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arcticfox007 · 3 years

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Somewhere to Belong

Bonus! I’m posting this next segment faster than I anticipated because I was really excited about writing it <3

Destiel December Challenge 2020

Day 14: Hot Cocoa

This is a continuation of previous days in the challenge, you can find them on my masterpost or on AO3. Day 15 will technically wrap up the story but depending on how long it goes I may also do an epilogue.

***

On the night of Christmas Eve Dean couldn’t sleep. Things had been going so well for him that he’d become convinced it was going too well. Which was, of course, ridiculous, but since when had anything gone the right way for him? He stared at his ceiling trying to will his brain to shut the hell up and let him get some sleep. He told himself that there was absolutely no reason to believe it would all come crashing down. He and Cas had been getting along amazingly well, Sam was happy that Dean was happy, and it was Christmas tomorrow and he was fairly certain his gift to Cas would go over well. He even deviated somewhat from his normal gift for his health freak of a brother because he was feeling the Christmas spirit or whatever. So, yeah, if only his mind wouldn’t keep turning to all the ways tomorrow could go wrong, maybe he’d be awake enough in the morning to enjoy the holiday.

Ten minutes later Dean knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. He let out a frustrated groan, pulled on warm socks, and added a sweatshirt over the Christmas PJs Charlie had gotten him (yeah, they were ridiculous, but they’d promised Charlie they would wear them, and they were warm and soft so he couldn’t really complain). He begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen, thinking that maybe eating more pie would help him feel better. Sam kept doubting his ability to consume all the pie he and Cas had baked, but Dean was determined to make sure no pie was left behind. He smelled chocolate as he walked into the kitchen and found Cas turning off the stove.

“I don’t suppose there’s enough for a second cup of whatever smells so amazing?” Dean peers over Castiel’s shoulder having long ago stopped complaining about personal space. Cas smiles softly and starts pouring the hot cocoa as Dean notices there are already two mugs out on the counter. Cas then throws extra marshmallows in Dean’s mug, without Dean even having to ask.

“I had a feeling you would have trouble sleeping. I know you and Sam haven’t had many happy Christmases.” Dean takes the offered mug from Castiel, a lump forming in his throat as it occurs to him that not only does his angel (and surely there’s no harm in just thinking of Cas as his angel) know him well enough to anticipate that he’d have a hard time sleeping, but he’s also aware enough of how much Dean dislikes the cold seeping into the bunker with all the snow, that he made him a hot drink. With extra marshmallows.

“Thanks Cas. Want to hang out by the tree?” Cas grabs his own mug and follows Dean out to the couch they had moved by the tree earlier. There’s one blanket tossed over the arm and Cas drapes it over Dean’s shoulders before sitting down himself. The sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Cas gazes at the tree and Dean tries to not gaze at Cas. Dean smiles fondly at his mug as he drains the last of the hot chocolate his maybe more than best friend had made for him. Even when he and Cas had fought over the years, even when he’d felt betrayed by Cas, he’d never failed to try and look after Dean. As much as Dean had been furious at the angel over many times over, he also knew that he didn’t have much ground to stand on. In fact, he sometimes worried that Cas had learned a little bit too much about being a Winchester – most of Cas’ mistakes were made in the attempt to protect those he cared about. Most days Dean still wasn’t sure how he could possibly deserve someone like Castiel in his life. Cas really would have gone with him to what he’d thought was his death only a few months back, just so Dean wouldn’t have had to go alone.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean glances at his watch and notes that it is technically Christmas now.

“Merry Christmas Cas.” They sit contentedly side by side for a few moments longer. Eventually Dean has an idea. He wasn’t sleeping anyway, so maybe he and Cas could exchange gifts privately now, rather than trying to find time to ditch Sam tomorrow.

“Hey, Cas. You said you wanted to exchange gifts with just us, right? We could do that now if you wanted.” Dean was somewhat nervous about what Castiel would think of his gift, especially since he’d put so much work into it. Cas’ face lights up at Dean’s suggestion.

“Yes, if you’re not tired. Can – can you go first though? Mine’s… a bit unorthodox.” Dean was now intensely curious but brushed that feeling aside in favor of the anxious anticipation of giving Cas his present.

“No problem. It’s not under the tree though, and you need to be quiet so we don’t wake up Sammy.” Dean grabs Cas’ empty mug and drops the dishes off in the kitchen before coming back to drag Cas down the hall towards the living area.

“Is it in your room?” Cas seemed confused. Dean just laughs softly and pulled him a bit further down the hall. Dean stops in front of one of the doors and opens it up without hitting the light switch. Dean takes a deep breath to calm himself, weaves his finger’s through Cas’, and pulls him into the dark room, closing the door behind them.

“Hold on, let me find the switch.” Dean fumbles around for a few seconds and then switches on the string lights draped around the room. Cas doesn’t say anything for a long stretch of time, his eyes wide as he takes in the bed with a navy-blue bed set, the giant stuffed bee pillow that Dean thinks is called a pillow pal or something, the used dresser they had dragged out of storage and set up an old boombox on top of, the mismatched mirror and cork board with pins, the desk with the laptop Cas often uses next to a charging station, and the constellation themed throw rug on the floor. The walls had been painted a pale blue and there were two framed posters of what Dean thought were botanical gardens on the wall. The door Dean had closed had a hook on the back, with a soft robe and ridiculous fuzzy bee slippers that Sam had managed to find somewhere.

“Dean – I – what is all of this?” Cas’ voice is timid as he reaches out to touch the microfiber comforter on the bed.

“It’s yours. I know you’ve been camped out in a different room, but I couldn’t set all this up in there without you noticing.”

“Mine? I… I don’t actually need to sleep or anything.” Dean smiles at his friend and moves over towards the dresser, opening one of the drawers to show off more of the gift to Cas.

“Sure, none of us need Charlie’s Christmas PJs, but we’re all wearing them anyway. Look, we got you a few changes of clothing if you ever want them. There’s also a wardrobe we can drag up here if you need more than a few hooks for hanging up stuff. The bookshelf by the desk is mostly empty because Sam and I thought you’d want to move your books from the other room. Also, I know you can research in the library but you can also work in here if mine and Sam’s bickering gets to be too much. Um, anyway, I just want you to feel at home, because this is your home as much as it is ours Cas. You always have a place with us. I really hope it helps you to feel like you belong here with us.” Dean’s face had gone a bit red and he cuts himself off before he becomes too incoherent. He’s still a bit nervous but then Cas’ arms are around him before he even realizes that the angel had moved. Cas’ face is buried in Dean’s neck and after the initial shock wears off Dean returns the embrace.

“Thank you. Thank you, Dean. It’s beautiful.” Cas’ voice is muffled by Dean’s neck but Dean gets the point regardless.

“I’m really glad you like it. I’m hoping this means you’ll be here with us more often.” Cas nods weakly and then draws back from the hug, looking around the room again with something akin to awe on his face. It’s amazing to Dean that an angel who used to live in Heaven could feel anything like awe while looking at the small room in the bunker, but maybe this is more of a home than Castiel has had in a long time, maybe ever. Dean spends a few more minutes showing Cas everything in the room and offers to help Can move over anything he has stored elsewhere. Cas hugs the bee pillow when he thinks Dean isn’t looking and Dean plays along as if he hadn’t seen. Dean can’t help smiling at how happy he’s made Cas, it makes up for not having realized that Cas was missing this in the first place, at least a little bit.

“Thank you again, Dean. I’d like to give you your gift now, if that’s okay.” Cas looks almost shy when he looks up at Dean through his eyelashes while sitting on his new bed. Dean’s breath catches for just a second, Cas’ beauty just hits him like that sometimes.

“Sure Cas,” Dean says a bit breathlessly, “lead the way.” Dean follows his angel back into the hall thinking that, while he’s sure he will love whatever Cas got him, the best present is knowing that he possibly had helped Cas feel like he really did belong here with him.

***

@galaxycastiel, @jellydeans, @my-favourite-hellatus, @nguyenxtrang

#destiel december 2020 #destiel december #destiel fic #destiel #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn family #spn fic #spn #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #charlie supernatural #christmas fic #fluff and angst #fluff #christmas fluff #arcticfox007writes

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midnightprelude · 3 years

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Take My Hand

Dorian and Rilienus for @14daysdalovers by @oftachancer and I (drawing by meeee)! Read here or on AO3.

The fireworks started before the sun had gone down, bursting over the city in rampant showers of color and booming far and wide across the country. They clattered ram shod over the bells that sang from the High Chantry at sunset.

Listen to the fireworks, Rilienus had said. Listen. He’d never thought to. In fact, he’d gone so far as to invest in exceptional noise cancelling headphones specifically to not listen to them at various points during the year. One watched fireworks. Admired the flashing lights and patterns. Tutted over the smoke that billowed across the sky as a result of the crackling and fizzling chemical reactions.

Not for the first time in their acquaintance, Dorian caught himself gazing at Rilienus’ profile, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe at some point. What a marvel he was. What a spectacular, intricate mind hiding inside such a wonderfully sensual form. His whole body was built to be kissed and touched, responsive to the smallest stimuli of breezes or touches, but his sensitivity didn’t end there. Light and sound and the texture of food and the scent of varying trees and even the different kinds of cement that were used in different parts of the city. Dorian had never noticed those details; he’d wandered blithely ignorant through a world that was utterly beset with the fantastical elements that fed Rilienus’ psyche day in and out.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry about that,” Dorian laughed, because what else could he do? How could he explain that Rilienus’ existence sometimes brought him to tears? It was such a strange feeling, being so grateful that this one person existed in the world. Never mind that he existed in close proximity, that he liked Dorian and shared all those wonderful parts of himself with him. Just that he was.

“You can stare at me whenever you like,” Rilienus chuckled, giving him a sly smirk, crossing his ankles below the park bench and uncrossing them again. “How often do they bathe Val Royeaux in booming sound and sparkling color, the sun catching on the waves in the harbor and turning everything caramel?”

“Like this? Let’s see- there’s Empire day. There’s Satinalia. And the night before First Day.” He quirked a brow. “You’ve been to Empire day in Val Royeaux before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but they’re always a little different,” Rilienus nudged him with his shoulder. “Last year everything was more silver and the year before that wasn’t nearly percussive enough.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “This one is nice. The colors over the water match the sounds and the weather. A more thorough harmony.”

