthy of being her heirs

She married Nadal, a powerful wizard who was born a commoner and who got a reputation through his talent and eccentricity

She was extremely possessive of him, to the point of scarring his face to make him less attractive to other women

He gave her twin daughters, which to her was a disappointment as in my hc twins are seen as bad luck by some lolthians as they're seen as not willing to fight for their survival + for the few who know about the other dark seldarine it reminds of lolth's own kids and her enemies being twins. A twin birth so late in age made chessquiri unable to bear further kids

Zarthrae was born with black hair and developed very early a talent for sorcery, while maykacha had silver hair and a talent for sword work

Chessquiri favored heavily the older zarthrae, who was under extreme pressure to perform well as a heir, while she resented maykacha for having attitudes closer to those of a man

Despite this, the twins were very close and often took to defending each other and their father from their mother

Chessquiri was extremely abusive even by Drow standards, think matron malice but worse, and left both girls and their father heavily scarred. One day, jealous of their beauty and youth, she scarred both of their faces, with zarthrae having a long scar in her cheek and maykacha having crossed scars on her nose

Over time, after she sent the two girls to the academy, it became clear that neither of them were talented priestesses: zarthrae's natural sorcery did not translate to clerical magic, and maykacha was more talented at healing but not in lolth's magic, which made chessquiri even more full of anger

On top of that, maykacha started having strange dreams of a beautiful naked Drow woman dancing in the moonlight and telling her to follow her. She became obsessed with these dreams, and one day confessed them to her sister and father. Her father being a wizard had access to many tomes that would've been otherwise forbidden, and eventually he managed to find word of this heretical goddess called eilistraee. He and the twins would pray to her in secret to give them the chance to escape

One day chessquiri discovered them, and enraged she tried to kill them, but zarthrae's full storm sorcery powers manifested, and they managed to kill the matron and escape, following a silver moth

On the surface, a wandering cleric of mystra called Sophia Walker suddenly felt a song calling to her. She found a silver moth and followed it, until she found the lost family also chasing a similar moth. As a cleric of mystra she was aware of her goddess's alliance with eilistraee, and decided to help the family and take them in. They settled down in waterdeep, where such a strange family would get lost among the melting pot of cultures. Eventually, she and Nadal fell in love, and married, and from their union the twin's younger sibling snow, birth name miz'ri argith, was born, an albino half-drow with a personality as strong as his sense of devotion to duty. He grew up in the rough streets of waterdeep, honing his abilities in fighting and stealth, and eventually he and maykacha came to serve the Dancing Haven in Waterdeep, the temple of eilistraee, him as a rogue and her as a sword dancer, while zarthrae and nadal became magic researchers under sophia's guidance. they live a quiet and modest life, and sophia died in 1492, peacefully, of old age.

#lore post #oc: maykacha argith #oc: zarthrae argith #oc: snow walker

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years

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The Arms Of A Woman

burnsoslow said:

Dear TBFF, I'm requesting a My Love one-shot with Ellie screaming for Drake while he talks to his beautiful girlfriend, and then him hanging up to call her back on Facetime ... and other details. 😍😍😍😍😍

I don’t even have words for what I just wrote. You asked for a simple request a week and a half ago and it blew up into this monstrosity of 8225 words.

Pairing: Drake x OC (Alyssa)

_____________________________________________

He was Liam's best man.

She was Riley's matron of honor.

Drake first laid his eyes on Alyssa at the wedding rehearsal, but couldn't meet hers. The petite brunette with the brightest blues flashed a dimpled smile at him when they were formally introduced. He swore her face was glowing. It was as if the sun itself shone directly on her at that moment. If beauty could be adequately defined, this woman was the epitome of Drake's definition.

She wasn't noble. She wasn't from a wealthy, pretentious family. She wasn't even from Cordonia. She was the opposite of every woman he had become accustomed to knowing. Simple, upbeat, and not fake, all of which was an instant attraction to her. Having spent the entire week getting to know each other, she made him feel more carefree than he had been since childhood. He smiled more with her and because of her, and yet still, he considered her out of his league.

Drake tried to shake away the connection he felt with her. He was whiskey and beer, where he saw Alyssa as a fine wine that deserved to be savored by the most delicate lips. A woman like that would never want someone like him.

She asked him to dance with her at the reception with that sweet voice that penetrated his heart. Fuck if he didn't want to with everything in him, but -- it was her. It was her. What if he mis-stepped or was out of rhythm or made her embarrassed with just how inept on his feet he truly was?

What if he wrapped his arms around her and couldn't let go?

What if he never wanted to?

Drake's heart skipped a beat when she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor.

Her skin was soft and smooth.

His was worn and rough.

The young Walker tried to resist, but the urge to touch her was too powerful. He had to know what her body felt like pressed against his.

She seemed to want the same thing.

Alyssa's feet glided gracefully, and her tiny little form fit perfectly in his arms. Her eyes flitted when she laughed. And her nose wrinkled when he said something funny.

Her lush brown hair smelled of raspberries and mint.

The same scent that would remain on the pillow next to his for weeks.

She took his heart with her when she returned to New York the next day, but didn't know it. Was it possible for this woman to fully grasp what she did to him?

Drake and Alyssa would come face to face again one year later at Riley's funeral. If either of them ever needed someone to take the grief away, this was the time. Neither one spoke as they commiserated over a cheap whiskey bottle in his room and collapsed into each other's arms. There were no words that could be spoken to take the pain of losing their best friend.

Comfort would come in the form of insobriety, and his lips brushing over hers as both of their tears meshed together.

Drake took her as his that night for only the second time.

Their bodies cried out to one another as if the other held all the power in the universe to mend a broken heart. To chase all the pain away.

And as if a gust of wind swept through Drake's room that morning and carried her away, she was gone again. No goodbye, no note, no fuck you -- just nothing.

But Drake learned something about Alyssa that night: She may be a rare vintage, but she was all whiskey.

His whiskey.

The only brand he ever wanted to thirst for again.

He needed his hands on that bottle and the taste of its liquid on his tongue.

It drove him insane that she was no longer there to quench his thirst. To make him laugh again and feel like a lovesick fool. He hated the feeling, but at the same time, he had never felt like that with anyone else. Perhaps that's how he knew she was real.

That what he felt was real.

Drake stood in front of his mirror each morning, glaring back at the reflection of a man who had a craving so intense for a woman that his body shook and his heart bled with want.

Who the fuck was he kidding, though? He was Drake Walker. Just a simple commoner lost in a sea of glitz and glamour, gold and filigree. He never belonged in that world and never would. Except for Liam and Maxwell, no one wanted him there. Hell, even his own mother and sister, left him.

As the days turned into weeks, then weeks into months, he couldn't help but believe Alyssa Claire Devereaux would do the same given a chance. Fucking forget her Walker, she will never want you the way you want her. She's gone! And even if she comes back, she'll just leave … they always fucking leave. Forget her. YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

That's what he did … forgot. It was so much easier to conceal his heart in a hard shell and protect it from the hurt everyone inevitably caused him than to let it consume him. Besides, he had to take care of Liam and Ellie. They needed him more than he needed to think about his own affliction.

But, God, that woman was hard to forget.

Drake moved out of the palace shortly after Riley returned for good. It relieved him that one of his closest friends was back, but he needed to get out from under Liam's wing. Drake wanted to be his own man in the quiet solitude that his dad's old cabin in the woods provided. It was everything he ever wanted, and yet somehow, there was still something missing.

Drake spent months upgrading the cabin to become more habitable for himself, but also hoped he would one day be able to share it with someone special. He felt kind of silly fixing this old lakeside cabin up. Not that it didn't need it. The log home had certainly seen better days. It was just that every nail he hammered and the walls he painted and carpeting replaced was always done for someone he knew would never see it. His heart and soul went into perfecting a home that he was sure she would never share with him.

Alyssa flew to Cordonia to visit Riley twice after she returned, and each time Drake was asked to stop by.

He never did.

Seeing her would only serve as a reminder of his place in this world. Not that she ever made him feel like that, but Alyssa would never … could never want him with the depth of desire and yearning he had for her. He was a man of little means and had nothing to offer her. Alyssa should have … no ...she deserved to have the best. The best wasn't something he could give her or anyone else for that matter.

Damn it, if he didn't want to, though.

Standing on the front porch of his cabin one evening, Drake spoke on the phone with Liam, who wanted to know why he hadn't shown up for Riley's baby shower. Drake rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to explain how busy he had been in the past few days. He hated lying to his best friend but knowing that Alyssa was there was all the excuse he needed not to attend. Besides, what the hell would he do at a baby shower? And it was the couples, second child, in one year; how many more damn things did they need?

He grazed his thumb along the smooth wood railing of his porch and tossed back another cold one; it complemented perfectly with the chilly air that stung his bare arms.

The pain reminded him he could still feel outside his heart.

Hearing the gravel crackle in the distance, he glanced at the long winding driveway that rarely saw another vehicle aside from his old truck. Drake shielded his eyes from the bright yellow of halogen lights weaving and bobbing over the rocky terrain and coming to a dead stop behind his truck. He arched his neck and squinted to see who the hell was at his house this late in the evening. Did some dumb fuck get lost like the last two cars that stopped by?

"Is … is that Riley's car?" Drake muttered to himself.

His heart sprang from his chest when he saw the small, curvy figure with long brown hair that he had long since memorized. Alyssa hastily stepped out of the driver's side and slammed the door.

Drake tentatively walked off the porch and paused at the bottom of the steps, stunned to see her.

She stood next to the car with her chest heaving, brows knitted. "Well? Say something," she demanded.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Looking at her was painful, and yet it was like the sun emerged from the black cloud that was his life. "What do you want me to say, Alyssa?"

"Anything! Something! I don't know! Maybe start with why the hell you've been avoiding me every time I'm here."

Drake didn't move nor speak. Fear controlled him like a rope wound so tightly around his neck; it stifled him. Why did she have to be there?

Alyssa moved closer to him, and Drake panicked. He took a step back and held a hand up to stop her. "Don't… just fucking don't. Not this time, Alyssa. You need to get back in that car and drive your ass back to wherever you came from like you always do and never come back here again."

Her eyes welled up at his words, and her voice broke with emotions. "Why are you saying that? This has nothing to do with me, and you know --"

"IT HAS EVERY DAMN THING TO DO WITH YOU!!" He snapped. "I'm in love with you so goddamn much it hurts! I think I have since the first time I saw you, Alyssa! And … and I'm so fucking tired of not knowing what to do with that. I just … I'm just … I'm not good enough for you. And I never will. I've accepted that."

Drake covered his eyes; he never cried in front of anyone, and he sure as hell wasn't about to break down in front of the woman he shouldn't love more than his own breath.

"Not good enough for me? NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME? Why do you think I came all the way out here tonight? I needed you to know that I love you too. So don't you dare give me that, not good enough, bullshit, Walker." Alyssa erupted into her own grievous tears and ran to Drake, enveloping him in her arms. As much as he wanted to refuse her embrace and shield himself from the eventual hurt that he had convinced himself she would cause, he couldn't do it. The truth was, he missed her.

Every good thing that he had or ever would have, he saw in her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I know, Drake. I know."

Drake balled a fist full of her hair and slightly tipped her head back to look deeply into her eyes. "No, you don't know. I want you. I always wanted you. And damn it, I always will want you." He crashed his lips into hers with such force, with such need and unyielding fervor, it nearly took her breath away.

"I want you too, damn it. Only you," Alyssa said through their heated kiss." Just don't give up on me."

Drake broke his lips from Alyssa's, breathless and filled with hunger. "I won't. Not this time." He lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her inside the cabin.

Through desperate kisses and hot tears, scattered clothes, and impressed skin, he laid her down on the rug in front of the fireplace. All the pent up disappointments, the hurt, and the staggering need he mounted up over the past two years manifested itself through every passionate grip and curled tongue. He wanted to show his worth, still not believing he could be anything she needed.

Their hearts drummed to the same beat and rhythm. It matched the cadence of his thrusts and her pleasured moans.

Everything he ever wanted to say to her was told that night through his touch, taste, and sight. Drake wasn't sure she would get the message, but he damn sure would try.

And as the flicker and flames of the fire's red and orange hues danced like fireflies over her rounded breast and the junction of her quivering thighs, he couldn't have been clearer.

And he did this over and over and over until she finally fell asleep in his arms.

Does she really love me?

Would she still be here in the morning? He worried

He hoped.

Pulling her sleeping form as close to his as he could, he kissed her shoulder and nestled his forehead against hers, and would meet her again in his dreams.