Gods, what must it be like to look out on the world with those eyes and hear it with his gentle, edible ears? “Yes. This one is nice.” Dorian leaned back, peering up at the sky. “The caramel is nice.”

“It matches you, too,” Rilienus added, almost too quietly for him to hear. “Gilded light at dawn and before dusk.”

Like breathing champagne. Like licking the bowl clean after Rilienus had made his spiced pudding. Dorian flexed his hands together, his heart pounding in time to the bursting displays above them. Percussive. He took a breath. “Should we open the wine? Do you think anything can really compare to those jewels we had at the cookout?”

“Kaffas, I hope so,” Rilienus laughed, reaching into his bag to pull out the bottle and a corkscrew. “It’s not at the right temperature, but at least we have proper glasses.” He passed Dorian a glass and peeled off the top of the label from the bottle. “It’s though they were trying to mock us. Do they think the faculty wouldn’t notice?”

“Well,” Dorian considered. “There are those who come prepared. Hennessy in World Religions always comes to these things with a snifter in a velvet bag. But he also wears housecoats in the daylight, so…” He shrugged. “I understand it. It’s less work for the organizers. And they only just finally agreed to get recyclable cups.” He chuckled. “It does make you feel rather like a drunk, though, drinking cheap facsimiles of wine out of cups meant for playing beer pong-” He jolted as a particularly massive explosion of yellow boomed over their heads. “Is this one percussive enough?”

“Absolutely,” Rilienus grinned sharply, dragging the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. “A nice range. Set your teeth on edge. A visceral experience.” He poured a sip of wine in Dorian’s glass. “Is the vintage to your liking, my dear sir?”

Dorian tilted the glass, lifting it to watch the fireworks sizzle through the liquid. He sniffed. He sipped. He couldn’t have said, if pressed, what the scent was, nor the particular notes, nor whether it was objectively a particularly eventful wine. He could have described in detail the way Rilienus’ eyes crinkled in amusement and the way his lips curved just so - from smile to smirk to sideways sweetness like the setting sun. “Delectable,” he murmured, meaning it, and held his glass out for more. “Perfectly uncarbonated. Thank you. I hope you’ll find it pleasing as well.”

“What a relief,” Rilienus hummed, splashing more wine into Dorian’s glass before filling his own, sipping and sighing. “Ah, yes. All is once again as it should be.”

“It is.” Dorian tapped his glass to Rilienus’ lightly. “Good wine and good company.” He took a deep breath, letting his second sip linger on his tongue. “‘Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine; or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine.’”

Rilienus exhaled softly beside him, low and shaky. “I haven’t heard that one before. It’s-“ His eyes glittered with the reflection of exploding, sparkling stars. “Apt. I like it. It’s-“ He hummed a little tune, joyful, but with a hint of longing. “It’s right, too.”

“Is it?” Dorian ducked his head, grinning foolishly. “I was afraid it might be too on the nose.”

“Sometimes on the nose suits quite well,” Rilienus chuckled, sipping from his glass. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the seat of the bench between them. “I can say it now: I’m officially glad I joined you this afternoon. I’m not certain how you managed to make such an event palatable, let alone somewhat enjoyable.”

“Ah.” Dorian could feel his joy in his toes. “Hypnotism and drugs, mostly.”

“Is that it?” Rilienus lifted a brow. “You’ve drugged me? Hypnotized me to feel delight at the sound of your voice?”

At the sound of his voice- The warmth rushed up from his toes to vibrate through his chest at the next collection of fireworks. “Reciprocal hypnotism. Very tricky.”

“Reciprocal?” Rilienus tutted. “No, no. I worked very hard to make you delight in me. Have you already forgotten this morning?” He turned, smirking. “Will you need a reminder when we return to walls and ceilings?”

“This morning,” he hummed, hiding his grin behind his glass. “This morning. Nnn…. no. Not ringing any bells. All I remember is a kaleidoscope of light and sound and percussion… Perhaps the fireworks began early.”

“That they did,” Rilienus snorted. There were people about, but it was too dark to make out their features, save for the quick flashes of light that illuminated them all briefly before fading again. A little hilltop in the park full of benches, families and couples, but they were easy to forget with Rilienus beside him. “Alright, then, it seems we need a repeat in order to leave a more lasting impression.”

“It seems we do.” Dorian shut his eyes, listening to the sounds of the booms in the distance, the cracks and fizzles, the oohs and aahs from others, all eyes on a sky full of wonders. He dropped his fingers towards the tapping on the bench, letting his hand rest in the path of the percussion as he listened to the Orlesian anthem bellow from a barge on the sea. “I’ve never really listened to them before,” he sighed. “Without the lights, they almost sound sad.”

Rilienus’ fingers stopped moving as soon as they contacted Dorian’s. There was a moment of hesitation that dragged on for an eternity, before finally Rilienus exhaled and set his hand on top of Dorian’s, stroking the side of Dorian’s hand with his thumb. “It does sound a bit melancholy, doesn’t it?” His voice was nearly drowned out by the crashing explosions. “The way the echoes fade away… There are some old symphonies that have cannons written into their scores. This is one such, actually, though the fireworks aren’t keeping a very good tempo.”

Dorian blinked rapidly, staring down to where Rilienus touched his fingers. Tempo? Tempo? His heart was racing like a track full of horses. A glancing touch, he’d thought. Something to stem the tide, to fill the space between them. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He looked up, finding eyes that were the color of wondrous poppies in a field of verdant growth. “Ril,” he whispered, helpless. “I love you.”

Rilienus closed his eyes, pressing his lips together, silent among the applause and clatter as the finale began. Exhaled slow, deep, painstaking breaths, but he kept holding Dorian’s hand, feather light touches keeping time to the crash of symbols over the loudspeaker.

He didn’t open them again until the fireworks stilled, smoke filling the night air, crowds of people shifting, beginning to mill about the gardens of the park, on their way back to their merry little lives.

Rilienus still held his hand, only the pulse over his fingers, the twitch of his thumb, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest signaling that he was more than a statue carved to sit upon the bench ad infinitum.

And when the echoes of voices drifted into the evening, dissipated like the lights and smoke, did Rilienus meet his gaze and with the barest of breaths whisper, “I love you, too.”

Dorian smiled, catching a fallen tear from his lips with his tongue, his baited breath returning in a rush that left him light-headed. “They were good this year, I think,” he murmured, hearing his pulse in his voice. “Better than I’ve seen. Definitely better than I’ve heard.”

“The best I’ve had the privilege to enjoy,” Rilienus whispered, squeezing his fingers. “Dorian?”

“Hm?”

Rilienus smiled slightly, his eyes fractal emeralds. “You’ve something on your cheek.”

Dorian barked a laugh. “You’re a menace; do you know that?”

“I do,” Rilienus glanced down at their hands. “And yet you’re still here. Wonder of wonders.”

“We were having a nice confounding, miraculous moment, you realize.”

“Can’t possibly have one of those with your lines marred,” Rilienus hummed. He reached up to brush away the drops that caught in Dorian’s skin, smiling as he poured them each another glass of wine and taking his hand again, the only sounds those of lapping water, distant traffic, and evening songbirds. “I do so appreciate your symmetry. Almost as much as I enjoy being the one to set it askew.”

Dorian sniffed back a renewed set of happy tears, memorizing every angle of his face and the way his eyes caught the smoked starlight. “Am I suitably symmetrical to your tastes?” he asked, sipping from his glass to clear the clog from his throat.

“I’m not sure there is a single part of you that isn’t to my taste, Dorian,” Rilienus admitted quietly, cradling his wine. “It’s rather mortifying, that realization.”

“Mortifying?” he repeated softly. “I find the experience rather vivifying.”

“Mortifying thing, living,” Rilienus raised his brows. “Being seen. It takes a bit of adjustment.”

Adjustment. Dorian studied him curiously, thinking of the panic attacks that had plagued him well after he’d made his way to Val Royeaux and the stuttering nerves blended with revelation he felt each time he touched Rilienus in even the most innocuous ways in the daylight. And now it was dark and there was the scent of burned revelry in the air and the lap of the sea against the harbor… and Rilienus was holding his hand. Not in sunlight, but moon and starlight, without walls and ceiling to protect them. High diving. Free falling. Dorian carefully turned his hand, tangling their fingers together; palm to palm. “It is,” he agreed quietly. “I’m very glad to be seen by you.”

He felt a subtle shiver go up Rilienus’ arm as he squeezed his hand lightly. “Likewise,” Rilienus breathed, closing his eyes again. “If I’m to be seen by anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Thank you,” Dorian murmured, watching his exhales puff against his scruff. “For allowing me to. For today. For taking my hand.”

“Thank you,” Rilienus stared out over the harbor, the smallest hint of a smile curling his lips, “for helping me realize I could.”

#14DALovers #dorian pavus x rilienus #dorian pavus #rilienus maecilia #dragon age fanfiction #middy's art journey #da art

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princessofimaginarydragons · 5 years

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Prompt #26 - Slosh

FFXIV Write 2019 - 30 Day Writing Challenge

Hosted by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

~~~

Takes place after the events of Shadowbringers MSQ, but doesn’t really contain spoilers (maybe if you squint)

~~~

The tray of drinks sloshed around as they were deposited in the middle of the large table, the barmaid giving the group of Scions a wink as she slid away.

Iscara reached out for a bottle, flicking the cork out with a thumb, before taking a long chug, and then raising it up, “Cheers.”

Y’shtola chuckled, “I’m sure you’re meant to do that before you start drinking.”

“That was some hours ago,” Alphinaud pointed out, handing the miqo'te the glass of wine he had just poured.

“Yes, and some of us should probably stop,” Thancred interjected, pointedly looking at Ryne, who blushed, and pushed her glass away.

“It’s a celebration Thancred, let the girl enjoy it.”

“She won’t enjoy the hangover tomorrow.”

“Never had one in my life,” the warrior of light grinned at him. Thancred narrowed his eyes at her, and muttered ‘lucky sot’ under his breath.

“Never ever?” Alisaie looked over at the warrior, who shook her head, and earned a sigh in response.

“What’s with the heavy sighing?”

“Oh, nothing serious. Just…” the young elezen looked over at her friend, “Sometimes, I think that I barely know you. I know that’s not true, but…”

Iscara put her bottle down, looking over at Alisaie for several moments, the table quiet. Then she let out a sigh, took a long swing, draining the bottle dry, and said, “Fine, let’s do this.”

“What?”

“You want to know things? About me? Ask away.”

“What, just like that?”

“You are my friends. My best friends. I trust you, all of you. And, lets face it, I am a close-mouthed bitch most of the time. I don’t want you to feel like you don’t know me. Aaaand Lolorito happened to find out I have a sister, and that fact that he knows that when you don’t makes me feel weird. Also I’m pleasantly inebriated, so ask away.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yup. And she’s got eight kids, I’m very used to being called ‘Aunt Is’.”

“How old?”

“Eldest is fourteen now, youngest is only a few months. Nine possibly? I lose count. It’s where all my earrings disappear to, they get used as chew toys.”

“Where do they live?”

“They moved into Ala Mhigo after we took it back from the Garlean’s. Oma brought the merc banner down to fight in the liberation efforts, and once it was free, she wanted to stay. Jaydra brought the family because she’s been wanting to move for a while, and thinks she can get a good foothold with her business in the city.”

“Oma?”

“What business is she in?” The twins simultaneously asked.

“Oma is grandmother. Jaydra’s a goldsmith, she makes a good two thirds of the stuff I wear.”

“Thou has mentioned before in passing that thou does not consider thyself Ala Mhighan. May I enquire as to why, as it seems thy family is closely tied to the city?”

“Oma is Ala Mhigan, and there’s a fair few in my family tree. But there’s also other bits and pieces of different nationalities in there as well. I wasn’t born in Gyr Abania, didn’t grow up there either. I’m highlander, for sure, but personally I don’t feel I have any ties to Ala Mhigo, their culture is second hand to me. I had what you could probably call a ‘blended’ upbringing. More than anything else, I guess I think of myself as ‘Eorzean’.”

“What are those other bits and pieces then?”

“Okay, family tree time. So, Oma is Ala Mhigan, and she got together with a Limonsan, which made my dad. My mum’s father was Ala Mhigan as well, but her mother was the product of an Ala Mhigan and a Gridanian. And I think the Gridanian was a product of a Gridanian and an Ishagardian, but I’d have to ask about that.”

Alisaie was leaning her head on one hand, listening with rapture, “Multicultural indeed.”

Iscara hummed her agreement, knocking back another drink.

“Where were you born then, if not in Gyr Abania?”

“Mor Dhona. Southern shores of Silvertear Lake. Of course, it’s the Carteneau Flats these days.”

“Was there a reason for that?”

“The family and the merc banner, actually back a little bit. So, Oma inherited the mercenary banner, ‘Winter’s Edge’, and made a name for it and herself. So when King Theodoric came to power, and started doing things she didn’t like, she just packed up the banner and went out on an ‘extended work trip’. Basically unofficially quitting the city until it got sorted out, which, well you all know what happened there. And since everyone knew what she was doing, some of the family members of the mercs under her banner came with her, and it kind of grew, until it was this large nomadic band, going where the work was. Mor Dhona was empty, and central, and a pretty good place to make a more central camp, so there were there for a few years, and that’s when I was born.”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Ryne’s soft voice came from the corner.

Iscara smiled at the young girl, “Blue. More specifically, pale blues, like ice crystals, or hydrangea flowers”

“I’ve got one,” Thancred leaned forward, “Best and worst fights. Your opinion.”

Iscara winced, “Give me something easy, why don’t you,” she took a swig of the bottle as she thought. “Worst, Zenos. Rhalgr’s Reach was probably the worst of them all. Best? Thordan. Not for the fighting, that was easy, he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. None of them were, and that’s why showing them what a real Fury could do was so satisfying. Not healthy, but really, really satisfying.”

“Are you a follower of Halone?”

“Yup. And before someone asks, no, I was before Ishgard. I’ve been her follower since childhood, she was who I invoked when I was named.”

Y’shtola frowned a little, “Were you not named when you were born?”

“No. Not properly. There’s a, I guess who’d call it a belief in my family that a person’s name says a lot about them. So when children mature enough, they can pick their own name. Until then, they tend to have nicknames or a ‘kit name’. Although there’s a couple of people I know who liked those names so much they kept them.”

“So you chose the name Iscara?”

“And Wintermere. We all tend to have winter in our surname, keeps the family connection. Mere is an old name for a lake, referencing where I was born.”

“And Iscara?”

She smiled, “My first ever friend gave the name to me. Well, she gave me a title in her language, and Iscara is kind of what is translates to when you put in Eorzean.”

“Which language doth it stem from?”

Iscara chuckled, “You’re clever people. Learned people. I’m not going to tell you, but I would be interested to see if you can work it out. And what it means.”

Urianger raised an eyebrow, Y’shtola chuckled. Alphinaud dived into a tome in his bag, Alisaie rolled her eyes. Ryne looked slightly confused, and Thancred shrugged, “Well I hope there isn’t a prize because I have no chance of winning it.”

The warrior of light chuckled, “I don’t know. You’re pretty good at turning up unusual information when you want to.”

“So there is a prize?”

“You want something more than the satisfaction of knowledge?”

“Yup.”

She tapped the table, “Alright. That pool Tataru has going. About my love life.”

“Ooooh, you know about that?”

“Course. Anyway. I’ll tell the winner the answer.”

There was a moment of silence, then Alphinaud stood up suddenly, redness across his cheeks, “SorrybutIthinkIneedtogotobenowgodnightall,” he said without breathing before turning and abruptly walking away from the table.

“Oi! Don’t you dare think you can go and break into the crystal tower at this point at night!” His twin yelled at him, also leaving the table to chase after him.

“Prithee excuse me, and I shall see that they do not cause too much ruckus,” Urianger said, exiting at a more sedate pace.

Y’shtola sighed, “You want to look in the crystal tower as much as they do.”

“The coin that hast flowed into aforementioned pot is vast.”

The thaumaturge waved a hand at him.

“Not joining them Y’shtola?”

“I doubt the information is contained within the Tomes of the Exarch. And yourself Thancred?”

“Oh, I was simply planning on taking a more immediate approach. More wine my friends?”

Iscara chuckled, leaning forward and meeting his eyes, “I could drink everyone else in the entire Crystarium under the table and still be lucid enough to not tell you a damn thing.”

“Now that sounds like a challenge.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv #writing #fanfiction

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anthonybrxdgerton · 5 years

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A Discovery of Witches reread

Last week I re-read A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness and it took me a long time to do it; I had to pause every few pages (sometimes paragraphs) because of the choices characters made I didn’t agree with. I will be doing my reactions about episodes as well (as soon as I re-watch them) and comparing the show to the first book.

My reactions, notes and everything under the cut. There are some trivia I forgot about, some minor changes book vs tv show, some stuff referencing the next books and what not.

BEWARE OF SPOILERS FOR THE BOOKS. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOKS, DON’T READ THIS POST. Enjoy!

[ a discovery of witches | shadow of night | the book of life | time’s convert ]

the book takes place in 2009 in the span of 40 days

miriam and marcus have very different taste in music (The whole area seemed unoccupied, although from somewhere there came faint strains of a Bach cello concerto and something that sounded an awful lot like the latest hit recorded by the Eurovision song-contest winners);

marcus wears converse and he's BLOND (so are nathaniel and satu);

the killings that occurred at the time (a.k.a jack’s doing) were the reason matthew thought that vampires are going extinct and are not able to sire anyone else;

Patience, alas, was not the strong suit of Bishop women - you can clearly see that in the books as well as in the show;

sarah and rebecca's mother's name is joanna (which only matters to me because it’s my name too);

matthew came to oxford at 1989 (when he met hamish);

matthew was 37 eyars old when we was re-born as a vampire and baldwin was in his late twenties or early thirties. marcus was in his late twenties and diana is 33.

marcus is into red-heads (but phoebe is not a red-head, which will be notet later by baldwin or matthew (i don’t remember which)) ;

"I asked if you were hungry.” Why he continued to do so was a mystery—when was I not hungry? #relatable, I’m Diana here;

“I love your hair,” he murmured. “It has every color imaginable—even strands of red and black.” which will be important later on when diana’s hair change

matthew knows how to knock the cork off with a sword (and now i feel robbed that we didn't see it)

both matthew and hamish won all souls prize fellowship

"What’s your name?” I asked, smothering a smile. “Timothy,” he answered, rocking back on his heels. He was wearing mismatched cowboy boots, one red and one black. His eyes were mismatched, too—one was blue and one was green. “You’re more than welcome to check your e-mail, Timothy.” “You’re the one.” He tipped his fingers at me, pivoted on the heel of the red boot, and walked away. - i just love Timothy, okay? He’s a sweetheart PLUS he is somewhat important in The Book of Life

ashmole 782 has been missing since 1859 but gerbert had it a thousand years ago and “it is a strange book, is it not, Diana? A thousand years ago I took it from a great wizard from Toledo. When I brought it to France, it was already bound by layers of enchantment."

diana's fingers were already colorful (mostly blue) especially when she was angry/stressed

Somewhere in the center of my soul, a rusty chain began to unwind. It freed itself, link by link, from where it had rested unobserved, waiting for him. My hands, which had been balled up and pressed against his chest, unfurled with it. The chain continued to drop, to an unfathomable depth where there was nothing but darkness and Matthew. At last it snapped to its full length, anchoring me to a vampire. - matthew could feel the chain if diana wanted him too. I think she weaved it subconsciously without realizing she’s using her weaver’s powers at the time

Matthew also knew his faults, anger chief among them. Typically, Matthew’s rage was so destructive that once the poison was out of his system, he disappeared for months or even years to come to terms with what he'd done - first reference to the blood rage

matthew used to be friends with marquis de lafayette

when marcus was dying and matthew told him about vampires, marcus thought he was tormented by a demon

“Holy God,” Marcus said softly. Staring at the picture, he tried to imagine what it would be like to receive a photo of his own father ripped to pieces and tossed into the dirt to die. - a.k.a. WAIT TILL SHADOW OF NIGHT AND NOW I'M CRYING I JUST LOVE MATTHEW AND MARCUS’ RELATIONSHIP SO MUCH OKAY

Matthew wore his pilgrim’s badge only when he was afraid he was going to kill someone or when he was thinking of Eleanor St. Leger—or both. - i wish they kept it in the show too especially since it created the tree of life in bishop’s house

My aunt was good with spells. Emily wasn’t but could fly for short distances and see the future.