The next morning, as the black sky disappeared behind a spreading wave of yellow rays and luminous shades of pastel blue, Drake's eyes fluttered open to empty arms -- again. His heart spontaneously crashed into the pit of his stomach, and a burning sensation formed at the back of his constricted throat.

It was then that he decided the rest of the day would be spent wallowing over every intoxicating beverage he could get his rough hands on. To hell with her.

No, fuck that -- TO HELL WITH HER!!.

Laying flat on his back with an arm draped over his cloudy eyes, he damned the world and himself for allowing her another chance, for letting his guard down and thinking that maybe she cared.

He sat up with a heavy groan and stared at the pile of clothes that trailed from the door to where he laid. Mixed in with his jeans, old white tee, leather work boots, and socks, was her red lacy panties, bra, two black heels, and a dress. His heart raced, and he swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. Was he foolish enough to believe, to hope, to wish, that she was still there? That … that maybe she did want him.

That he was good enough for her.

Drake rose to his feet and quickly threw on his boxers. The smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen, combined with her melodic voice singing hit him like a bolt of electricity through every cell in his body.

She … she stayed.

He walked hesitantly toward the sound and pushed the carved cedar door that led to the kitchen open. There she was in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand and the handle of a pan in the other. She was sashaying her hips to the music she created with a towel draped over her damp hair and wearing the buttoned-up denim shirt he wore last night -- the globes of her ass peeking out.

Alyssa didn't hear him approach as she flipped over a piece of bacon, and both of his greedy hands grabbed on to her bare ass. She jerked up at his touch with a shriek, then giggled playfully.

The scent of blueberry pancakes and bacon filled the kitchen, but the only scent he wanted to inhale came from her.

He twisted the knobs on the stove to turn the burners off and moved the hot pans aside under her confused stare. "Drake, what are you doing? I'm trying to make you breakfast."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and sunk his teeth into the side of her neck. "Forget the breakfast for now. You're the only thing I've wanted to devour for two damn years, and the only thing I ever will again."

"Drake --"

Without warning, he hoisted her up, lowered her onto the opposite counter, thrust her legs apart, and before she even had time to prepare herself for what was happening, his tongue separated her pink slit.

HIS whiskey.

Drake's blood pumped frantically like an addict getting his first fix in years until her legs contracted and squeezed around his head. The tighter she clamped down, the louder she moaned, the higher her hips bucked, and the deeper her fingernails clawed into his rumpled hair, the more intoxicated by her taste he became. It couldn't have been clearer, Alyssa savored every sensation he gave her, but the greatest feeling came from knowing he loved and desired her.

It was the only thing she ever wanted from him too.

After they showered together and finished breakfast in the kitchen, he had some place special he wanted to show her. Taking her by the hand, they walked to the lakeshore just behind his cabin. The calm and solemnity of the water's edge lapping and brushing against rock and sediment was a welcomed retreat from the world around them.

Not that anything or anyone else mattered outside the two of them at that moment.

Alyssa's face lit up in wonder when the pair approached a clearing just past the dock filled with ducks. She had heard their calls from the cabin porch while eating breakfast, but couldn't believe her eyes at the multitudes of mallards that floated elegantly on the surface. Seeing her so mesmerized by something so simple only made Drake's feelings for her that much stronger. As Alyssa's eyes glittered from the picturesque scene before her, Drake walked over to a storage bin on the dock and pulled out a small paper bag.

With her hands clasped over her mouth, he held the bag out. "Wanna feed them?"

Alyssa lowered her hand with a grateful smile. "Really? I would love to." She excitedly took the bag from him and filled her small hand full with the tiny pellets. She looked at him as if she were asking for permission before he nodded, and she tossed them into the water.

Drake chuckled over her self-satisfied smile that beamed through those large dimples he loved. For such a small woman, he mused, she was larger than life.

He watched with amusement as Alyssa made sure every duck got at least a little something to eat. She even made Drake get another bag full as she got onto the bigger ducks for stealing from the smaller ones.

"This is amazing, Drake." She lit at as she tossed out her last handful and rubbed the residue from her hands.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and nipped at her ear. "Well, I think you're amazing."

Drake led her further down to a cove covered with large, overhanging tree branches encased in Spanish moss and a canvas of corded vines. There was scarcely enough room for the sunlight's rays and warmth to shine through the tethered foliage. Alyssa squealed as soon as she saw the rope with the tire hanging down. Drake released his hand from hers, knowing she would most likely do so anyway, eager to get to the swinging object that caught her eye.

He let out a chuckle when she did exactly that.

She hadn't changed from that enthusiastic girl he first met at the wedding rehearsal two years prior when they spent the better part of the week touring the capitol. She made him stop everywhere, always mesmerized by the beauty of a flower she'd never seen before, to make conversation with a local vendor that took no less than an hour, or to watch an elderly couple embracing one another in love. All the things that generally pissed him off when Maxwell was with him, never fazed him when Alyssa did it. He found her bubbly personality, endearing.

Among other things.

Such as all of her attempts to get her little legs through that tire swing. Alyssa insisted she could do it by herself when he offered to help, so he stepped back, but was always ready to catch her if she were to fall. Upon her sixth and final attempt, she got her foot stuck on the inside rim and dangled backward with her other leg wrapped around the outside of it. As she grasped the rope tightly for her life and spun in wild circles, she laughed out, "HAHA, I told you I could do it!"

Drake dropped his face into his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter at the sight before him. She seemed perfectly content twisting around that tire and rope, but he couldn't let her stay like that long fearing she would get hurt. He reached under her arms and held her in place so she would be able to get both legs through.

Alyssa paused to glance up at him with a humored grin. "I still did it all by myself."

He nodded with a snicker back at her. "Yeah. I agree. you did do that all by yourself."

Drake placed his hands on her slender back and pushed her gently forward. While she swung, they caught up on what they had been doing since seeing each other last. She was still teaching Kindergarten and was currently on Spring Break. He had just landed a new job with the transportation department as a survey technician.

She hadn't dated anyone seriously since they were together after the funeral.

He hadn't dated anyone at all.

She would have to return to New York in two days.

He would be left behind without her again.

And as much as he didn't want to think about her leaving, he found some solace in knowing she loved him.

Alyssa loved him. This incredible, funny, intelligent, beautiful, throw-caution-to-the-wind, woman loved him. And she loved him not for what he could buy her or where he could take her in life, but just because he was Drake. It blew his mind; very few people saw him as nothing more than a shadow in the corner. Alyssa wanted to shine a light in that corner or die becoming a shadow with him.

Drake would wake up the following two mornings just as the light tinted the sky, brush her hair aside, and admire the woman who captivated him in ways he'd never understand.

They made love several times, fished on the lake, and spent their evenings wrapped up together in a blanket on the porch swing listening to crickets and talking until their eyelids grew heavy.

Well, Alyssa did most of the talking, but he never enjoyed listening to someone more than he did her.

Two days later at the airport, lost in a sea of faces all coming and going, chatting, carrying on with their hectic daily lives, two lovers stood amongst the crowds wrapped in each other's embrace and spoke their last farewells.

Drake placed his hands on the side of her jawline, his thumbs grazing her cheeks, and placed a kiss he hoped would last them both until she returned nearly two months later. Alyssa's face fell into his broad chest with tears pouring down her red hot cheeks, and clung to his shirt, not ready to leave him. When the last call for her flight was announced, he sucked in a deep breath feeling that old familiar ache he had experienced without her before.

He placed a gentle peck onto the top of her head and swallowed hard. "You'll call me when you land, right?"

She looked at him earnestly, with swollen eyes and a quivering chin. "I promise I will. And every day after that."

His hand shook as he swept a strand of hair away from her eyes, disheartened, but not wanting her to leave without saying one last thing to her. "I love you, Alyssa," he declared through a broken whisper he wished could have been spoken louder, but his heart stung.

With a stuttered breath, she smiled back at the man who captured her heart and soul in every way possible. "I love you too, Drake."

Following one last longing kiss and glance, Drake stood motionless while watching Alyssa disappear through the gate that led to her plane and out of his presence again.

And as the crowds hustled around him trying to catch their flights, Drake was unwilling to move from that spot. Even after a shoulder bump and a luggage cart slammed into the back of his heel, he refused to budge. He knew it was crazy, but a part of him wanted to wait there until she returned in six weeks. Six weeks was a long time to go without her and driving back to an empty cabin was not something he was looking forward to. Alyssa made that place so much more enjoyable -- she made it a home. The only home he would ever want again.

A smirk curled his lips when a sudden thought crossed his mind. It was more like an idea he was surprised he hadn't entertained before this moment. Would it still be there, he pondered.

With his heart racing, he drove back home and ran straight to his bedroom. Drake pulled the top drawer of his dresser out and tossed it onto his unmade queen-sized bed. A handful of socks were hurled aside, and a stack of briefs was lifted to peek under.

Nothing but an empty wooden surface was below.

The second drawer dropped to the floor, and Drake fell to his knees as he hurriedly sifted through folded shirts and some old mail he had no idea why he saved anymore.

Nothing. "Damn it."

He was confident the last place he put it was in this dresser, so panic set in as he stared at the third and final drawer. Drake rubbed the back of his neck and inhaled deeply. "Pull yourself together, man," he said to himself, wrapped his hand around the brass knobs, and pulled back.

Hidden under a pile of old photos and magazines was a small metal safe with a combination lock. Drake's eyes shot to the ceiling as he ran a series of numbers through his head. Biting his lip in deep concentration, he twisted the turn style of numbers and pulled the lock off.

It was like discovering an untouched gold mine as he grabbed the ring box and lifted the top. Inside was his grandmother's simple gold band engagement ring with a small Old European cut solitaire. It didn't have a lot of sparkle or shine to it, but if he dropped it off at the jewelers in the morning, perhaps they could bring it back to life. He wanted Alyssa to have the greatest symbol of his love and devotion to her, and this ring was one of his most treasured items. Only someone as special as Alyssa deserved to wear it.

________

As promised, Alyssa called when she landed and every day following.

Four weeks after leaving Cordonia, she stepped out of a cab following a later than usual dinner with some work friends. She unlocked the door to her Brooklyn apartment and tossed the keys onto her kitchen counter. The dinner had been dreadful; she knew better than to order a steaming plate of fajitas. When the waiter swept the plate across her face, the smell of hot green peppers and onions hit the bottom of her stomach like a boulder. It didn't take long before a warmth spread throughout her body, and a cold sweat erupted across her flushed face.

Alyssa let out a small chuckle to herself as she began digging through her purse for her phone. She hoped the poor waiter had forgiven her for the mess she made on his shoes. A $20 tip was enough, or at least she forced herself to believe it was. Mortified by the mishap, Alyssa had apologized profusely to the patrons of the restaurant and her friends who were demanding their money back from the hostess as she left.

She swore she would never return.

It was 10:03 p.m. Alyssa was three minutes late with her daily call to Drake. She pulled out loose tissues, dozens of flair pens, her wallet, and some ginger candy she purchased yesterday, from her purse.

Her cell wasn't in there.

She searched around her feet, thinking maybe she dropped it when she set her purse down.

Slamming her fatigued eyes shut with a groan, Alyssa remembered exactly where she saw her phone last: sitting on the table at the restaurant.

She gestured animately toward the heavens. "Why? Why do you hate me today?"

Swallowing what little dignity she had left, Alyssa locked up her apartment, hailed another cab, and shuffled back to the place she had just cleared out with her bout of evening sickness.

The line of angry guests had dwindled to only an elderly couple since she left—a fact she was thankful for.

The hostess recognized her immediately, rolled her eyes, and reached under the podium. "I suppose you're looking for this," she said with a condescending tone and a scowl, holding out Alyssa's cell phone.

Alyssa smiled back sheepishly and retrieved the device from the woman she now wished she had vomited on instead. "It is. Thank you."

As she rode in her third cab in the last 30 minutes, she swiped her phone cover to unlock it. The ultrasound photo to confirm her pregnancy yesterday was visible on the home screen. Alyssa glided a gentle thumb over the picture, swearing this tiny little peanut looked like its father already. How was it possible to love someone you'd never met this much?

Smiling down at the little black-and-white photo, Alyssa sighed, feeling nothing but joy. "Our baby."

Scrolling through her contacts, she pressed Drake's name, and he picked up on the first ring.

"Devereaux!"

"Hey, baby. I'm so so sorry that I'm calling later than usual, but I had dinner with some friends and left my phone at the restaurant." It was killing her not to tell him, literally killing her. She swore when she took the pregnancy test, and the next twenty tests after that, Drake just had to be told in person. No one should get news like that over the phone. Plus, she felt like she knew him well enough to know he would worry and want to catch the first plane to New York. With a new job, Alyssa didn't want Drake to make the wrong impression on his new employers already.