Matthew’s books were arranged not by size but in a running time line. Those on the first bookshelf were so ancient that I couldn’t bear to think about what they contained—the lost works of Aristotle, perhaps? Anything was possible. - headcanon that he has books from a Library of Alexandria (maybe he got them from Philippe or Hugh or Godfrey?)

“It was spring, you were bored, and so you got up one morning and went to Italy to make war. Your father had to beg forgiveness from the king on his knees”. now I NEED TO KNOW WHAT MATTHEW HAS DONE

“Perhaps, but one thing hasn’t changed in all these years. Whenever there’s a crisis, there’s a de Clermont nearby.” - it should be their motto, really

diana has visions too - i know it's obvious but i completely forgot about it since the show didn’t include it at all except for episode 7 when everybody saw the past

Matthew was unusually tall for the time, though not as tall as he became once he was a vampire - being reborn as a vampire not only makes you stronger but bigger and taller too.

His mother strode forward and slapped him, hard, across the face. “How dare you ask that question?” i need to see it, WHY DIDN’T YOU INCLUDE THIS, SHOW?

marcus is "good at wheedling information out of people."

“And you are going to give me gray hairs—long thought impossible among vampires, by the way—with your courage, your firecracker hands, and the impossible things you say.” - i just like it and i wonder if deb already knew that diana would do that for him in the book of life?

Baldwin had him by the throat before the words were out of his mouth. Their heads close together, one dark and one bright, they rocketed to the far end of the hall. Matthew’s body smashed into a wooden door, splintering it with the impact. - friendly reminder that Baldwin is a much better fighter than Matthew and the show SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF MAKING HIM WEAKER

Vampires didn’t usually get all of their names (5) when they were reborn but over the years.

One reason the de Clermont family was so long-lived was that each member had different skills in a crisis. Philippe had always been the leader of men, a charismatic figure who could convince vampires and humans and sometimes even daemons to fight for a common cause. Their brother Hugh had been the negotiator, bringing warring sides to the bargaining table and resolving even the fiercest of conflicts. Godfrey, the youngest of Philippe’s three sons, had been their conscience, teasing out the ethical implications of every decision. To Baldwin fell the battle strategies, his sharp mind quick to analyze every plan for flaws and weaknesses. Louisa had been useful as bait or as a spy, depending on the situation. Matthew, improbably enough, had been the family’s fiercest warrior. His early adventures with the sword had made his father wild with their lack of discipline, but he’d changed. Now whenever Matthew held a weapon in his hand, something in him went cold and he fought his way through obstacles with a tenacity that made him unbeatable. Then there was Ysabeau. Everyone underestimated her except for Philippe, who had called her either “the general” or “my secret weapon.” She missed nothing and had a longer memory than Mnemosyne. - i really like it and i wish it was in the show too. That being said I really am interested what are the talents/skills of Verin, Stasia and Freya.

A helicopter,” Baldwin said. “It was waiting in Clermont-Ferrand to take me back to Lyon. - does Baldwin have a house there?

”Fancy seeing you here, Miss Bishop”. It was what he always said when I sneaked into his study at home or crept downstairs late at night for one more bedtime story. FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT STEPHEN TOLD HER THE SAME THING IN LONDON TOO

Let me know if you need anything, Ysabeau.” Baldwin brushed her cheeks with his lips. - WERE THEY ENEMIES? FRENEMIES?? I THOUGH THAT HATED EACH OTHER WHAT IS GOING ON I NEED ANSWERS ESPECIALLY THAT YSABEAU SAID SHE HATES HIM IN BOL AND THAT HE TRIED TO BANISH HER FROM JERUSALEM ONCE

Marcus was Matthew’s son. He was my son. / When the door swung open, Marcus’s blue eyes met mine with a twinkle. “Hi, Mom, we’re home!” I JUST LOVE IT, OKAY, WE NEED MORE OF THEM IN THE SHOW

Marcus prefers whiskey even though all of his family loves wine

One morning Marcus turned on his heel and stormed back to the house, leaving his father alone in the old apple orchard. “Diana,” he growled in greeting before streaking through the family room and straight out the front door. “I’m too damn young for this!” he shouted as he left. - I LOVE YOU MY BABY DRAMA QUEEN

Gerbert had always wanted to be included among the Knights of Lazarus, and my father refused him time and time again. - which is why he sent Juliette to spy on Matthew and it gives interesting layer that he told about The Knights in the show. He’s so bitter loool

Stephen Proctor could timewalk into the past OR into the future hence why we saw him in the 1x01 - he wasn’t just a hallucination, he probably timewalked into the future to make sure Ashmole 782 is safe

also, at the end of the book, right before they timewalked, Matthew noticed that there are some annotations in his “Doctor Faustus” copy he made that he didn’t remember putting them there. - is this a sign that 16th century Matthew somehow subconsciously remembered Diana or his fight with Kit or something? I wish that was explained too because that’s interesting.

this is so long I’M SORRY. Overall, I had very hard time re-reading this book especially when Matthew was so possessive and controlling. I wanted to punch him every time he said or did something. Show!Matthew is definitely more bearable and les creepy. Also, I love the familiar/platonic relationships between Marcus & Matthew, Marcus & Diana, Marcus & Miriam, Miriam & Diana, Sophie & Diana, Sarah & Marcus and more. Too bad the show didn’t care about those relationships too much. As for the romantic relationships, I wish I knew more about Miriam & Bertrand, Philippe & Ysabeau, Sophie & Nathaniel too.

#a discovery of witches #all souls #diana bishop

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

Ebert and Ethrik (Father and Son)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Non-Romantic; Human Father and Half-Human Son Additional Tags: Babies, Sex Mention, Children, Kids, Priestess Mom, Tabaxi Step-Mom Words: 3232

Ebert and Rings return to the village, and while Rings and Reverence get re-acquainted with each other, Ebert spends time with his infant son. Another commission by @ocsmutapocalypse. Read the first one here! It involves Rings and Ebert on the road, and it’s NSFW.

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The trip back to the village had taken more than two weeks, and they decided to hire a carriage for the last couple of days to spare Ebert’s leg, though Rings heckled him about it. They sat together as it clattered along the road leading back to the village. Buttons sat in Ebert’s lap, digging her claw painfully into his leg due to the jostling of the carriage down the road.

“Do you think Reverence will be angry that we’ve been gone so long?” Ebert asked, trying to calm his cat enough that she would retract her claws from his thigh.

Rings was sitting upside down with her feet on the ceiling and her hair brushing the floor. Had she been wearing a skirt, everyone outside could have seen her lady bits in all their glory, not that she would have cared.

“Hard to say,” She said thoughtfully while carving a rude word into the floorboards of the carriage with her claw. “Reverence is kind of easy-breezy about these sorts of things ordinarily, but you did promised her you’d be back in a month. She does expect people to keep their promises.”

Ebert bristled. “I was only gone for so long because you kept sidetracking us! I’d have been back months ago if it were up to me!”

She smiled devilishly. “You’re telling me you didn’t enjoy your time away?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, you shifty minx,” Ebert retorted. “It’s just that… I like the village. I’ve been wanting to go back for a while. I don’t want Reverence to think that I didn’t want to come back just because you didn’t.”

She flipped over and sat properly in the seat, fidgeting with her tail. “You’re not going to tell her, are you? That I didn’t want to come back?”

You sighed. If Reverence was annoyed at your late return, it would be easy to use Rings as an excuse, especially since it was actually her fault. But… Reverence was the only person who’s opinion truly mattered to Rings. As little as you liked the idea of being on Reverence’s bad side, you liked even less the thought of driving a wedge between the two women. They did love each other, after all.

“No, of course not, love,” You said, and Rings purred, dislodging a hissing Buttons and sitting in your lap.

“You’re so good to me,” She said, reaching down into your trousers. “Let me be good to you for a little while.”

Ebert smiled, and as she lowered herself down, pulling at the buckle of his pants, his head hit the back of the carriage and he closed his eyes, giving over to expert ministrations.

A few hours later, during which Rings had sucked Ebert into a semi-coma, he cracked an eye when she rocked the carriage by shooting to the window and looking out. Familiar houses floated by, and Ebert realized he was back. He was home.

It was late in the evening, with the sun just setting beyond the trees, and Ebert looked out alongside Rings. He banged on the roof of the carriage and it stopped. The pair of them then got out, grabbed their bags from the hold in the back, headed straight for Reverence’s house. Buttons escorted herself.

As if expecting you, she was standing there on her front steps; tall, proud, and frowning. She wore a gold gown that dipped past her bust to her navel, with slits up both of her legs. The place where her eyes would have ordinarily been was covered with a cloth, but there were dozens of eyes staring back at them from her large antlers, all of them narrowed irksomely.

“And what time do you call this?” She asked shrewdly.

“Forgive me, Reverence,” Ebert replied, watching Rings tense, worried that Ebert would sacrifice her to spare his own standing with the temple priestess. “We… We got rather sidetracked at several points during the journey. But you’ll be happy to know that we have been spreading your message of open love between adults the entire time we were gone.”

Reverence’s face softened, and the tension eased from her shoulders. Rings also relaxed.

“How wonderful,” She said, swaying side to side as though rocking herself. Only then did Ebert notice the bundle cradled in her right arm, wrapped in one of Ebert’s old cloaks that he had repurposed into a blanket. It had been the first gift Ebert had given his son. His heart thudded against his ribcage as though something was kicking him from the inside.

Ebert couldn’t see the child clearly, just his forehead and one little hand that stuck out from the wrappings. The boy was still small and thin, but seemed to be thriving, sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms.

“That’s… Is that Ethrik?” Ebert said softly.

“Aye,” Said Reverence, looking down at their son… well.. reverently. “My sweet, little reminder of the day you first arrived here. He’s still a wee little thing yet, but he’ll grow up strong. All of my children do.” She swept her free arm wide and stepped out of her cottage’s doorway. “Come in, please.”

Ebert and Rings followed Reverence inside her dwelling, which they often shared together, though Ebert still maintained his shack out in the woods. As much as he loved the village and it’s people, sometimes he still needed silence and time to himself without other people around, for his own sanity’s sake.

Buttons stalked under the bed and made herself comfortable there, so that only her gold eyes were visible in the gloom of the shadow.

“I was beginning to worry,” Reverence said. “You insisted you’d only be gone a month or two. Ethrik missed you, you know.”