"Nah, it's okay," he lied. Drake had been worried sick she changed her mind about him, or that something terrible had happened. "I'm on my way to the hospital with Liam and Ellie to visit Riley, and I guess now celebrate two birthdays."

Alyssa chuckled. "Riley always was terrible with dates, so it's a good thing both girls will have the same birthday. Speaking of which, is that the birthday girl I hear screaming in the background."

"Yeah. She's not happy with Uncle Drake talking to his other girl. She keeps reaching for the phone and shit." There was a long pause as Ellie screeched in the background. Alyssa could hear Drake trying to calm her down with the most gentle and patient voice she had ever heard him speak in. If Alyssa weren't already slightly nauseous, she would swear the butterflies in her stomach had taken over. He is going to be such a good daddy, she thought.

Drake got back on the phone. "Hey, baby girl, do you mind if I facetime you? I think seeing her Aunt Lyssie would help."

"Yes! Aunt Lyssie approves of that idea. It also gives her the chance to see Uncle Drake's handsome face that she is missing real, real bad."

The cab pulled up next to the curb outside of Alyssa's apartment, and she asked Drake to give her a moment to get upstairs and then call.

Alyssa sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted, but loved seeing Ellie on the video chat, and it calmed the little girl down. And as much as Alyssa missed him, she was somewhat thankful the limo was so close to the hospital when Drake called back. She didn't know how much longer she could keep her eyes open, and Drake could tell after her fifth time yawning he needed to cut it short, anyway.

"Baby doll, we're pulling up now, and you look like you're ready to fall asleep on me. I'll let ya go."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no. I want to talk ..." She covered her mouth to disguise another yawn. "It's just been a really long day, and the dinner, and my phone, and --"

"Lyssa, Sweetheart, go to bed. It's fine. I have to get inside, anyway."

"I know." She sighed. "I'll call you tomorrow. On-time ... probably."

Drake laughed. "Then, I can't wait ... probably. Get some rest. Love you, sweet girl."

She blushed every time he spoke those words. This time was no exception. "I love you too."

The next two weeks passed by at a snail's pace for both Drake and Alyssa. The anticipation of seeing each other again after what felt like an eternity apart made the days unbearable. Keeping busy with work and friends could only sustain their sanity for so long. Both were eager to share life-changing news—both a little nervous over what the other would say.

With school officially wrapped up for the summer, Alyssa packed everything she would need for a few weeks and left her apartment key with a friend to water her nearly dead plants while she was away. With her pregnancy now in the eighth week, taking care of those plants became more important to her. If she couldn't take care of them, how would she care for a baby? It made no sense to her either, but hormone changes made her a little more irrational over the past week.

Liam was kind enough to send the jet for her. Alyssa had initially planned to visit Cordonia after school let out anyway to help Riley with the babies and spend some time with the friend she thought was deceased almost one year ago. Liam nor Riley was ready quite yet to trust another nanny. With Alyssa being so good with children, they were hopeful they could persuade her to stay and take on the task full time.

She boarded the plane just before midnight, trying to stay awake for most of it to compensate for the jet lag that awaited her. Early pregnancy would not cooperate, and she slept almost the entire duration of the flight.

Upon landing in Cordonia at near dusk, she was pleasantly surprised to find Riley waiting for her on the tarmac next to the limo.

Running to her long-time friend, Alyssa wrapped her arms around her. "Riiiiiillley!!!"

"Alyyyyyyssa!!"

Alyssa pulled back and looked over her best friend. "I can hardly tell you just had a baby two weeks ago. Look at you! You look great."

Riley subconsciously rubbed her hand over the small bump she had and smirked. "God, I love you."

Alyssa hugged her former roommate once more. "Not as much as I love you."

As they rode in the limo back to the palace, Alyssa helped herself to a ginger ale in the mini-fridge and took a long drink. "Not that I"m not thrilled that you came, but I thought you were sending Mara to pick me.

"Liam insisted I be the one to meet you. He and Maxwell are taking care of the girls, which gives me a chance to get a little break."

Alyssa took another sip and screwed the cap back on. "Have you seen Drake?"

Riley shook her head. "Not since Evie was born. He really hasn't been around much lately."

"Not ... not even today? Like, before you left?" She asked with a tinge of surprise.

Riley rubbed a comforting hand up and down Alyssa's slender arm. "I'm sorry, sweetie. No."

Alyssa sunk back into her seat, somewhat disappointed. Drake knew she was arriving today. In each of their conversations this week, he told her how excited he was to see her. As much as she wanted just to shrug it off, it hurt her that the man who professed his love to her, wouldn't be there to see her today. She knew it was silly -- he probably worked late today -- but it didn't stop her from fretting. She pulled out her phone to see if he tried to call or text, and there was nothing from him. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry ... I'm going to cryyyyyyy.

The limo pulled into the palace; Alyssa and Riley grabbed her bags from the trunk. She glanced around to see if Drake's truck was there.

It wasn't.

Sucking her lips between her teeth to prevent the desperate urge to burst into tears, she hoped Riley didn't ask her too many questions. Speaking was not something she could risk at that moment. She knew if her mouth opened, the sob she had staved off during the ride would erupt.

Staff was ready to take Alyssa's bags when they passed through the gilded doors. Liam was standing at the foot of the grand staircase with a phone in hand and shoved it into his pocket when he caught sight of the girls.

"Liam?" Riley asked with a puzzled looked. "What are you doing down here? Where are the girls?"

He kissed his wife. "They're fine, love. Both are sleeping, and Maxwell is with them." Liam then turned to Alyssa and greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. "Alyssa. It's great to have you back with us. I hope your flight was comfortable."

She nodded with half a smile. "It was very nice. Thank you for letting me use the jet."

"You didn't answer my question, Liam." Riley furrowed her brows." Why are you down here? Is everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, you and I need to go upstairs." He grabbed Riley's hand and then looked to Alyssa with a mischievous smile. "And you. You need to go into the ballroom."

Confused, Alyssa gestured to herself. "Me? Why?"

"Just ... trust me. Go in the ballroom. Your Prince awaits."

Riley did not understand what the hell was going on, and knowing she couldn't keep a secret from her best friend, Liam knew it was for the best she didn't. She prodded him for information all the way back to their quarters -- he never relented.

Alyssa placed her hand on the gold handle set that adorned the ballroom door and pulled back. He came.

Her breath hitched when the darkened room that held fancy royal gatherings, suddenly lit up with thousands of small white lights. She crossed the entrance, unsure of what was occurring. "Hello," she called out.

The quiet ballroom abruptly came alive with an old familiar tune that she knew by heart. It was so special to her that her heart grew with nostalgia ... or perhaps, deja vu. She clutched her chest with an enormous smile that shined brighter than all the lights in that room combined. Playing in the background was the first song she danced with Drake to. I can't believe he remembered that.

At last, my love has come along

My lonely days are over, and life is like a song

At last, the skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped in clover the night I looked at you

Out of the corner of her eyes, Alyssa spotted Drake, dressed in his nicest pair of blue jeans, a buttoned-up flannel dress shirt, and a suit jacket. She bit her bottom lip and cast a bashful glance his way. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and the way he was swaggering toward her with that wide grin made her belly clench.

“Drake. What's going on?"

He grasped hold of her hand and leaned down to place a gentle peck on her eager lips. "Maybe, I missed you a little."

Still holding her hand, he led her to the center of the ballroom, never taking his love-filled eyes off her. "Maybe, I missed you a lot."

When they reached the midpoint of the room, Drake stood in front of her and circled his brawny arms under hers, his large hands resting on her back. He studied her eyes with so much desire and affection that it sent a surge of heat throughout her body and made her knees tremble.

"And maybe ... I wanted to take the most beautiful woman in the world to the same spot I fell in love with her two years ago."

Tears pricked at her bright blue eyes. "Drake," she muttered fondly.

"I believe you forced me to dance with you that night."

She chuckled through a soft cry. "I did. Yes."

He nipped her nose softly and then her forehead. "No one's forcing me now."

Drake still hated dancing, but by God, he would recreate that night for her even if it killed him. His feet never lifted from the floor, but he shuffled side to side with her in his arms.

If he didn't hold on to her, Alyssa would swear she'd float away. She rested her head on his bulky chest, his heart pounding against her delicate cheek. The smell of his cologne drifting like lead through her nostrils.

He lifted one of her slender arms above her head and twirled her around twice. It was the most romantic gesture anyone had ever done for her. And she smiled through the sudden queasiness that his cologne and those two turns had exacerbated.

Drake caressed the center of her back with tiny circles of his thumb. Every stroke was delicate and deliberate. He gazed down at her clammy face, feeling convinced she was charmed with him and his actions. Now was the perfect time for the big finish.

""Alyssa. I've dreamt of this moment for almost two years. Ever since we stood on this very dance floor for the first time, and I held you tightly in my arms. I didn't want to let go of you that night, and ... I don't want to let go of you now. Ever."

Every word he spoke enchanted Alyssa. It touched her on another level that she relished and savored. She also felt the gurgling in her stomach that made her desperate for the ginger candy in her purse. Fuck, where's my purse.

Drake reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the velvet ring box.

He bent down onto one knee.

Alyssa's hand shot to her mouth.

He smiled up at her. "Alyssa. I love you so much. And I've gone too long feeling this way for you, and I'll be damned if I let you go again. I want you to be mine ... at last. Forever. Would you marry me?"

Alyssa shook her head affirmatively with her hands still clasped firmly over her mouth. She wanted to answer him so badly.

Drake furrowed his brows; a troubled looked in his dark eyes. "Baby girl? Is ... that a yes? I'm... I'm not sure ... what you're trying to tell me right now."

Still holding the ring that glistened from the little lights up to her, Drake became increasingly desperate for an answer. His brown eyes were so full and glassy; she could see her reflection in them.

Alyssa lowered her hands, took a shallow breath through her nose, and slowly blew it past her lips. She did this three times before sighing in relief as the nausea she was suffering from subsided gradually.

Feeling terrible for the man she loved with all of her heart, who just proposed to her, and was still on his knees waiting rather despondently for an answer, Alyssa flashed a radiant smile at him. "I'm trying to tell you ... YES!!!! My answer will always be yes!"

Drake slid the ring on her finger, her hand shaking the entire time.

He jumped up and, with a broad sweep of his arms, lifted her into a passionate kiss they both got lost in.

Drake had been madly in love with her for two years. And though she had been thousands of miles away during that time, he never got over her. And as he lowered her back down to the floor, his hands ghosting through her hair, and her soft hands gripping his sides, every part of himself couldn't believe she would forever be his. That all those lonely nights of longing and wishing for the woman that captured his heart wasn't in vain. She said yes to him.

Drake Walker finally got the girl.

He rested his forehead on hers, still amazed, but never felt more love and joy than he did at that moment.

Until ...

"Alyssa, you've made me happier than I ever thought was possible. I swear I don't think there is anything that will ever top this."

Alyssa gripped the charm of her necklace and slid it back and forth along the chain with a sly grin. "I think I may know of a way to top it."

Drake pulled her into a kiss. "Oh baby, trust me, there's gonna be plenty of that too," he said with a sexy smirk while grinding his hips into her.

"Huh?" Alyssa looked down at feeling the hardness of his groin pressed into her. "Oh. Oh. No, no ... I mean, yes, but ... no, that's not what I was referring to."

A rosy red shaded Drake's cheeks, then he watched with curiosity as Alyssa reached around to her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. He couldn't help but admire the ring on her finger --his ring -- while she scrolled and danced her slender fingers eagerly over the screen. The brightness of the light from her phone made it easier for him to catch the glow that flitted across her face when it became apparent she found what she was looking for.

Alyssa lowered the phone to her chest under his unrelenting stare, not wanting him to see just yet. A questioning smile crept across his lips. He couldn't imagine what his fiancee had on that phone she was so sure could make him any happier as she seemed to insinuate. Whatever it was, it thrilled her to show him.

Alyssa drew in a sharp breath. Nervousness would be an understatement for what she felt. Nervous of his reaction. Nervous about what the future held. Nervous about sharing something so special with this man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Removing the phone she held so close to her chest, she glanced down at the screen with a soft smile and then turned it around to show Drake.

As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he bent down to get a better look.

"Do you know what you're looking at, sweetie?"

Drake knew precisely what he was looking at, and her name typed in white against the black backdrop only confirmed what he wanted to know. After Alyssa, that picture was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Pride and love simmered heavily in his chest.

With his heart pounding, he thought about how right she was. He could be happier.

Over the emerging tears that clung thickly to his wide-open eyes, he swallowed hard; unsure words could come out. "Is that ...is that --"

Alyssa nodded through her own fresh tears and finished his thought for him. "Our baby, Drake. We made a baby."

Drake's hands flew to both sides of her face and crashed his lips into hers.

Not only did he get the girl.

Drake Walker finally got the family he always wanted.

What began as a simple flirtation at a wedding reception two years ago for their friends, that branded his heart with her name, turned into a lengthy love affair. The years had been filled with loneliness and sorrow for both, but in the end, they always knew the other was, The One.

She was his whiskey -- the one who held him together and brought him back to life.

He was her knight -- the one who would protect and defend her always.

Together, they could erase heartaches, fill the voids that had plagued them for years, and love infinitely.

The wedding was a simple affair held just over a month later by the lake in front of the cabin. The day was bright and warm; it accentuated perfectly with the western style theme. With only, Liam, Riley, the babies, Maxwell, and Hana gathered around, Drake married the woman he was always meant to be with. They chowed down afterward on a barbeque and cold beers.

Six months later, after twelve hours of labor, and him never leaving her side, they welcomed a happy and healthy baby girl.

And Drake Walker deserved his girls in the end. He was a worthy man. Money didn't make the man he realized. It was being a good father and husband.

And he was.

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

Text

TwiFicMas Day 8: Forgotten

Happy Day 8! I have been travelling all day, and plotting Forbidden Fics, so on with the show!

Today’s fic is an untitled riff on the concept of Alice being found in the woods of Forks not only having forgotten her entire life, but still human - her last solid memories are running from James. It was very much meant to be an exploration of Alice and Jasper relearning each other, and falling in love again - though it got quite dark and depressing at one point - and looking at how far Alice has come from her human years. She is absolutely unclear of the year she’s in, and whilst she has some memories of the asylum, she is also unaware of just how damaged she was before she was changed. I hope that all makes sense.

Onwards!

What does she remember?

That is a loaded question. Matron asks her that every morning, as if she is a small child, whenever she can manage to talk. Her mind is gossamer thin, and tattered from shock therapy. She doesn’t remember much, but she does remember that her name is… her name is… Alice, yes.

The waking dreams she has are an illness, a terrible one, and she is mad.

Her dearest friend is Eli, the orderly. He was special, and a good man. He looks after her.

That’s what she remembers. The hunter. Eli taking her away from the asylum, wrapped in his itchy, old coat that smelt like smoke and grass. She was cold and tired and so frightened for Eli, because he is old and the hunt was strong… but he hid her away and went off to defeat the hunter.

This Alice is not their Alice, that is clear.

She is undeniably human, and so frail that Carlisle must resist the urge to check her immediately into the closest hospital. She speaks quietly, wringing her hands nervously. She doesn’t make eye-contact.

For Jasper, all he can think is that her eyes are blue. Blue-grey, really, a colour that nearly matches a scarf she bought back in the 50s. She has faint freckles over her nose.

The Cullens are very kind to me, whilst Eli has gone. Dr Cullen seems to think that Eli and I will be living with them for now on; that does make sense, I suppose, since Dr Cullen is a doctor, and I am still very ill. They had a very nice bedroom to give me, and clothing, so Eli must have written them. And Mrs Cullen was very nice when the dress she gave me was far too short and it upset me. The second one was much better, though it was black and I am sure made me look as pale as a ghost.

Mrs Cullen has cooked for me, as well – the smells are awful to a vampire, and the rest of them vanish whenever she disappears into the kitchen. She is always asking me what I like to eat, and she looked so sad when I told her I didn’t know, because the food at the asylum was so awful.

I keep away from the others, like Eli warned me. Though, Miss Rosalie was so lovely, I couldn’t believe she was real. I… I think I had a doll like her once. Her husband was a giant of a man who reminded me of the orderlies at the asylum, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t getting too close.

The redheaded boy seemed to like watching me a lot, but refrained from talking much. He seemed to have a lot of friends, though, as when he did speak, he was always talking about ‘Bella’ and ‘Jacob’ and ‘Seth’ and ‘Leah’.

The young blond man did not seem to be pleased I was in the house, leaving the room anytime I entered it, and when he was forced to be in my presence, he glowered at me, as if I were the most unwelcome creature in the universe.

Perhaps it should have upset me, but I am used to such glares.

Dr Cullen insisted that I spend a lot of time resting quietly in my room, though he allowed me to sit in the garden for a little while each day, and there was a never-ending supply of books, which was wonderful. I spend a lot of time attempting to pen letters to Eli, though my hands were still quite shaky, and my handwriting abysmal. My drawings moreso. I cried about it a little, when I was in my room, but I should be very grateful – my alternative to this lovely place was death.

My bedroom remained a mystery. Mrs Cullen assured me that it was mine, and I adored everything about it – the way the light filled the room every morning, to the dandelion lamp on the nightstand, to the bed with the silk headboard and piles of pillows. Mrs Cullen was always worried I was cold, bringing me as many pillows and blankets as I wished for.

But, I wondered if perhaps this room wasn’t intended for me. Mrs Cullen had filled the dresser with my clothing, and apologised, explaining the closet was used as storage, and I shouldn’t go through it until she had some time to clear it out. I had peeked, just once, and found it full of boxes and clothing. The clothing! I had never seen so many dresses! Most of them had been terribly short, but there had been every colour and fabric. I couldn’t imagine leaving behind so many beautiful things.

There were spaces in the bookcase as well, as if several editions had been pulled out in a hurry.

And I had found a necklace that had been left on the window sill, behind the curtain – a thin silver chain, with a glass teardrop on the end. It was lovely, and clearly beloved – the initials had been rubbed off the clasp, as had the engraving around the setting.

I had simply left it on the dresser and never asked, even when it vanished without mention.

It wasn’t the only mystery. I had noticed that I was kept out of many of the rooms of the house – my meals were served to me on trays or in the dining room. I was allowed in the garden or in my room.

But who am I to criticise their hospitality? Perhaps they keep things in this house that are not fit for human eyes.

Today, a man arrived. A policeman, though his uniform was quite odd. He looked quite stern, and when Mrs Cullen went to greet him, I disappeared back to the dining room to finish my breakfast.

Mrs Cullen is determined to discover my ‘favourite’ foods at every meal; I don’t have the heart to tell her after the ‘soups’ and ‘porridges’ of the hospital, every food is my favourite. Today, it is eggs that are like little yellow clouds.

“Alice!” the policeman sees me there and he smiles, but looks confused for a moment.

My glass of orange juice slips from my fingers and all I can think is that he is looking for me, the hospital has searched for me and they will drag me back to that dark, dim little cell, and I’ll be without Eli this time.

I know I am crying and screaming, though it sounds quite feeble to my own ears, and Mrs Cullen is trying to calm me, and the policeman looks bewildered, and the redheaded boy – Edward – is there and trying to fix everything.

“She thinks Charlie is going to take her back,” he keeps saying. “Get Jasper down here to calm her down.”

I must look a fright, my hair has fallen around my face, and there is orange juice spilt all over my dress and Mrs Cullen’s floor and there is glass everywhere.

“Carlisle left some sedatives,” Miss Rosalie says finally, looking rather stunned. Everyone looks rather pained but finally Edward nods.

And then I am calm.

I slump to the floor, my arms wrapped around myself. I am still frightened, my heart pounding, but I am calm.

“Charlie is a friend,” Mrs Cullen is telling me soothingly, smoothing my hair from my face. “No one is going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go, we promise.”

The calm fades into grief, and I fling my arms around her neck and sob like a child and beg for someone to fetch Eli for me.

They sit me down in the lounge room, all of them watching me. Esme has an album in her lap, and looks so kind and worried. I keep checking my hair, to make sure it hasn’t come loose. It’s not really long enough to pin up well, and Miss Rosalie never pins hers up, but it feels right.

And then Dr Cullen speaks. His voice is gentle and sad and it takes a while for me to understand the words he is saying.

Eli is, most certainly, dead.

But so is the hunter, and his vile companions.

I don’t make a sound, but suddenly my cheeks are wet, and I am crying. Esme pulls me into her arms and rocks me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure he was a good man,” she murmurs against my head, and ice and fire rip through my veins and Edward hisses at Esme and I pull away, my heart pounding.

I’m sure he was a good man.

“What did he look like?” I demand from Dr Cullen, my voice hard but still shaking. “What did Eli look like?”

Dr Cullen looks startled and Esme is realising her mistake and I am realising that no one here has ever met Eli before. That I was never entrusted to these vampires by him.

Edward is just shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I never met Eli in person,” Dr Cullen says.

I let out a little moan, and wonder what comes next. A runaway girl in a borrowed dress.

Truly, how many times in my life shall I be left with nothing?

Perhaps I should have left the hunter to his meal and his pleasure. If I had known then what I do now, I would have.

My face is wet, and the collar of my sweater is sodden when I look up and spy a pair of shoes under the little console table in the entrance. They are small, small enough for me, and black, with a shiny gold toe. Worn, too, and I wonder whose they are. I wonder if that is why they took me in, to replace the ghost girl who left behind my bedroom and a closet full of clothing.

The family clearly doesn’t realise what I’m doing as I move towards the shoes. I am wearing good quality clothing – thick stockings and a grey dress with a black sweater – and now I have shoes. They cannot stop me leaving.

Well, they can. But I will fight until I am dead. I am tired of being a pawn.

Edward groans as I step into the shoes – a perfect fit, as if they were mine all along – and there is the fuzzy muttering I can never understand, and I wish they hung their coats by the door, but there is nothing for it.

Before I can open the front door, there is an iron-bar of an arm around my middle, and I look down and then up in shock, as Jasper bodily drags me away from my freedom.

“Let me go!” I squeal, trying to wriggle free. I am small enough that I could usually get out of Eli’s grasp; he would laugh and tell me I was like a cat, or a goldfish, too hard to catch. But this man, who has treated me with nothing but disdain, has compensated for my size, and I am trapped in his grasp.

“Stop it!” I shriek, and I try kicking and hitting, but it does nothing except bruise my poor limbs. Miss Rosalie’s husband is truly laughing at me, and I’m sure I look quite a sight, my eyes and face all red and wet, fighting against this ridiculous behemoth of a man. Eli was not so tall as the Cullen men, and it is most unhelpful.

“Please, let me go!” I beg, but my voice is cracking, slightly hysterical, as they discuss me. As if I am a naughty child instead of the girl they have lied to.

“You’re hurting me,” I finally offer, rather pitifully. That one always worked with Eli, and it works quite well now. The man nearly drops me, and stares at me in horror – a look that makes me feel terribly guilty, though my back does ache from being held in such a way.

“Jasper,” Edward is looking at him; he has the saddest, most heartbroken look on his face I have ever seen, and I feel awful. “It’s okay, she’s fine.”

Jasper shakes his head and turns; a second later, the door slams.

“He gets to leave,” I say grumpily, and Dr Cullen and Mrs Cullen just look stunned at what has transpired.

Within seconds, a plan is formed. Dr Cullen, Edward and Miss Rosalie’s husband go after Jasper, whom I have caused great distress to, apparently. Miss Rosalie and Mrs Cullen whisk me back upstairs, where I am brought a cup of tea, and ignore my questions about Eli, a sinking feeling in my stomach until my vision swims and I realise they have played the same terrible trick my mother used on me when the orderlies came to take me away. I tip sideways on the window seat and Mrs Cullen carries me easily to bed, and oh, I hate them all. I cannot cry or co-ordinate my arms to move or speak.

But I have learned a valuable lesson. They will be kind and take care of me, but I have no power nor choice. And if I strike out at them, I will be punished. A tiny, hysterical part of my brain is amused that their weapon of choice is pills crushed in tea when they could break me into tiny pieces, but I will be quite carefully about accepting food and drink now on.

The Cullens are not to be trusted.

The tea was brewed strong, because I sleep through the afternoon and night. When I wake, there is light slipping through the windows. Normally, I would attempt to wash and clothe myself before Mrs Cullen comes in, but today, I do not. I attend to my needs in the bathroom, and drink water in my cupped hands rather than risk whatever is mixed in with the glass on my nightstand.

And then I return to bed. It seems that is where they prefer me to be, so that is where I shall stay.

It is quite late, mid-morning, when Mrs Cullen ventures in with a tentative smile and a tray, and then a concerned look when I do no sit up nor greet her, still clad in yesterday’s dress. I do not respond to her greetings, and I feel like a dying animal when she finally leaves to fetch Dr Cullen.

Having the doctor in my bedroom makes me feel quite unclean, brings shadowy horrors from the asylum to the front of my mind that I try to push away as he checks my temperature and talks to me.