Ebert highly doubted that. Babies of Ethrik’s age didn’t have the memory retention to actually miss people. He was absolutely certain the boy had no recollection of Ebert at all. Even still, Ebert said, “I know, I’m sorry. Is there something I can do to make it up to the both of you?”

“Here,” Reverence said, handing Ethrik to Ebert. “You can take him for the night. Goodness knows I could use a break.” She curled her arm around Rings back and led her toward the door, likely heading straight to the temple. There was a coy smile on her face as she looked down at the feline woman, who smiled back while biting her lip seductively. “I’ve been neglecting my duties.”

“But,” Ebert said, dropping his cane and cradling his son a little awkwardly. “I don’t know anything about taking care of babies. What if he gets hungry? Won’t you need to feed him?”

Reverence turned back to Ebert and chuckled. “He can’t stomach milk, not even mine. There’s a jar of dark honey in the pantry over there,” she said, pointing. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a closed metal cup with a spout and a corked hole. “We found that it works well to sustain him. Two tablespoons dissolved in half a pint of water whenever he’s hungry. There’s also a jar or two of pear sauce and some berries for his dinner. That’s more than enough for him at this age.”

Then she turned, Rings on her arm, and exited the house.

Ebert looked down at his sleeping son for a moment. He hadn’t really spent much time with him before now, especially on his own. Ethrik was always in the hands of others. Ebert had only interacted with him for a few minutes at a time before moving on to other things, trusting that Ethrik’s attention was well occupied. This was the first opportunity he’d had to actually… bond with the boy.

Gingerly hobbling to the bed, he laid Ethrik down in the middle of it and carefully arranged his blankets so that he wasn’t stifled. Ebert marveled at how truly small he was, even at eight months.

“Hi again,” Ebert said softly as he sat on the bed and arranged his legs semi-comfortably. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long. I didn’t expect to be.”

Ethrik slept on. Ebert sat there, bending to remove his leg brace without moving the baby around too much, feeling strangely at ease as watched the little boy breathe in and out rhythmically. It was oddly soothing.

“You know, I actually never expected you to exist. Not you specifically, I mean. I just never thought I’d ever have a child. When I was younger, I repulsed by the idea, and now that I’m older… well… I thought the time for such things had passed me by. But, I guess when you meet a person like your mother, things just tend to happen, eh? She does tend to get her way. It doesn’t help that I’m a pushover for beautiful women.”

Ethrik snuffled in his sleep as if in agreement, and Ebert sniffed a laugh through his nose, examining his son. He looked startlingly like Reverence. His skin was lavender in color and he had little nubs on his forehead that you knew would grow into great big antlers like a moose, but unlike his mother, his eyes, all four of them, were on his face rather than implanted in the antlers. His hair was dark, his feet were cloven hooves, and he had a little tail poking out of the blankets.

“You look like her,” Ebert mused. “But I’ll bet anything you’re like me in temperament. If that’s the case, I’m sorry, sport. I’m not a likeable guy. Well, except for here, in this place. These people seem to like me just fine.”

Ebert looked out of the window. It was still bright enough that he could see the bustling of the town as it finished it’s day business. People went to the tavern, or ducked into their own homes, and more than a few headed to the temple.

“Yeah,” He mused. “This place may seem odd to other people, but for odd people, it’s the perfect place to be. And I’m nothing if not odd. So’s you’re mom, honestly. And your… well, I guess she’s technically your step-mom, though she’d hate the idea, so don’t tell her I called her that.” He said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Just then, Ethrik woke up. He blinked up at Ebert curiously, each of his four eyes a different color. Then began to cry, softly at first, but growing in volume and intensity. Ebert floundered, trying to figure out how to calm him.

“Oh! Oh, just a sec, just a sec!” Ebert said, jumping as best he could from the bed and taking the metal cup to the water basin and uncorking it. Ebert unscrewed the honey jar and spooned two dollops into the opening, as instructed, and then filled it with water, re-stoppering it and shaking it vigorously to dissolve the honey.

Ebert staggered back to the bed, where Ethrik was still wailing, and gave him the cup, which he was able to hold on his own. Ethrik silenced immediately and drank enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I get grouchy when I’m hungry, too,” Ebert said fondly. “Although, you should see Rings when she’s hungry. She’s a monster.” Ebert patted Ethrik’s stomach. “I do love her, you know. Rings. As cantankerous and sharp-tongued and off-putting as she can be, and as much as she tries to push people away, I love her. I love your mom, too. I love them both more that I ever thought I was capable. And… I love you, too, little one.”

Ethrik watched you with his bright, strange eyes, making little noises as he drank.

“I don’t want to be like my dad was with me, distant and cold. I want to be better for you. My dad wasn’t exactly happy that I was bookish and wanted to study magic. He had intended for me to take over his merchant business. But he had other sons for that. I couldn’t understand why it was so important for me to follow in his footsteps. He wanted this huge trading empire and insisted all his kids were part of it. Well, I wasn’t having it. The day I left for the mage school was the day he disowned me, and honestly, I was more than happy about that.”

Ethrik threw the empty cup to the floor with a clatter and waved his arms at Ebert, who picked him up and lay him on his shoulder, patting his back. Ebert had seen this done before, but wasn’t sure he was doing it right.

“You can be whatever you like, Ethrik,” Ebert said as he bounced him a little. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Your dad says so, and you can tell people that, too.”

A burp, a fart, and an accompanying giggle was Ethrik’s response.

Ebert snorted. “Yeah, you definitely take after me,” He stood again with Ethrik on his shoulder, a little worried that he might fall on his unsteady leg, but made his way slowly and delicately to the pantry again.

“Ooh, blueberries,” Ebert said to Ethrik. “Would you like some blueberries, buddy? Can you even eat these?” He asked, looking at the little boy’s face. Ethrik laughed, revealing three little teeth in his mouth. “Huh. Maybe so.”

Back on the bed, Ebert sat Ethrik upright, and he was mostly steady. The baby laughed and waved his hands up and down, eager for the berries but not quite dexterous enough to grab them.

“Here,” Ebert said, taking one and crushing it between his fingers before feeding it to Ethrik. “Just to be safe.”

Buttons jumped up from under the bed then, sniffing Ethrik’s head and the blueberries before snatching one and rolling on his side next to the baby, munching and batting the air.

Ethrik apparently greatly enjoyed Buttons’ company while he ate, and laughed every time she swiped at Ebert’s hand when he offer Ethrik crushed blueberry after crushed blueberry. Graciously, she only stole one or two.

The pair of them seemed to become fast friends. Once the berries were gone, Ethrik fell forward and maneuvered around to put a fat, starfish hand on Buttons’ belly. Ebert was about to pull the boy away, but Buttons’ seemed not to care. Ebert huffed a little in jealousy; Buttons’ would tear his hand off if he tried that.

Ethrik seemed to be sleepy after eating, and laid down on his side next to Buttons. The cat licked Ethrik’s head a little and then settled next to him, purring and snuggling the little boy closely.

Ebert couldn’t help smile at the sight. Moving carefully to keep from waking the two, he went to his satchel and pulled out his sketchbook, drawing the moment, preserving it to be looked at later in dark times. Ebert sighed. There were always dark times.

He shook himself mentally. Now was not one of those times. Be here in this moment, he told himself. Be here with your son. Keep your promise.

He drew several sketches, smiling softly. When he was done, he put the pages aside and carefully picked up his sleeping child, laying back on the pillows with Ethrik on his chest, and closed his eyes. Buttons stretched and got up, only to position herself over Ebert’s feet and lie on them upside down.

The warm weight and steady rhythm of his breathing was comforting, as was the feeling of Buttons’ purring through his toes and up his legs, and Ebert found himself drifting, clutching his son tightly.

“Isn’t that precious?” Ebert heard through the fog of sleep. He snorted awake to find Rings and Reverence standing over him, looking tired but very pleased. Ebert looked out of the windows and saw that it was still dark out.

“I expected you two to be at it until dawn,” Ebert said groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand while keeping the other firmly on Ethrik, who was still asleep. “Losing your touch, Rings?”

Rings growled at you, her hackles raised.

“I’m afraid I became rather tired,” Reverence sighed. “The baby does take up a lot of my energy these days. We decided to come back here and rest and go back fresh in the morning. If you’re not opposed to taking care of the little one again.”

“Not at all,” Ebert said, looking down at Ethrik. “I think we’re getting along great, actually.”

Rings went to his left side while Reverence lay on the right. The bed was large enough to accommodate all three of them, plus the baby and Buttons. Reverence pulled the sheets over them all, put her hand over Eberts on the baby, while Rings turned her back and put her butt up against Ebert’s hip. Then they lay back and slept.

The next morning at dawn, they woke when Ethrik shrieked with laughter as Buttons nibbled at his hooves. Rings and Reverence headed back to the temple after a breakfast of bread and cheese, and the pear sauce for Ethrik.

Ebert decided to go out with the baby in his carrying basket and reacquaint himself with the town. He greeted friends and neighbors, bought Rings a new whetstone and new clippers for Reverence’s hooves. One of the vendors gave Ethrik a wooden rattle with dried beans inside for free. He was delighted with it, and swung it around for the rest of the morning.

Just as Ebert was debating heading back to Reverence’s house for a nap, he saw Spring of the Valley, Ring’s sister, coming up quickly.

“Spring!” He said, raising his hand in greeting. “Hello again! We’ve finally come home.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful,” She said, smiling, though she seemed on edge. Her normally chubby face was pulled tight in an anxious smile. “You wouldn’t happen to know where my sister is, would you?”

“She’s in the temple with Reverence,” Ebert said. “They have a lot of time to make up for.”

Her face fell. “Fuck. She could be in there for hours.”

“Is something wrong?” Ebert asked. “I can go get her, if you like. She won’t be pleased, but if it’s serious, I can get her for you.”

“Would you mind? There’s a… problem…” Spring said, twisting her tail in much the same way as her younger sister.

“Would you mind taking Ethrik for me?” Ebert asked. Spring took the basket with the little boy, still swinging his rattle around and giggling, and nodded. Ebert thanked her and headed toward the temple.

He didn’t go inside, instead telling one of the priests holding vigil outside that Rings was urgently needed by her sister.

As expected, Rings came out incensed, ruffled and half dressed.

“What could be so important that you’d interrupt worship?” Rings asked angrily.

“Your sister needs you,” Ebert said.