“Grief, especially for a beloved friend, can be overwhelming,” he says finally, smoothing my hair in a way that makes me shudder and pull away from him. “You should eat, to keep up your strength, Alice. But rest is a great healer.”

He and Mrs Cullen leave, though a plate of toast and a glass of juice is left on my nightstand, and I wonder how many pills they have crushed into the mix. I wait forty minutes before I deposit the toast and juice down the toilet – they shall never guess that I didn’t consume it myself.

I am right, of course. Mrs Cullen’s smile brightens when she sees the empty dishes. I have been good and obedient and all is well, in the Cullens’ eyes.

They might think that they can control me and win whatever terrible game this is, but I grew up in a hellish place, learnt cruelty and sneakiness from the very best at it. No matter what they think they can do to me, I’ve survived worse. And I will survive them, too.

It has been almost a week since the terrible altercation, and they all suspect me. I refuse to leave my room, content to take my meals up there and read. The food is discarded via the bathroom, and I drink only from the tap. My bones are returning to the surface. Hunger is an old bedmate, one I’ve known since I was a girl, and I barely notice it anymore.

The brunette girl looks quite rough, in her trousers and shapeless sweater. She looked quite sour, too, as we sat in the dining room.

There is little chatter as she presents the food she brought with her. Apparently, the popular opinion is that I am so grief-stricken that Mrs Cullen’s food no longer tempts me, and that this strange girl can provide something that I will eat.

The sandwich is wrapped up in paper, with stickers to keep it sealed – it gives me slightly more confidence that the food has not been tampered with, though my body is well trained in going without food, and I am full after only picking at it for a little while.

The girl – Isabella, daughter of the Policeman Charlie – doesn’t talk much, and when she does, every second word is Edward’s name. It’s strange; I’m faintly reminded of my cousins fretting over boys, a hazy memory of a conversation I had no interest in, and wondered if they ever read a book.

Since I ate, the meal is declared a success, and Isabella is encouraged to return any time - with more food, and I wonder how many conversations about Edward I shall have to sit through.

I rather shocked the family, today. Dr Cullen weighed me in my nightdress, and found out that I had lost another two pounds. All that good work, undone. Mrs Cullen had looked terribly sad, and Miss Rosalie had scowled.

“If you don’t start eating, we’ll take you to the hospital and they’ll force you to eat,” she practically growls at me, and I wish I could laugh in her face.

“They attach a feeding tube to your mouth, and they will tie you down,” Miss Rosalie keeps speaking. I tilt my head to the side and think of the asylum, of everything I have lived through in eight years. Nothing Miss Rosalie can tell me will scare me.

“Please, Alice, is there anything you would like to eat?” Mrs Cullen is nearly begging me. I shake my head.

“Perhaps it is time to involve professionals,” Dr Cullen says in a sad voice, and there is a loud bang from upstairs that makes me jump.

“That would be a no,” Miss Rosalie’s husband says wryly.

I don’t know why, but I walk into the kitchen the next morning, and when Mrs Cullen offers to make me breakfast, I agree.

I agree to eat at least half and then sit in the garden with her.

I even agree to a cup of tea, though my hands shake something terribly when I drink it – why am I drinking it? – and I nearly drop the cup.

Mrs Cullen watches me with a tired look on her face, and smoothes my hair from my face as she takes the empty tea cup. I sit in the garden and wonder if I could vomit it all up - it sits uneasily in my stomach, as if it knew how unwilling I was to consume it. I wait for the effect, to feel sleepy or twitchy or dizzy or something.

Jasper is watching me from the doorway, with a flat look on his face. I haven’t seen him since the argument, and he doesn’t look particularly pleased to lay eyes on me, but when he sees me watching him, he moves towards Mrs Cullen’s empty seat and folds himself into it.

“I,” he begins, looking down, “I understand you’ve suffered a great loss and feel like we’ve betrayed you. And I never, ever would have allowed them to lace your tea with sedatives, had I been in the house. I’m sorry I left. But you are safe here. We want to protect you and help you. And I will explain more when you’re well again, I promise. But you must stop trying to harm yourself, Alice. You must eat. I can only stop them from sending you to hospital for so long, and I…”

I blinked at him curiously. He had stopped them? More than once? He had some sort of authority over them - over me?

“I don’t understand,” I manage.

“I know, and we’ll start explaining things soon, but for now, I need you to trust us. Eat, drink, speak with us. I will watch over all the food that is prepared, if that makes you feel better. But I cannot watch you hurt yourself like this, and I cannot leave you. I just…” He looked so sad as his gaze met mine. And something about that gaze, something about the softness of his words made me trust him. He wouldn’t have drugged the tea, wouldn’t have allowed Mrs Cullen or Miss Rosalie to do so either. He never would have hurt me or lied to me. Whomever Jasper was in this family, and to me, he was neither unkind nor cruel.

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said in a soft voice. “As long as you tell me the truth.”

#twificmas20 #ficmas20 #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #twilight renaissance #my fic #my fic: what does she remember

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spicylief · 3 years

Note

Past (2), Present (5) , Future (1) [to fix my repeats xD]

Which social class did they belong to growing up? How did it affect them?

During her early childhood, Maera’s family belonged to low class peasantry. However, she does not remember much of what her parents did for a living. She only remembered the abuse she, her mother and sister suffered under her father’s religious zealotry. Upon her family being slaughtered and crucified by the Creator’s cultists, Maera had to flee into the city and blend into the crowd of unwanted children that roamed the streets for a number of moons.

When Maera was taken in by Laches in Ostian, her new ‘family’ was a wide mix of folks with varying backgrounds. Sirius, for example, was the last remaining son of lower-class peasants who were friends of the Matron. Laches herself had the air of an esteemed noblewoman but not much is known beyond that. Seda mentioned being born into a caste of crafters and merchants in Qyra, and became Laches’ business partner upon sharing common beliefs and interests. Dio was left at Laches’ doorstep as a baby, his mother - a member of the roaming Free People from Arazeal - forced to give him up after it was discovered his father belonged to the opposing Civilized people. That said, Maera never really saw herself as belonging to any class, part of which was due to Laches’ careful management of the people around them.

However, given the kind of services the Ostian ‘family’ offered - alchemy, healing, physical therapy and… well… yeah… - and the typically wealthy clientele that they served, they were definitely hovering around the middle-to-high class range in society. For the safety and well-being of both her workers and clients, Laches made sure to brand and operate her network on a foundation of extreme discretion and exclusivity, with the more… personal services being known solely through careful, under-the-table word-of-mouth. Otherwise as far as anyone else was concerned, Maera, Laches and those under her employ were simply providing a service addressing health and personal well-being.

What kind of people do they usually interact with? Who are their friends, the people they look up to/trust, and who are their “associates”?

**SPOILERS AHOY**

In Enderal, Maera’s relationship to those around her is varied. Due to Laches’ upbringing, she is accustomed to interacting with others from all walks of life and at the very least is usually able to form positive working relationships.

As mentioned before, Maera does develop an intimate relationship with both Jespar and Tharaêl, though each relationship and that triangle overall has their share of challenges. She is also really good friends with Calia and Lishari, as they have all worked and helped one another from time to time. Aisa and Maera do have a rough start but both do eventually come to depend on one another in some shape or form - Maera looks to Aisa for guidance, and Aisa learns to become more empathetic through Maera. When Maera meets Ryneus, she is immediately attached to him, as he reminds her very much of Sirius, who she saw as a brother.

With others in Enderal:

Maera and Esme meet each other under different circumstances than in-game, roughly a few moons before the trip to Duneville. Maera is empathetic with Esme and the two get along very well, up until the very end when Maera is urged to share Tara’s fate with the poor Aeterna girl. They do make up in the end, however.

Apart from Lishari, Maera generally gets along with the other mages residing in the temple. Though Constantine’s abrasiveness tends to intimidate her, she is able to work with him just fine, following Jespar’s lead on how to engage with the crotchety old arcanist. Constantine, in turn, does develop a bit of grudging respect for Maera, but sadly due to in-game circumstances, progress is cut short. With Yuslan, Maera is a bit more friendly, as he is always willing to share his knowledge of magic with her, and of his homeland of Qyra. Archmagister Lexil, despite being a member of the Order, is actually the senior mage Maera becomes closest to over the course of her time in Enderal. His gentle and patient nature is a welcome contrast to the stern and harshness of both Aisa and Constantine, and he reminds her very much of Laches. Magistra Yaela, like with Lexil, is also friendly with Maera, if not sympathetic to the fact that the Prophetess was forced to work with them against her will. Like Lexil, their relationship was a “make the best of their difficult situation” sort of thing, but like Constantine is cut short due to in-game circumstances.

Maera also has a very good working relationship with most of the merchants and craftsmen in Enderal, especially the alchemists residing in Ark. Due to the Red Madness and other troubling developments, many of them are afraid of venturing out of the safety of Ark’s walls for ingredients, and the war overseas have caused complications on both imports and exports of their goods. Maera has helped them in that regard by retrieving the ingredients they require, and offering to assist in the production of more high demand products for them to resell to a wide variety of customers. When Tharaêl moves in and gets into hunting, Maera does become friendly acquaintances with those he works with, often acting as a liaison on his behalf at first before he learns to develop his own approach to doing business with others.

As for the rest of the Order - Arantheal, Natara, Jorek - it depends. Maera is immediately put off by Arantheal, detesting his arrogance and presumptuous attitude towards her - reminding her too much of the less likeable clientele in Ostian. She becomes infuriated by him as he manages to coerce her back into working for him, using the well-beings of her friends and loved ones as bargaining chips. With Natara, it’s oddly neutral. Though Natara has made her resentment of Maera’s inclusion in the Order abundantly clear, Maera does in turn stress with Natara that her quarrel should be with Arantheal, not her, as she does not want work with the Order to begin with. That said, Maera and Jorek do get along relatively well, in a “we’re both in a shit situation” sort of way. He fully acknowledges her reluctance on joining right from the start, and does sympathize with Maera when Arantheal drags her back into working with them.

Briefly describe their life in the future, regardless of how far into the future this is.

Okay so… at the moment/where the story is positioned to go...

**MEGA-ULTRA SPOILERS AHOY**

Upon the destruction of the Beacon, the surviving group - Maera, Jespar, Tharaêl, Calia, Aisa and Laches (who gets revived by her sister in a ritual involving the third Dreamflower) - goes to Qyra, and seeks refuge with Seda’s family. Once Maera fully recovers from a coma lasting over a moon’s turn, they do eventually get involved with the Golden Queen, her court, and other figures of importance. More specifically, they do meet up again with Gajus and his companion, and engage with someone very close to the Golden Queen (who is on a similar level to Aisa and Laches). Throughout their time in Qyra, Maera and each member of the group have to not only cope with their own personal challenges and developments, but also the fallout of Enderal’s destruction, all the new unknowns involving the High Ones that may still be lingering upon a failed Cleansing.

Even further down the line, the group - specifically the four - do make their way to Lethonia (for a yet undetermined number of reasons). It is there that Maera and the others unexpectedly end up settling down, as Maera ends up getting pregnant from one lover then the other, so now there are children involved (and traveling overseas with them becomes complicated).

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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THE WILLS

March 19, 1950

“The Wills” (aka “The Coopers Make Their Wills”) is episode #80 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on March 19, 1950.

Synopsis ~ After Liz and George make out their wills, Liz is convinced that George intends to do away with her. Liz is startled to find a receipt for some arsenic and rope in his pocket, but is shocked when George suggests a trip to the country - with a one-way ticket for Liz!

Starting with this episode, “My Favorite Husband” moved from Thursday nights, to Sunday nights.

Note: This program was used as a basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying to Murder Her” (ILL S1;E4) filmed on September 8, 1951 and first aired November 5, 1951. For various reasons, it was the first episode of the series filmed, but the fourth aired.

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benadaret was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) had worked with Lucille Ball on “The Wonder Show” on radio in 1938. One of the front-runners to play Fred Mertz on “I Love Lucy,” he eventually played Alvin Littlefield, owner of the Tropicana, during two episodes in 1952. After playing a Judge in an episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1958, he would re-team with Lucy for all of her subsequent series’: as Theodore J. Mooney in ”The Lucy Show”; as Harrison Otis Carter in “Here’s Lucy”; and as Curtis McGibbon on “Life with Lucy.” Gordon died in 1995 at the age of 89.

Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury) does not appear in this episode.

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Herb Vigran (Doctor Stephens) made several appearances on “My Favorite Husband.” He would later play Jule, Ricky’s music union agent on two episodes of “I Love Lucy”. He would go on to play Joe (and Mrs. Trumbull’s nephew), the washing machine repairman in “Never Do Business With Friends” (S2;E31) and Al Sparks, the publicity man who hires Lucy and Ethel to play Martians on top of the Empire State Building in “Lucy is Envious” (S3;E23). Of his 350 screen roles, he also made six appearances on “The Lucy Show.”

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers tonight, it's just after dinner, and we find Liz and George settling down to a normal evening's conversation.”

George has something he needs to talk to Liz about. Liz immediately thinks it is something to do with her household budget, but George wants to talk about their wills. The subject immediately upsets Liz. The idea of living without George sends Liz into gales of tears. George wants her to read it, and threatens to leave everything to his mother if she doesn’t. Liz snatches the will from him. George then tells her that he has had her will drawn up as well.

LIZ: “What for? You're the one who's going! What are you trying to do, push me ahead of you in line?”

George reminds her of the three acres of Florida beachfront property that her father left her, which she calls ‘Sunken Acres.’ George always assumed it was oil land.

LIZ: “If there's any oil down there, it's still in a whale. Oh! I see it all now, George! You want me to sign a will leaving everything to you, and then you'll bump me off! You want to get your dirty fishhooks on my oil holdings!

Liz agrees to read and sign the will as the scene fades out. At the bank the next day, Mr. Atterbury notices that George seems tired. George admits he was up late talking to Liz about their wills. Mr. Atterbury proposes that the Coopers join him and Iris at their mountain lodge for the weekend, flying up, and then leaving the girls there for the week while they fly back for work. The following weekend they will drive up to get them in Mr. Atterbury’s new car.

Mr. Atterbury has already bought the airline tickets and asks George to go to the hardware store for a few items.

MR. ATTERBERRY: “I need poison for those horrible little gophers up there. And some rope for a clothesline, and a couple of sacks of cement. Iris wants a patio so she can sunbathe. Come to think of it, that ought to keep the gophers away.” GEORGE: “Let me make a list on the back of this envelope. Now, poison, ropes, cement...” MR. ATTERBERRY: “Oh, and I need an axe, too.”

Mr. Atterbury tells George that they should tell their wives that they are just going for a weekend, so that they don’t rush out to buy a week’s worth of new clothes.

At the Cooper home, Katie the Maid is preparing dinner. George comes home and tells Liz the good news that they’ll be going to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend, and he’s got the airline tickets in his pocket. As George goes upstairs to prepare for dinner, Katie reminds Liz that she has a beauty shop appointment on Saturday. Liz wonders what time the plane leaves, and fishes in George’s jacket pocket to check the tickets. She notices that one tickets is round trip, and the other is one way! Liz immediately assumes one of them isn’t coming back, and reminds Katie that George asked her to sign her will! She notices some writing on the envelope that looks like a shopping list.

LIZ: “Poison! He's going to take me out in the woods and poison me! Look, at the next item - rope. If the poison doesn't work, he's gonna hang me! Cement. If I live through the poison and the rope, he's gonna put my feet in cement and dump me in the lake! Look what's next - axe! If I able to hold my breath, he's gonna swim in the water and chop me to pieces!” KATIE: “Oh, how can Mr. Cooper do such a thing?” LIZ: “With that list of weapons, how can he miss?“

Liz realizes why George might want to do away with her - they’ve finally struck oil on Sunken Acres!

End of Part One

Announcer Bob LeMond reads a live Jell-O commercial.

ANNOUNCCER: “As we return to the Coopers, we find Liz in a state of nervous apprehension. After years of having George under her thumb, she's suddenly discovered that he's bout to put the finger on her. Or at least she thinks he is. But right now it's after dinner, and Liz, the intended victim, is in the living room, reading. While George, the killer, is slowly stalking up behind her.”

George kisses Liz on the back of the neck. She screams! Liz nervously says that she’d rather not go to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend.

GEORGE: “What? Why, Liz, you love the lodge. You always say that's your idea of living.” LIZ: “Well, I want to keep it that way.”

George says that he has a big surprise for her up there. Liz suggests he take his mother and give HER the big surprise!

GEORGE: “Now, don't be silly! You just wait: When you wake up Monday morning, you'll be very pleasantly surprised.” LIZ: “If I wake up Monday morning, I'll be surprised.”

Liz wonders if George is having money problems. She asks him why he made her sign her will last night. George says that if it bothers her so much, he’ll tear it up - as soon as they get back from the lodge.

Liz runs to her bedroom and locks the door! George telephones Dr. Stephens (Herb Vigran) to report that Liz is acting peculiar.

DOCTOR: “Peculiar for Liz, or peculiar for normal people?”

RICKY RICARDO: “Lucy is acting crazy!” FRED MERTZ: “Crazy for Lucy or crazy for ordinary people?”

This joke was adapted for Lucy Ricardo in “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying To Do Murder Her” with Fred Mertz taking the Doctor’s line.

Doctor Stephens cannot make a house call because he’s got an appointment with his psychoanalyst, but he tells George to give Liz a sedative until he can get there.

Liz comes in for a glass of water. George tells her that he’s had Katie prepare them some hot milk. In the kitchen, Katie tells Liz that she saw Mr. Cooper pour a powder into one of the glasses. Liz says she’ll just switch the glasses so that George drinks the one with the powder in it.

In the living room she distracts George just long enough to switch the glasses. But when George lifts his glass to drink, Liz dashes it from his hand. She says she couldn’t do it to him, even if he could do it to her.

LIZ: “You put something in my glass, didn't you, George? Well, I fooled you! I switched glasses!” GEORGE: “I had a hunch that's why Katie called you, so I switched them again while you were out of the room.”

Liz starts to gag as if she’s been poisoned! Liz falls to the floor, convinced she is going to die, trying to make peace with George in her final moments.

LIZ: “If I had my life to live over again, I want you to know I'd do better. I could stay within the budget, if I tried. (coughs) And I'd never buy clothes I need. (coughs) I'd throw away my charge-a-plate.”

The doorbell rings. It is Mr. Atterbury, come to make the ‘final arrangements.’ Liz tells George that she saw the one way ticket, and the shopping list for poison and the axe. The men dissolve in laughter. Mr. Atterbury explains that those were supplies for the lodge. Liz is angry that she’s been tricked, and refuses to keep the promises she made in her ‘final moments’.

LIZ: "I didn't know what I was saying! I was under the influence of warm milk!”

End of Episode

In the live Jell-O commercial, Lucille Ball plays a Mexican spy, and Bob LeMond is interviewing her for a job.

In the bedtime tag, it is five in the morning and George is reading a suspenseful magazine story. Liz begs him to turn out the light, but then can’t sleep until he knows the outcome of the story. Liz grabs the magazine and reads the last lines.

LIZ: “The huge, shapeless thing crept slowly up behind Mildred, and before she could scream it slipped its bony hands around her - Oh, no!!!” GEORGE: “What does it say, Liz? Around her what?” LIZ: “Around her continued next week! Good night!”

ANNOUNCER: “You have been listening to ‘My Favorite Husband’ starring Lucille Ball, with Richard Denning, and based on characters created by Isobel Scott Rorick. Tonight's transcribed program was produced and directed by Jess Oppenheimer, who wrote the script with Madelyn Pugh and Bob Carroll, Jr. Be sure to get the April Issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine’ with the big picture of Lucille Ball on the cover. That's the April issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine.’ Original music was composed by Marlin Skyles and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Bob LeMond speaking.”

#My Favorite Husband #Lucille Ball #Richard Denning #Gale Gordon #I Love Lucy #Ruth Perrott #Bob LeMond #Herb Vigran #radio #CBS #Radio Mirror #The Wills #Jello

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thanidiel · 4 years

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Prompt Four: “Clinch”

CW: Hanging, execution.

An education is a foundation.

And in that, she knew that in spite of the turns’ worth of learnings that she has consumed as much as they seared back, that true knowledge had not been gifted to her yet.

Everything, so far, was thrown about to flit around her mind unanchored. It provided the distinct sense of someone high and mighty tossing about koban or butcher scraps onto the earth, curious to distill men to their natures in one apathetic swoop.

There was no end goal professed, no purpose.

She shaped foreign languages from a deliberate mouth and under a controlled hand without exercise. The sprawl of hundreds of works of calligraphy were never seen again after she had produced them. Recitations were insisted again and again without analysis of the source at all. And when suns came in which they moved from beyond the tranquility of Geigu’s small room, she was made to dance to no narrative, sing to no audience. When she was challenged to recall the exact movements of a stranger from a sennight ago, or to report a muffled conversation that leaked just barely through dozens upon dozens of fulms of hallway, she was nodded to without commentary. Ceremonies were performed with no one to partake, over and over.

All lessons; landing vacantly and without meaning. Given to her to play with or use as she felt she needed.

And then one evening she was touched.

Often, another would manipulate her body. Ceaselessly, endlessly, infinitely. To dress or undress her, pull her to one room or another position, pin gold-encrusted jewels and stone to her form or neatly remove the headache-inducing weights.

She was a doll, afterall.

But in this a clause, that she did not know existed, found itself violated.

Of course, when a law is broken by the unknowing, enlightenment wraps itself against the breast of punishment.

The man was a kitchen-hire, she overheard at some point in all of the flurry and setup.

He had tried to push her against the walls of the corridors in her passing, to touch her hip underneath layers of silk. Dimly as she warded herself, she developed cognisance of the vexations of her Elder Sisters. Their lacking disinterests in even crossing paths with another who was not their own nor patron.

Okimoto had ripped him off of her in the space between instances.

And now they were here.

In the red room.

The bloodlight radiating nothing but its hue, the expanse of the room so barren and chilling that she always expects her breathes to puff out visible in front of her. Like it did in the mountains to the breath of a girl she didn’t know anymore, in the village of yellow dust and thick snows.

It never does.

She does her best to not shiver, to control herself with the exactness demanded of her. No twinge allowed of her muscles, no itch at her lip or the way a pin in her hair pricks at the head underneath. She must be as stony as the Lady Chinatsu, this she knew without instruction. To be stoic from where she sits upon folded knees below the old matron.

Most of all, she must not look at Lady Chinatsu nor possess the urge at any point.

To look was to doubt Judgement.

Instead, she fixes on the details of her partner in crime: his fore nearly one with the black wood below.

He had to be two decades older than her measly sixteen Heavensturns, from what she saw earlier in the bulbous shape of his bones beneath worn skin starting to stretch.

And, evidently, he is possibly as poor as she was when she crossed the Ruby Sea. Like he could not afford the layered attire of even everyday persons, as what he has is of the cheapest dyes, and looks used and tugged to its limits. Like it had passed owners of multiple shapes and sizes before coming to him.

She counts stitches as Chinatsu verdicts and enforces.

Two crimes were perpetuated and both would be resolved tonight, even as the Lady of the Teahouse only shares one aloud.

This man had committed the crime of rudely treating her property, and thus insulting her.

‘Chitora’ as she had named the youth, had committed the crime of not knowing better.

One will provide reparations and the other will amend their individual failure.

“...it will be left to my Daughter to determine the best way you can make up for your rudeness.”

Here is where Xiaohu ‘Chitora’ tunes back to it all, with the new clutch of the familial referral. In its aftermath, a reminder of the force that Chinatsu enjoyed concluding all of her lawmaking with - the pale flare of the raking scar underneath her hair.

It is this particular moment, and all that it inspires, that she feels what is solid and sound underneath her.

This is her lesson.

This is her education.

The subtext, the want, the expectation, the demand, does not escape her. She has been prepared for this. This is the foundation that carries the Heavens that had been shared with her, brought to her by the materialisation of a Black Mist in a golden room. She has her answers now.

Her Mandate is not only to serve, but to rule.

She is to serve Lady Chinatsu, serve Tsukumogami, serve the Black Mist. But she is to rule all those outside of this, and thus naturally below and lesser. To not permit these offenses, to not have needed Chinatsu to control this affair in her stead.

She is to be cruel. Cruel as to obliterate not only the insult of someone daring to offend, but also end any, and all, future possibilities before they can even be born within the minds of a thousand others.

Something about this causes what she knows to be fear to coil and slither through her belly, as though it wishes to rupture free. Different, from the aching Destiny and desire that had allured, allures, her to Tsukumogami and all of Their machinations.

Perhaps it is because she both knows and doesn’t know at all, what is needed here.

A test, a trial; her lesson.

She is expected to punish.

And so she is silent, and thoughtful, and above all, she does not look back towards the ancient moon looming over her, casting radiance that burns into her spine and shoulders.

She does not doubt Judgement.

But she does doubt herself.

She doubts that someone so young as herself can accurately perform this affair. She doubts that she will be evenhanded enough as much as she doubts she will be harsh enough, soft enough. She doubts she can go through with the minimal result she needed to walk away with.