“For what?” She asked, her arms folded.

“Rings,” A voice said from behind Ebert. Springs was standing behind Ebert with Ethrik and her own son. Behind her stood two other Tabaxi people, a male and female, with similar coloring to Rings, though they were obviously older.

“It’s good to see you again, Rings,” The male said, though his face didn’t reflect the words he spoke.

Rings drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t exactly impressive. She puffed up, flexing her muscles, which were actually pretty impressive, and scowled.

“Father,” She said. “Mother.” She nodded at the female, who didn’t acknowledge her gesture. “What are you doing here?”

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#Commission #ocsmutpocalypse #ebert #rings #reverence #ethrik #father and son #family #not romance

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pixieungerstories · 5 years

Text

Darkness - 10

Brie was almost done with her shower when she noticed the weird scar on her ass was gone. She finished up and looked in the mirror. It was really gone. No red skin, no raised area, no sign that she had been cut badly enough to need stitches.

That was…. Weird. It was inexplicable, really. She hadn’t done any kind of scar care or anything. How could it have… No. No. That was ridiculous. Except now she needed to know. The key was under the door mat as Mr Lynn had promised. Brie knocked hesitantly. This should wait until morning. Her dorky little flash light aside, hadn’t every horror movie she had ever seen taught her to never go into the creepy house alone? Especially after dark. She knocked again and waited. Nothing. This was completely ridiculous. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Mr Herne?” she called. There was no answer. She turned on the flash light and looked for a light switch. She couldn’t find one. On the floor were her foot prints in the dust, headed up the stairs when Mr Lynn had brought her to visit. Only her foot prints, not his. Headed to the left were … she didn’t want to say hoof prints, but the marks of something walking the way the monster had taken her. She should just leave. “Mr Herne?” She followed her foot prints up to the sitting room where she had waited. She knocked on the pocket doors, not really certain what she would say if there was an answer. There wasn’t. She carefully pushed them open. Inside was a library full of old books. Legal books, several sets of encyclopedia, books on gardening and mushroom and she was avoiding looking too closely at the entire wall that seemed to be in latin. With one outlier. A green cloth cover with a single word title, Darkness. She plucked that one off the shelf. There were some sort of mystic circles etched on the front cover and when she opened it, the writing seemed to swim before her eyes, as though it was fighting not to be read. She flipped ahead and found a picture. Of her nightmare demon. “What are you doing here?” Brie jumped, screamed a little, dropped the book and spun around to find Mr Herne standing there in a black pair of pyjama pants. “I… I’m sorry!’ she blurted out and tried to run past him to leave. He caught her easily, “Why are you here, Ms Moreno?” She struggled back and away from him. “I didn’t come to steal!” she felt it was important to get that out, then realized how guilty it made her sound. He was watching her. “I never suggested you were. Why are you here?” Brie tried to explain, “Yesterday…. I had a nightmare about the house and … oh god!” Mr Herne flinched. “It… seemed so real. I just needed to see…” She trailed off uncertain how to continue. “And was it?” he asked, sounding curious. Brie felt completely ridiculous. She wanted to say, no, of course it wasn’t real. Except she couldn’t. After a few moments, Mr Herne sighed, “C’mon. I’ll make us a cup of tea.” As he turned, she could see where his back was covered in scars. Stripes that looked like he had been whipped, a burn mark over one hip, and two deep gouges, one on each side of his spine. Brie followed him to an old but functional kitchen and watched as he made a pot of camomile tea. He took a sip, made a face and got out a squeeze bottle of honey shaped like a bear. It was completely out of place in the kitchen. He offered it to her. She shook her head. He shrugged and set it on the counter. He took a long drink of his tea then set the cup on the saucer and said, “Everyone has bad dreams, Brie. Not everyone breaks into someone else’s house in the middle of the night.” Her head hurt. She was looking at Mr Herne, and something was wrong. It took her a moment to realize that the kitchen behind him was distorted like bad photoshop behind him. She looked away. The rest of the kitchen was fine. She looked back. His form sucked at her eyes, but as she tried to concentrate on the space behind him it looked… smushed. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face, then panicked and snapped her eyes open. The monster had told her something. She hadn’t been paying attention. Something about his name. “How tall are you Marbus Herne?” “Nine feet, approximately, plus a couple of feet of horns,” he replied promptly. Then stiffened as though he hadn’t meant to say that. Brie felt her already rapid heart rate jump even further. She was struggling to breath. This was wrong. It wasn’t possible it was- The world went very white. “Ms Moreno? Brie?” The world went dark.Darkness was pacing, his tail swishing angrily. He had the girl in his bed, but this was not how he had imagined getting her there. Calling Lynn had been no help. His advice was to dump her in the garden and pretend this never happened. That wasn’t going to happen. What if she died from exposure? Who would do the weeding and cook his supper? Honestly, the goblin needed to get his priorities right. OK, so it was still late summer and it didn’t get that cold at night, but the grass was wet and what if she got sick? What if she woke up scared and couldn’t get back to her cottage in the dark? What if she tripped in a rabbit hole and broke her leg? Fuck, he missed being able to blaspheme. He needed a higher power to curse right now. How had he ended up in this mess? See! This is why the damned fell back on wailing and gnashing of teeth! Sheer bloodly frustration at the injustice of the universe and - Oh, shit. Was she awake? “Brie?” “What are you?” A lie would be the easiest thing, but he had given her his true name. “I was a forest god more than a thousand years ago. I am the guardian of The Great Tree. Now I am a refugee from days gone by.” “What happened to your back?” “Witch hunters. Demonologists. A very long time ago. I was bound to the property and can not leave. I spoke the truth about living in a refugee camp. It is just that I am still here.” “You look like a human sometimes.” “Sometimes,” Darkness agreed. “It takes energy to hide. It doesn’t work perfectly.” “Have you been haunting me?” Darkness considered his words carefully, “I have been guarding you since the attack. Talking to you in your sleep was a way to make sure you were safe.” “You tried to kill the man who attacked me.” “No,” he assured her. “If I wanted him dead, he would be. I wanted him to stop and never do that again to you or anyone else.” Brie blanched and tried to sit up, the room swam around her. “When was the last time you ate?” “I had… no, you came for me before I ate breakfast. Then I was going to make toast but burned my hand instead. I guess it was the picnic last night.” Brie admitted. “That was only half a sandwich - ” “I was out of chocolate,” Brie snapped. Then she hesitated, “Did you carve a symbol on my… back side?” Brie interrupted. “Only, it isn’t there anymore.” Darkness rocked back on his heels, “It was my true name. It was an indication that you are under my protection. Lynn convinced me you wouldn’t appreciate it, so I healed the scar and took back my mark.” “Isn’t that a bit like branding cattle?” Darkness shook his head. “It was never like that. It is an honour to wear the mark of a god. Or at least it used to be. How did you burn your hand?” Brie flopped back down and stared up at the ceiling. It had a mural. It was of an orgy. Of course it was. “How is this my life?” she asked no one in particular. “Just lucky I guess.” That was the final straw, Brie burst out laughing. She covered her face with her hands and laughed, then cried then got up to leave and was hit with another wave of lightheadedness. She managed to stay sitting up but had to ask, “Is this you?” “This is not having eaten in more than twenty four hours.” He watched her for a moment. “I can send someone to fetch food from your cottage if you would allow it.” Brie shook her head. “I just need to get home.” “Did you find what you were looking for when you came here?” “I… I don’t know. I never see you when I am a reliable witness.” Darkness considered this. He nodded to the goblin in the corner of the room, “Bring us a plate of fruit from the garden and a bottle of good wine from the cellar.” Brie closed her eyes as the room started to spin. She opened them again when a plate bumped against her arm. The room was lit by candles, the fruit was all things she recognized. She tried a raspberry. It was perfect. “Why no electric lights?” Darkness snorted, it was a very impressive snort. “Have you ever heard of knob and tube wiring?” While she was eating her fruit, Darkness stabbed one claw into the cork of the wine bottle and pulled it free. He poured two crystal glasses and held one out to her. Brie shook her head, “Sorry, but I am a lot more careful about what I drink these days.” Darkness cocked his head, “It would have been easier to poison the fruit.” Brie froze. “I would not. I enjoy having you around too much to harm you or drive you off.” Brie pulled a red apple slice off the plate and held it out for him. He did not take it with his fingers but rather leaned in and sucked it from her fingers. Brie shivered. “Are you always this… way?” Darkness considered this as he chewed, “It has been a long time since there were humans in this house.” He tactfully stopped before adding other than the occasional trespasser, but free lunch doesn’t really count. Brie hesitantly went back to eating. Darkness tried again, “Tomorrow, there will be food for you here.” Brie coughed, “What? Did you put on human skin and go grocery shopping?” Darkness managed to look hurt, “No! I went online shopping. It will be delivered tomorrow.” Brie considered this, “That raises so many questions. Like how does an ancient demon - um… elder god know what the internet is?” Darkness laughed, “A hedonist utopia primarily used for the distribution of pornography? Who do you think invented that?” Brie considered this, “A science boy with no chance of getting girls in real life.” Darkness nodded, “Alight, that is true. But my kind assisted in the mass marketing and distribution.” Brie finished chewing her apricot, “My next question should be fairly obvious. How do you get internet without electricity?’ Darkness just shrugged. Brie frowned, “You are going to say magic aren’t you?” Darkness considered this, then once again went with honesty. “I contact Goblynn and he arranges it for me. And if you are done eating, I am taking you for a bath. Collapsing onto a dusty carpet isn’t the best idea.” “I should just go back to my cottage.” Darkness took a step back and waited. Brie watched him for a moment, “I don’t understand you.” “What is not to understand? I have done nothing with the intent to harm you.” “Yeah. That’s what I don’t understand.” Darkness said nothing, but offered her one of the wine glasses. This time, Brie took it.

----

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#darkness #demon #demon boyfriend #monster #monster boyfriend #terato #exophilia

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frejahertziswritingthistime · 6 years

Text

The night sky

A/N: This fits right in with the current weather and life in Denmark! This is written for the amazing @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and her Seasons of love - Heat of Summer. I got the prompt of hot, summer night, and I had so much fun writing this! I hope you’ll like it, guys. Go check this amazing writer (and fellow Dane) out, because her work is AMAZING.