Her mouth is unmoving. No shift of her lips; no grind of her teeth; no drag of her tongue. Stagnant, and dryer than ever before. Dryer than she thinks it would feel like even if she orders the man thrown out to die in a desert faraway.

Fear whispers to her like a witch’s cant, inserting its imagery into her imagination/prophecy. If she refused, if she was too light, how long? How long until she is thrown away? Would they simply toss her away? Besmirched and tainted, unable to thrive anywhere else than their arms? Or would they end it more quickly than that? If she refused; if she were useless in spite of all of their wants and investment, into what they thought she could become?

In this way, it has all become a matter of survival.

That is the consequence of her failure.

Her silence is too long.

Indecision is also a weakness, unfitting of this new understanding.

So she acts now, with a grandiose sigh. A theatrical gesture that Geigu had passed to her; a way of showing casualness, filling another with the insignificance of their conversation. Lets it open and relax her ribs and her squirming insides, twist along with her tongue and give her words the power of breathlessness.

“If it is in his like to be unable to keep his hands to himself, then he should feel what it is like to be powerless to help himself with them.”

Here is where she intakes the smallest amount of air, to allow the last of her words to flick off of sharp wind - provide the feeling of dismissal, the shutting window.

“I want him hanged.”

The moon raises her hand; approval and assent all at once in the dark shadow cutting the crimson lanternlight.

“Have it be done.”

Unnervingly, everything occurs shortly, smoothly. Like she had asked for something casual and everyday. The gravity of Chinatsu’s aether stealing all ability to scream and protest, as others used abilities beyond her to leap fulms up to the rafters and swing about rope that had to be half her weight in ponze… quiet. Normalised. As though they were all preparing a bowl of noodles from the streetside for her.

She feels so weightless that she might as well be the one destined to swing, if it were not for her concentration, her grounding. The repetitive and cyclical reminder that this is the foundation they had set out for her to learn all along. This is the foundation, and she had not gambled and guessed on this success like it felt. She was chosen for a reason, afterall.

So there is no fear, no need for fear with everything said and done.

There is only the feeling that she is adrift at ocean, holding on the sanctuary of debris beneath her belly, as the minutes tick by. An intimate, intensive, awareness of the wheezing filling the room, his fingers chipping nail and fleshsmears against rope fibers until they do not.

When it all stops, she raises her chin.

The body still sways from the force of a life that had wanted to be.

A detail catches her eye: the clinch of the rope butting snug, almost nuzzling, against the round jut of bone behind a bowed neck.

It is the most well-fitted thing the man has ever worn.

#xiaohu #writing #FfxivWrite2020 #the green dragon

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renee-writer · 3 years

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The Diary of Life Chapter 6 Hearts Skip

Claire is awe-struck when she pulled up to Lallybroch. The sheer size of the arch, the feel of history the leeches out of the old brick and stone. She stops in front door and steps out. As she approaches the front door, it swings open with a bang and Fergus runs out. She catches him as he runs into her.

“Fergus Claudel Fraser, what have I told you about running?”

“Sorry pa. Oh it is the doctor.” He realizes he is in her arms.

“Claire Beauchamp.” She reminds them. “Jamie invited me. I hope that is okay!”

“Oh it is fine. Fergus, what do you say to Dr. Beauchamp?”

“Pardon Madame. I was in a hurry to see the horses.”

“Go on in. Jamie in the front room.”

“Thank you.” She walks in and stops by a gash in the wall.

“I don’t know how it got there.” She jumps when he speaks right behind her. She knocks into him.

“Christ, sorry. Did I hurt your arm?”

“Nae, it is healing well and I can feel the pacemaker working. Come on in.” He leads her into the Great Room.

“Good. So you don’t know much about your home?”

“Nae, I just moved here. I inherited this place, you see. My family has lived in France for generations. This place has been in my matron’s side of the family forever. The last Mackenzie just passed and they found me. There might be other relatives in America but I am here so..”

“So indeed. Will you keep her?”

“Aye. She needs some work but aye. Can I give you the tour?”

“Are you up for that?”

“Aye.” An hour later he has shown her the grounds and house. “I am learning a bit about this place, the past. I have the diary of both the original James Fraser’s sister Jenny. She was no fan of his wife and it caused the riff that let to his and my family moving to Paris. I also have his wife, Elizabeth’s”

“Well, if you wish to learn more, I know a man that may be able to help. An historian named Frank Randall. He has done some research on Culloden. Wrote a book. I am sure he can help.”

“How do you know This Frank?” he can’t help the stab of Jealousy that comes out in his voice.

“He is my brother, Theo’s partner. They have been together for years. Build a family. I moved up here five years ago to be closer to them after our uncle died. He was the last of our family outside each other.”

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“You didn’t know. You see our parents died when I was five. My uncle took us in. I don’t know what we would have happened to us if he hadn’t. Anyway, Frank can help you, I am sure. He discovered a dragonfly in amber that he believes belonged to someone serving under Charles Stuart.”

Jamie made a face and she laughs. “Sorry, it is just..”

“I get it. You Scots have long memories. I will talk to him for you, if you wish.”

“Aye, thank you.”

“Okay. I just wished to see you. I don’t wish to tire you out. I would like to read those diaries.”

“You may. You will come back?”

“I will. Promise.” They exchange numbers. “I will let you know what Frank says.”

“Thank you.” He watches her leave and his heart skips a beat. He makes a point to ask Dr. Grey about it.

“Theo.”

“Claire, my darling, when are you coming up. Your nieces miss you “

“I will try to get up this week. Will Frank be about?”

“Yes. He just came back. Found some good research for his next book.”

“Good. I will see you later. Give the girls a kiss from me.”

Elizabeth’s diary

“I meet the man I am going to marry. He is a tall red headed Scot. He makes my heart skip beats.

Column has to agree to the courtship. He has been my guardian since Uncle Lamb’s death. He simply must!

Jamie walked me back to the surgery. I had to much to drink. Wasn’t drunk but.. Oh, we almost gave into the heat flowing between us. But we mustn’t. Not yet.

Column has agreed. We are to be married!”

He puts the diary to the side with a smile. He picks up the picture of Jamie and Elizabeth. She really does resemble Claire. He picks up the phone and calls her. They talk for hours.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #the diary of life #hearts skip #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #modern au #outlander fandom

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androgynousblackbox · 4 years

Text

Happy birthday to Anarchymorty!

She asked me a little story about a jello baby adopting a papa, so hopefully this will suffice.

Rick 39-3D, or as he have been recently newly codified as, Baker Rick, opened up his little Baker shop ten years ago with not much ilusion except being able to finally do what he actually wanted, after years of just being a science school teacher back on his dimension. Once his own Morty went to college, he have taken his stuff and move to the Citadel to realice his dreams, creating sweet and delicious desserts that soon became the favourites ones on the block. He was lucky, of course, being the very first Rick that made his products with science and androids capable of preparing everything with exact precisión so no piece was ever less than any other, the quality always the best it could be. There were other shops with similar methods, but Ricks were creatures of habit at the end of the day and once they liked a place, they got stuck on it. That garanteed that he had a thriving business for a long while and even could afford getting a bigger placement, with maybe some plans of becoming a franchise if things went even better. That was, until jello babies came to the Citadel. At first they were a curiosity, something so rare that only very few couples would have it, and it was mostly considered just a little fetish for peculiar Ricks and Mortys when not a squicky way to make money when sold as delicacies. But as they became more and more common, the jellos stopped travelling on the heads of their parents and were walking on their own tentacles, resting on their floating craddles or sucking a tentacle inside a stroller that mommy was pushing. The more common they became, the more products and accomodations were implemented. Ricks made themselves rich creating things specifically for them, to make them a offpring that could take on responsabilities in the house like preparing food with just pressing a button. And there were places with food only for babies and the ones who didn’t cattered to them were gaining less and less costumers, not even because everyone was becoming a new father but rather because even the Ricks without jellos wanted to be around the jellos. It reminded them to the baby Beth they didn’t had anymore or allowed them to imagine her if they never had her. Baby jellos were sociable, adorable little things that were happy to recieve love and didn’t had a single bad intention on their bodies, so they were hard to resist. His fault was coming late to trend. By the time he realized that jellos was a defining factor into the success of a business, other places similar to his had adapted already and had established themselves as a place friendly to jellos and their delicate systems. When he did it, he was just another follower among a dozen or more, no matter what new flavors with baby safe ingredients he attempted. There were some few new costumers, and he could survive still, but wasn’t pulling at all the clientele that he had before. There were days where he could stay still behind the counter for hours and nobody would pass through his door. One of those moments, he was just blowing his blue hair out of his eyes when he saw a single eye looking at him through the window. He saw back at it, waiting for something to happen, but the little baby just waved at him and kept staring. Baker Rick was wondering what was so interesting when he took a good sniff off the air and could percieve the androids had just taken out a new batch of baby safe sweet out of the oven, so that is what must have called his attention. “Shouldn’t you be with your mommy, buddy?” asked, opening the door, but the jello just ran between his legs and now pressed his jello face against the vitrines that contained the sweets. Baker couldn’t help to chuckle a little. Alright, someone was hungry. If the mommy had lost sight of the baby then it was better to keep him on the shop, rather than going around and getting even more lost. If he didn’t appeared on a bit he would inform the guards so they could look. “You smelled that, right?” asked and the jello looked up only to furiously nod, a little drooling coming out his mouth. Obviously he wouldn’t have money to pay, but a little generousity couldn’t hurt. “Look, I am not supose to just give free things to about anyone, but I won’t tell anyone if you don’t tell, alright?” offered, extending his hand as to shake the little tentacle and the baby screeched happily as Baker took him to put him on the counter. “Okay, for today you can be my little tester. I was trying a new flavor and I didn’t had a lot of feedback, so I will need you to be a impartial judge to decide if I should keep serving it or not”, clarified, putting him a little napkin around the… neck? Body? He wasn’t totally sure when his whole body was a ball, but whatever. Then he brought some of the sweets on a plate and was about to let it there so the baby could eat at his own rythm, but he was opening his mouth and looking at him, as if waiting for something until he finally catch on this was a baby waiting to be fed. Feeling like it had been too long since he was a parent, he took a little fork to cut a little piece and offer it to him. The baby ate it making happy squicky noises. “It’s a cheesecake flavoured one with a touch of blueberry. Is it good?” The judge chewed on the sweet that was designed to be very soft on teethless mouth and swallowed, nodding, to then open his mouth again. Baker searched for another dessert, this time strawberry flavoured with a tropical fruit that had a name difficult to pronounce. This was also good! Despite the hunger, though, or precisely because it was being swayed, the baby wasn’t a fan of every flavor, which added to some of the reasons why he wasn’t getting more people anymore. He took a note of it and asked him which ones he would like to see, putting in front a list of options for his little tentacle to point at. He became so concentrated annotating them all and considering how he could turn them into sweet that he didn’t noticed someone else was staring through the window, until he door was opened up and a big, tall mortaion came inside, followed by other smaller mortaions with a bunch of jellos. “Jessie! Baby, sweetie, you had us so worried!” cooed the big mortaion, grabbing the little jello and squishing him against his chest, kissing him all over. The baby, that apparently was called Jessie, screeched happily and licked the green face of the mortaion. Then he screeched some more, talking about all the delicious things he just had and how there were going to be more, but Matron wasn’t having it. “You scared us so much, young man. If you wanted to visit a store, you should have told us in the first place.” “That was kinda my fault” said Baker, checking that has been full two hours since he opened the door for the baby. Jeez, no wonder they were concerned. “I should have called the police a long time ago, I am sorry. I became distracted and lost my sense of time.” The mortaion buffed, looking at him, then at the plate of sweet and then at the napkin still around Jessie. He clearly didn’t liked that had to spend so much time without knowing where the baby was, but could appreciate that he have been taken care of at least. “We well pay for whatever he had” said and one of the smaller mortaions was about to take out his wallet when Baker made a gesture to put it down. “Oh, no, no, don’t worry about it. I invited him because I needed some help deciding the menu. It was all on the house. In fact…” he putt he remaining sweets, that were already cut anyway, into a paper bag and extended to the mortaion as repayment for all the trouble. “Have these, please. Those were the ones he liked the more. And can share it with the other babies.”

Matron wasn’t so sure about that, but when the other babies started scheeching, wanting to taste something yummy too, there was no way he could deny it and took it on his hand. “Very well. Thank you. Now, if you excuse us, some babies had a long day on the mall and need to take a bath” said, cleaning up microscopical crumbles from Jessie’s mouth and kissing his forehead. Jessie giggled happily and then turned to the Baker, waving his little tentacle at him over the shoulder of the mortaion as the entire group was leaving. “Nice to meet you too, little guy” said Baker. On the net he found out what he already suspected: that just have been Matron, administrator of the orphanage of the Citadel, alongside all his mortaion offpring that worked with him. The screening for getting jello babies was so rigorous and exhaustive that there was virtually no way for anyone to just walk out on a baby or turned out abusive enough to have the babies taken away, so it was fairly safe to asume that all those babies that walked on his store had lost their parents, including little Jessie. But all the information he could find about the Orphanage talked about how all the babies were splendidly taken care of, how Matron was a caring, loving mother to all of them and a tough judge when it came to see what kind of people could become parents under his watch so all the babies could only go to good homes. Knowing those poor innocent babies had lost their families was hard, but at least they had landed on a place where they still had a family even if there was no adoption. On the next few days, he implemented the changes to the menu and soon saw a small wave of new jello clients that were delighted with them, as well as their parents. He wasn’t really expecting Jessie to come back but he did, sometimes on the arms of one of the smaller mortaion or Matron himself to check out on the sweets or suggest new one. Matron just made casual conversation on those visits, concentrating on feeding Jessie and making sure he didn’t ate too much each time, but the smaller mortaions were happy to comment on how Jessie was all excited to come back and would pull at their skirts for it with the biggest puppy eye that made it impossible to refuse. At first his shop was only one stop when they were doing other chores, but soon Jessie was bringing his little backpack with toys and other essentials. The baby intended to stay there longer than that, that was much clear, so there was nothing to do but let his jello self do as he pleased to avoid a tragedy like his tears. Baker didn’t completely understood why the baby wanted to be there, but didn’t cared either. More clients were coming each day with their own jellos, who would sometimes hug and lick Jessie’s face as if they have been friend forever even if it was the first time they met each other. Sometimes someone would tell him about his cute son and he had to clarified that no, he wasn’t the father, he was just the provider for sweet the little rascal constantly bribed to get more of. He said it jokingly, but each time Jessie would grab at his hand with a tentacle to call his attention and then climb on his arms for a embrace that never failed to make the client coo, wanting to get some more from his goods. As far he was concerned, the baby could come back in whenever he wanted. On top of all of that, he was also just cute and it was nice to get on the habit of caring for another small creature, even if this one in particular already had plenty of adults taking care of him. But even then, Jessie would put at his apron to show him a new drawing he had made (all happy pictures of him with the babies of the orphanage and the mortaions and some with him on his baker’s hat), a new doll he got or climbing him in order to become his new hat, grabbing to his face to make himself a place on top of his bald spot. In more of one ocassion Jessie would take his bottle, full of milk or juice, depending on his mood, and look at him, waiting. His fatherly instincts would kick in immediately and take the jelly form on his arms, holding the bottle up so there wouldn’t be any air bubble as Jessie drank to his heart’s contempt and then pat his back gently until a resounding but healthy burp filled his shop for a moment. If there were clients present they would always congratulate Jessie on his strong lungs.

That little routine had settled in for a few weeks when suddenly Matron informed him that they were expecting him on the orphanage for a controlled visit. Before he could even ask what he was talking about, the mortaion continued:

“You didn’t expect it would be enough with Jessie visiting here from time to time. All candidates are expected to visit the orphanage at least for a few months before we can settle on if is the better option or not” said Matron, misunderstanding his confusion.

“Candidate for what?”

Matron blinked, surprised.

“For the adoption, of course. You are aware that Jessie has been treating you as his candidate all this time, right? He has been begging me at home about it for weeks.”

“He did?” said Baker, looking up where Jessie was holding to his head, but obviously he couldn’t actually see anything and he could feel the tentacles tightening their grip as if the baby realized he have been caught.

Matron looked almost flustered. For the way both his children and Jessie acted he had assumed this was a decision that have already been taken.

“My apologies, I was under the impression… “

“No, no, it’s okay” said Baker, putting his hand around the jello body and taking him on his arms. Jessie was covering his own eye as if he could still hide that way. “I… I will go. This Saturday is fine?”

Jessie uncovered his eyes, looking up from him to mommy Matron.

“Are you sure? Once the process starts, I will not accept any slacking. My babies deserve better than that.”

Baker looked down at little Jessie as he hold his head, his weight overall lighter than how Beth was but still so comforting.

“Yeah, I can do that. If Jessie wants to accept me…” he was saying, but he was soon interrupted by a loud screeching and Jessie jumping to his face. His hugs and licks was enough to make him laugh. “Alright, alright, take it easy, little buddy” said, patting his side and kissing the side of his head.

If that little baby had chosen him up already he felt like he didn’t had any other option, and didn’t want it either.

#rick sanchez #rick and morty #my fanfic

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ruckystarnes · 6 years

Text

AUTHOR: RuckyStarnes

WARNINGS: None

CHARACTERS: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, OFC - Hazel Hamilton

WORDS: 1,858

A/N:

Unkept Promises Master List

Three | Four | Five

Chapter Four

January 1, 1940

Hazel,

Just wanted to let you know that Wisconsin is going well, not like you would care to hear that, but I thought maybe in some sort of marvel that you actually would be bothered by my well-being while I’m away. Schedule is pretty strict, almost grateful that Dad had warned me about it before I signed the papers. I hope Steve isn’t giving you too much trouble, though we both know that is a high hope.

I think you and Steve would like it here in the Midwest. Winter seems to be colder than New York, but the snow is just the same. I do miss all the lights and sounds that a busy city gives us, here it’s dark, but you can see the stars. They almost remind me of the way your eyes would shine when you would laugh at one of my lame jokes. Maybe after the war, I can bring you here, so you and Steve could see this place: hills and forests with very few houses. The nearest towns are about ten miles out, they said it would be almost four hours before you reach them by foot, but I heard they have some nice shops you would like. But I would definitely wouldn’t want to live here forever.

It’s just too quiet. And you’re not here. And Steve.

Bucky

January 17, 1940

Dear James,

I received your letter almost a week ago, and it took until now to read it, the pain too great to bring myself to read it. It hurt to find out that you were leaving, to do the very thing I did that you protested against. I do apologize for leaving that Christmas morning, not giving you the send off that you deserved. I was selfish and hurt, leaving you with Steve, whom I heard later gave you lecture about it. Now, I’m here trying to convince our little ankle biter to stop trying to enlist under false pretenses.

Just Monday, he tried to by being Steve Rogers from West Virginia. This boy is going to be the death of me if he does, by some miracle, get into the army, and I pray each night that he doesn’t. I also send a prayer up that you are protected by God Himself. I don’t care how much moxie you have, James Buchanan, but you get yourself back to Brooklyn; back home to us. To me.

Please ignore that, I blame it on the fact that I am practically doing your job of keeping Steve out of trouble and mending his wounds from such trouble. He got into a fight the other day because someone talked bad about the war across the ocean. He also has been to the gym, working the bag as he had said before, coming home with bruised knuckles and a black eye. Remind me to slap you along the side of your head when you get back for leaving us. I know Steve misses you, and I only sort of miss you, you fat-head.

I hope training is going swell for you and that you don’t change too much.

Sincerely, Hazel

January 18, 1940

The sound of the door slamming brought Hazel from her nap she had decided to take on the couch. She had just pulled a double at the hospital and she had to go in that night again, not waiting to complain because the money was enough to support both her and Steve, and to keep the rent so they could have a roof over their heads. For years, she had seen Sarah Rogers do just that to support both her son and Hazel herself, something Hazel never had been extremely grateful for until now. Sometimes the matron would work for days on end, coming home for a weekend or even just a day so she could check up on them, another thing Hazel didn’t understand and fully appreciate when she was adolescent.

Shuffled steps let her know it was Steve who had let himself in, making her smile at the fact he had remembered his key, or maybe he had used the hidden on under the brick by the door. Not like she could tell because she wasn’t awake to witness the cursing he would have done. He was trying to be quiet, knowing she needed her rest, but he bumped into something causing him to curse out loud, making her spring up and be right at his side.

“You okay Steve?” she asked softly, her arm going around his torso to support him as she checked him over with pinched brows.

“‘M fine, Hazel,” he replied in almost a low growl, but his face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. She didn’t say anything, just ushered him to the couch, making him sit so she could get some coffee for him. Her mouth was set into a thin line as she handed him the white cup, silently waiting for him to talk.

“Really, Haze, I’m okay,” he urged, his voice rough as if he had been at a Dodgers game.

“Where?”

Steve averted his eyes from her, unwilling to look at her. There needn’t any words to tell her where he had be in general, his look was enough to tell her that he had been to yet another enlisting office to see if he could join the fighting cause.

“Steve,” she whispered, “you can be of help here. There’s plenty of jobs that you can do…”

“No, Hazel,” he snapped, looking up at her with ferocity in his blue eyes. “I want to serve. I need to.”

“You don’t have to be your father, Steve,” she replied calmly, kneeling in front of him as her hand rested on his knee. He would never admit it, but the boy desperately wanted to be just like his stranger of a father who was killed in the Great War decades prior.

“This has nothing to do with him,” was his whispered reply, “You don’t understand what is happening over there.”

“Steve, no one can understand what is going on over there. All we know is what the radio tells us, and that’s controlled by Roosevelt and the other agencies. Even France doesn’t know, and I was there for a few months.” Her voice was soft, the voice she reserved for difficult patients that were slipping from this life.

The look soften on his face as his eyes shifted to the pad of paper on the small table next to the couch. She knew he could see the looped letters of Bucky’s name and possibly the whole body of text she had written, but he would never say anything. Not since Christmas when he called her a dumb Dora, which earned a slap across his face that he rightfully deserved in her eyes.

She chewed her lip as she got up and sat next to him on the couch. “I miss him too,” she muttered, her cheeks starting to burn. Their friend had only been gone not even a month yet, and it seemed like they were falling apart at the seams. Steve was constantly at enlisting offices, trying his best at lying to get into the Army, or at the gym trying to improve the little strength he had to stave off bullies or people who pick on him because he was the little guy, or he was at the movies, watching the pre-show newsreels to see how the war was going in Europe. At the same time, Hazel busied herself at the Jewish hospital, picking up whatever shift she could to make ends meet or to keep herself busy so she didn’t have to think about Bucky or Steve.

“He’s smitten with you, you know that?” His voice was barely a whisper, but it felt like he screamed the fact right in her face.

“Never once had he shown me he was interested,” she replied coolly, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal for her.

“He brought you flowers for your birthday.”

“I hate daisies. You both know that.”

“He carried your books in school.”

“Because he wanted to look unavailable to Esther.”

“He would always buy you the candy you liked at Coney Island.”

“Then take me on the Cyclone so I would throw up. Steve, we can go on and on and on about this. Bucky used me as way out of things with other girls, and half the time I let him because I couldn’t see my best friend being with such able gables and it’s bad enough that when he comes back, more of them are going to want him because he’s in uniform.” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she turned towards him. “Is that why you are trying to enlist? To get some broad to look at you the way they look at Bucky?”

“No!” Steve answered quickly, “that’s what most of those Joes want. What is with girls and the sight of uniforms?”

“Don’t look at me,” Hazel stated, her hands in the air, “I don’t fall for the show. It’s what in his head that matters to me.”

“What about Bucky’s head?” Steve pushed.

“Steven,” she replied warily.

“What? You two could round and round on topics that are being argued in Washington and you don’t find his thoughts or ideas something you like.”

“We are usually in opposition of each other.”

“Ma always said that opposites attract. Also said that you and Bucky would tie the knot. Even his ma was in that wager.” Steve looked down at his hands, fingers picking imaginary lint from his pants. “Becca would love you for a sister.”

“How is Becca? And their parents?” she asked softly, anything to get off the subject of her and Bucky being a couple, or even married.

“She’s fine. Misses him just like the rest of us. She misses you too. She was at the gym yesterday asking if I knew when you would be home so you two could go for a soda or something.” He looked up at his friend and smiled softly. “I think being around me hurts her more, since Bucky’s usually right there.”

“I’ll swing by their place tomorrow after work if I have time. I’ll even send her a letter. Now, let’s get you something to eat and some tea. It’s suppose to be windy tonight, and I haven’t been able to get a newspaper to help with the drafts.”

She got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen area, filling the kettle before lighting the flame to heat. Her mind was wandering around what Steve had said, the idea of bother Bucky’s mother and her adoptive one hoped that they would be together. Three years ago, she would have gagged at the idea, even tell the poor women off if they told her such a thing, but now? It stirred something inside her that she couldn’t place. She wish she had Bucky right there then so she could smack his stupid face for making her feel out of sorts.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanficiton #steve rogers x ofc #bucky barnes x ofc #unkept promises #ruckystarnes

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