MASTERLIST

Buy me a coffee

Pairings: Sam x reader

Warnings: language (ish), all the flooff

Word count: 1230 (ish)

Sam cracked his neck and exhaled harshly, his long bangs blowing up rom his sweaty forehead. It was one of the worst heatwaves you’d ever experienced, and even though the night was slowly ticking in, the heat hadn’t diminished. It was insane. Sam was sweaty like a pig on a roast, Dean was walking from the table to the freezer, and you were feeling your thighs get more and more sweaty. The chair would probably be stuck to you forever, considering the weird suction sweat seemed to have on furniture in warm weather.

“Screw this.” Dean huffed. “I’m not spending another minute in here. It’s hot as Satan’s ballsack. I’m hitting the showers.” He stood up, shedding his t-shirt and walked quickly from the library, humming a song as he went. You looked at Sam and smiled a little. He refused to cut his hair, so he had opted to put it up in a small bun, trying desperately to keep his neck cool. Stray pieces of hair kept falling in his face, and you could spot the glistening of sweat on his neck, even though he was barely wearing clothes. He was dressed in jean shorts and a tank-top, and he looked like a damn model – even sweaty. It was unfair. You felt like a puddle of melted Y/N, and he was just sweating sexily. You didn’t even think that was possible. It was unfair, mostly because you couldn’t say anything to him about it – the downside of being very much in love with your best friend.

Sam sighed and closed the book in front of him, glancing at the clock behind you. His lips curled up into a smile, and he looked at you. “Feel adventurous?” you cocked an eyebrow. “Uhm… Maybe…?” He grinned and stood up, reaching for your hand. “Come on.” You took his hand and went through the bunker, Sam calling out to Dean that you were borrowing the car.

The night was dark, but the kind of darkness, that only exists in summertime – it was late, and the night was black with stars littering it, but there was a sense of sun, like it was waiting for its time. When looking to the horizon, a pale, blueish hue was bleeding into the dark night, the stars blinking and shining down on you. Sam was driving, your hands out of the window and Sam’s hair blowing gently in the wind, that ran through the car from the open windows. You were both silent, enjoying the night and the lazy silence, that surrounded you. He turned away on a small road nestled in between tall trees, and slowed down, smiling a little.

“This is my favorite place to go.” He said quietly, and glanced at you, his hands resting on the wheel. You grinned. “I’m glad you’re sharing it, Sam.” He smiled and turned, following the quiet road.

As the car stilled, he sighed happily. “Go get the basket, Y/N.” He said, stepping out of the car and grabbing the blanket on the back-seat. You stepped out too, walking to the trunk and grabbing the basket with wine, fruit and a few bottles of water, before rejoining Sam and walking into a salty smell.

“Welcome to my paradise.” He said, gesturing out in front of him.

It was a small beach. Salty air, and the sound of small waves crashing against the shoreline and seagulls crowing surrounded you. The water was almost as dark as the sky above you, and you briefly thought about the fact that the sky was endless, but the sea was more mysterious that anything else. It was beautiful. You turned to Sam, who was removing his shoes and walking down to the beach, gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on!” You grinned, removed your shoes and ran after him, your feet cooling off as they hit the sand.

He had unfolded the blanket on the cool sand, his long legs stretched out in front of him, when you came around to him. He was staring at the sea and absentmindedly patted the blanket in the spot next to him. You smiled and sat down, letting your bare feet run through the sand.

He pulled the wine out and unscrewed the cork, handing you the bottle and a plastic glass. You took it, pouring a glass for yourself and sighed contently. “This is beautiful, Sam.” He smiled and scooted closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you flush to his side. You both sipped your wine, looking over the surprisingly calm sea, enjoying the silence and the lazy feeling of the night.

“Hey, Y/N?” You hummed as an answer, not removing your eyes from the still sea. For some reason, it made you feel calm – it felt like the ocean was beckoning you, the moon, strung high on the sky, lulling you to sleep. “You know, you’re my best friend, right?” You turned to look at Sam with a frown. “Of course, Sam.” He smiled. “And you know, I’d do anything for you?” You nodded with a confused smile. “Sam, what are you getting at?” He looked out on the ocean, closing his eyes.

“Sometimes, I feel like you’re like the ocean. You are so welcoming, soothing and all encompassing. You’re fierce and a force to be reckoned with. It’s kind of amazing to see the shift from the loving, gentle, mellow Y/N to the fierce warrior, that could kill you, swallow you whole.” He looked at you with a small smile full of love. “I can honestly and whole-heartedly say, that if you were the ocean, I’d happily drown within you.” He looked back at the ocean, his gaze longing. “It’s like… I know this is going to sound cheesy, but whatever. What we have… It’s like summer. It’s like the meeting between ocean and sky, you know? I’m the sky, longing to touch you, longing to be near you, and you’re just there, literally within reach, but I can’t reach you. You cool, calm and sending damn ripples through the world, while I’m just up here..” He gestured to the dark sky. “Looking down at you, seeing the impact you have made and still make on people. It’s awe-inspiring.” You smiled and nestled closer to his side.

“I don’t know what you mean, Sam, but thank you.” He sighed deeply. “I mean… I wish I could… Fuck, how do you even say this?” His voice was shaking, and it rang clearly through the night. You sat up and looked at him. He gazed into your eyes. “I love you. Like the sky loves the sea. You’re beautiful. You’re mysterious, deep and so, so much more than that. You’re home, you’re safety, you’re… Love.” He looked at you, refusing to break eye-contact. You smiled gently, moving your hand to his cheek, nuzzling the slight stubble.

“Did you know, you’ve got the night sky in your eyes?” You whispered. “Stars shining, the depth of the universe, all of it. It’s hiding behind your eyes.” You caught the slight smile, he sent you in the darkness, before closing the small distance between you, and kissed him deeply – your hands in his hair, his hands on your waist. He tasted like white wine and strawberries.

When you pulled back, he held on to you. “To the moon and back, Y/N.”

You simply smiled.

FOREVERLIST: @supernaturalmagicfolk, @redeyedvixen, @al1y, @roonyxx, @heyitscam99, @sherlockstolemyname, @tayyfvck, @linki-locks11, @starletzombie, @jensenyourdeanisshowing, @pisces-cutie, @luciferspreciousbabygirl, @vickyfarley

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wendynerdwrites · 7 years

Photo

@jonxsansaremix

Jon x Sansa Remix: Day Two - Comics/Graphic Novel Couples: Fables - Bigby Wolf x Snow White

(Reposting my fic from last year since I did this couple. But the photo edit is new and I’m actually pretty proud of it)

“Then she gets even more frustrated, meaning I turn back even further, and There’s too much to hide, so I can’t go to work, then she gets even more upset, and it’s just this whole cycle!”

Jon quietly swears under his breath as he enters the main office. Of course Beauty and Beast are the first visitors of the day. He and Sansa clearly don’t have enough headaches to deal with.

Rarely does the Deputy Mayor of Fabletown have an easy time receiving petitions— Ichabod Crane, her loathsome predecessor, left a mess with his departure. And even if he’d been a model civil servant, there is never enough money, time, or magic to solve all the problems the citizens of Fabletown have.

Sometimes, Jon wishes he hadn’t taken Sansa and King Cole up on their offer all those years ago and let them turn him back into a man. It’s true that as Sheriff, he has fewer bureaucratic nightmares to handle than Sansa, but she had so little support that Jon is compelled to assist her whenever possible.

Not that he is great at the whole diplomacy thing. Even without his past as The Big Bad Wolf and the whole “brought back from the dead” baggage, Jon isn’t much of a people person. Being stabbed by one’s brothers didn’t inspire much of an inclination towards trust, and though it’s been years since he was a full-time wolf, many of his more base, animalistic instincts remain.

Still… he couldn’t ignore Sansa’s problems even if he wanted to.

It’s been both better and worse since The Farm. Better for Arya’s sake. Most Fables, whether they were from Planetos or some other homeland, had trouble adjusting to life in the Mundy World. Planetos was one of the more brutal of the homelands even before the adversary came and ran them out. But Arya had a particularly hard time adjusting. Decades spent causing trouble, partying, messing around with that idiot, Jack. Sansa and Arya never got along well, but that didn’t stop the older sister from worrying about her constantly.

Arya found her element in the Farm, though. The sisters even found a way to communicate. And with that part of her life stable for the first time in centuries, Sansa is in a better place mentally.

But then there are the physical injuries. Sansa still needs her cane sometimes. Even now, it is propped up against the side of her desk, an oddly modern-looking thing amidst the scores of medieval-style magical artifacts the littered the cavernous main office.

The sounds of Beauty and Beast’s complaints echo off the enchanted, ever expanding walls. It is hard to believe that a woman as small as Beauty can make so much noise. But then, she always does.

Sansa sits as perfectly prim as she always does, but Jon can smell her the tension on her. He could smell it from his cigarette-filled apartment three floors up. She’d been in a decent mood this morning, too.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything other than what I always tell you when this matter arises,” the Deputy Mayor says in her most neutral tone. Jon can tell she’s longing to rest her head in her hands the way she always does when frustrated, but she stays firm and tall now. “Either you resolve your issues so that the curse no longer makes Beast change back, buy a glamour from the 13th floor, or go up to the Farm.”

This has happened a thousand times. The nature of Beast’s curse, contrary to the Mundy version of their story, mean that his appearance depended on the feelings of his wife. When Beauty was happy, Beast looked like the handsome prince of Happily Ever After. When Beauty wasn’t, he began to regain his more beastly features: eyes turning red, teeth becoming fangs, horns protruding out of his temple. At the moment he was still man-shaped, but fairly demonic in appearance nonetheless.

The couple are utterly devoted to one another. But they also had a bad habit of living outside their means. Their elegant Woodlands apartment does not reflect the piles of bills they hid within their 18th century french cabinets.

“You cannot possibly expect us to live amongst those…. Animals!” Beauty cries out, as she always does.

“It’s not so bad, Beauty,” Jon says, walking towards the desk. They all turn to see him. He gives a sardonic smile. “Most of them up there are a fair sight tamer than I am.”

Sansa’s lip twitches for half a second. Beauty scoffs at Jon and turns back to the Deputy Mayor.

“The cost of glamours these days is absurd, and it is only climbing. We couldn’t possibly afford one. And I’m a lady! I can’t just sleep amongst the the pigs and toads and badgers! That might be well enough for that vulgar sister of yours, but—”

Sansa gets to her feet at once, eyes flashing. Even Jon steps back a couple of feet. He hasn’t seen her this furious since Beauty mentioned the dwarves.

“My sister is leading the Farm and contributing to this community. Which is more than I can say for you. I’ve given you your options. Now get out.”

The couple get to their feet. Beast keeps his red eyes fixed firmly on the ground as Beauty drags him out. Once they’re gone, Jon pulls out a cigarette and lights up. Sansa’s emotions are overpowering his senses. There are a few moments of silence before he gingerly approaches her desk.

Sansa’s face is in her hands. “How many are in line outside?”

“Only a half dozen,” Jon says, as gently as he can, “Boy Blue said you wanted to see me?”

Sansa glances up at him. “I just wanted to know if you have any news on Goldilocks.”

Jon cringes. Their favorite terrorist. It was thanks to Goldilocks that Sansa had that cane. “Nothing new, I’m afraid. I just… I don’t get it. You’d think I’d be able to sniff her out. But she’s just… Disappeared.”

“Do you think she may have gotten her hands on any magical artifacts?”

Jon groans. “I didn’t want to admit it, but it seems more and more likely each day. What I don’t understand is—”

“—How she got it. But we have to find out. If there’s some unauthorized enchantments out there again…”

Jon nods. “I’m making Goldi my first priority, before anything else.”

“—I may just have a lead for you on that!”

Jon groans. Wonderful. He turns and Sansa rises to greet the Fabletown government’s primary financial benefactor, Bluebeard.

Of all the Fables that had fortunes in the homelands, Bluebeard somehow managed to be one of the few that retained his. He supposedly had endless treasure rooms in his Woodlands penthouse, and as such, he was the source for much of the government’s funding. Meaning they had to keep him happy. As with most Fables, that was easier said than done.

The former pirate strides in, as he always does, as if he owned the place. His head shines so brightly that it makes Jon wonder, not for the first time, if he shined it with the same polish that went on his italian loafers. The pirate’s hand is planted firmly atop the pocket of his brocade vest. Jon tensed up. He could smell the magic.

“I think you may want to look into that criminal, Greenleaf,” Bluebeard says smugly, coming close to the desk.

Jon rolls his eyes. “We’ve told you before, Bluebeard, Greenleaf is now a legitimate enchanter and part of the 13th Floor, under the employ of Fabletown. She is not—”

“—Once a criminal, always a criminal!” Bluebeard insists, reaching into his pocket.

“Is that so?” Sansa says, brushing a lock of her red hair back and giving Bluebeard a pointed look. The pirate has the decency to blush.

“That was before the amnesty! But she… She’s been dealing black market enchantments for years, and I don’t believe she’s stopped!” Bluebeard pulls something from his pocket— a carved wooden trinket, like a wine cork, but with a stopper— and plants it on Sansa’s desk.

Sansa and Jon both lean over to look at it.

“It certainly looks like one of Greenleaf’s…” Sansa glances at Bluebeard. “Any idea what it is?”

“A glamour, of course. Just like last time.”

That would make sense. Glamours could mask scent. Jon tentatively reaches for it and opens it.

Blackness.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Jon feels amazing, in his element. He isn’t in his wolf form, but he is definitely closer to nature.

Swimming, in fact. In a proper river rather than one of those chlorinated monstrosities the humanoids prefer. Languidly, Jon reaches out and grabs one of the salmon swimming by him. It’s only when he feels the satisfaction of the fish squirming in his hands that he realizes something is amiss.

He’s not supposed to be here. Wherever this is. He guesses the wilderness of Washington State or Oregon, judging by the smell of the trees. It’s evening, just the beginning of sundown. And for a lost wolf, he feels amazing. More amazing than he’s felt in… He’s not sure how long.

And he can smell her. Sansa. Gods can he smell her. He can smell more of her than ever. Jon braces himself and bursts towards the surface. Her scent— lemons, roses, sunlight, vanilla, oak, ink, alcohol and amber gris from that perfume she always wears— almost knocks him out. There’s something else there, too. And Jon immediately knows why he feels so good.

Uh-oh.

Jon calms himself and processes the situation. Sansa will probably be waking as well, or soon. He’s not sure if whatever enchantment that brought them here affects full humans differently than wolves.

Whatever reason they’re here, it can’t be good. He curses. Finally, after years and years of waiting and hoping and dreaming… And he can’t even remember the act!

Then there’s Sansa herself. Gods, this isn’t good. She’ll be horrified. After everything she’s been through, mating under magical influence… She can’t know. Not yet. Not until Jon knows they’re safe.

He bursts out of the water and follows her scent back to the camp they apparently made. Jon is a bit shocked. They have everything— brand new camping equipment, including one large tent and what appear to be all new hiking clothes— strewn all over the ground of their camp site. Khaki cargo shorts, t-shirts, new boots, thick white socks, a sports bra…

Jon glances down and realizes he’s naked as his Name Day. He thanks whatever gods might exist that no one saw him walking back. He grabs his shorts off the ground and pulls them on before gingerly venturing into the hub of that smell, the tent.

He almost faints again. There she is, lying amidst a collection of water-resistant sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows, in all of her glory. If Jon couldn’t smell it on her before, he’d know for certain now that the two of them had slept together. She lies on her back, legs spread, dried fluid clinging to her inner thighs.

Jon stops moving for a short while and just stares at everything he’s dreamt of for the last four centuries. Her pink-tipped breasts, the thatch of auburn curls between her legs, the swell of her hips, the whiteness of her skin. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to pounce on her.

He can’t let her know, not yet. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, and he can smell it. Danger.

Jon works fast and carefully. With every ounce of grace he has, he manages to slip her shorts and t-shirt on. He even does the socks, but doesn’t dare to try with the bra or panties. Thankfully, she stays asleep, but begins to stir when Jon gets her second sock on. Jon tries to play it off, purposely jostling her and whispering her name. “Sansa… Sansa, wake up.”

Her eyes flutter open, and Jon recalls the Mundy tale about her being woken by a prince’s kiss. He wishes he could wake her that way now. But no. Whatever they did under that spell, it was only magic. She’s not his.

Sansa sits up suddenly, her face a mask of panic. “J-Jon? What is going on?! Where am I? Why are we—?”

“I’m not sure,” he confesses, “But you can bet there’s some kind of magical element to it.” He rubs his normally clean-shaven chin, estimating the growth there. “I say we’ve been gone for about three days. We’re in Washington State.”

“Washington—” the blood drains from her face, “Oh gods.” She looks around. “Goldilocks?!”

Jon lifts his nose and inhales deeply. He can smell it. Amidst steel and motor oil and paint. “Yes. She’s behind this. And if she has even half the ballistic power I’m catching off of her, then we need to move. And quickly.”

“Where’s my cane?!” Sansa asks, looking around.

Jon sighs. “Sansa, I don’t think we can afford to have you moving like that. You’re going to have to ride me.”

She blanches. “I—”

Jon shakes his head. “No, I mean literally.” He grabs her hand. “Come on.”

He drags her out of the tent, closes his eyes, and concentrates. He thinks of darting through the woods, the smell of blood on his muzzle, the wind at his fur. He feels himself expand and rise.

When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer a man. He’s gigantic, covered in white fur, mounted on four legs. Sansa stands a few yards off, hand over her mouth. Jon crouches down, lowering his massive neck.

“Get on,” he growls. He can smell her fear, but she grits her teeth and mounts him, straddling his neck and fisting his fur.

He bolts, traversing the woods and climbing the mountain ahead. Sansa clutches him as tightly as she can, but still bounces. Jon keeps going and going, feeling his muscles strain themselves. He can’t possibly escape. Not yet.

He finds a remote ledge surrounded by trees and stops short.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks.

“Resting. We’re not going to outrun her entirely. We need her to catch us so we can get rid of her once and for all.” Jon sighs. “But before she does, I need to get a few hours sleep while it’s still dark enough to conceal us. And so do you.”

He gets on his belly and closes his eyes. Sansa slides off of him, nodding, and settles herself against his side. “…Jon.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t help but notice… There was only one tent and sleeping bag. And I’m not wearing a bra.”

Jon groans internally and opens his eyes. “You want to talk about that now?!”

Sansa scowls at him. “Don’t give me that. You’re the one who made that absurd overture.”

Jon rests his left forward paw over his muzzle and tries to look away. Right. The night he made a complete arse of himself at the Remembrance Day Ball. When he’d used her sister’s disappearance to trick Sansa into being his date. Not one of his brightest moments. Even now, she’s looking at him with the same expression as when she told him that if he really wanted to get the girl, he should be honest with her and not use a potential tragedy to mislead her.

It had been months since, but he is still reeling from it. “And you’re the one who rejected me. What’s your point?”

“There was one sleeping bag, one tent, and no bra. So answer me. You and that nose of yours would know. Did we or did we not—?”

“No,” Jon lies, not loving himself for it. He can tell her later if he needs to. But now he needs her rested and clear-headed. That’s not happening if she knows. “If I had to guess from the amount of tracks I spotted, I’ve spent this entire trip in wolf form, sleeping under the stars.

The look of relief on her face stings a little. “Good. But Jon…”

“What?!” He asks impatiently. He’s exhausted.

She bristles at his tone. “You can’t blame me for worrying. And wondering about this attraction you suddenly have for me.”

Sudden. That’s hilarious. “Sansa, I’m exhausted…”

“I can’t sleep, Jon. I’m too wired by everything. I need to know, though. We’ve known each other our entire lives. We’ve been reunited for centuries. Why, after all this time, are you interested in me?”

“It’s not ‘all of a sudden’, Sansa.”

“What do you mean?”

Jon decides to change back. This was better expressed in his human form. Once back, he grabs her hand. “Come on, if we’re going to be awake, we might as well be moving.”

She stumbles behind him, “Come on now, you’re stalling.”

Jon sighs. “You know I spent a long time as Ghost, right?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I spent enough time as the wolf to adopt more than just the physical form before Melisandre brought me back. And while I was a wolf, I sort of…. Became part of the community.”

“The direwolf community?” She giggles.

“Don’t laugh, it’s real. Wolves have their own intelligence, their own customs, and their own legends. And while I was with them, I learned of one of them. It was about mating. And how we find our mate in the person or wolf who just… Smells right. And after we find that person, we’re attached to them. When we found one another again, I caught your scent and after that you became… the woman I can’t ignore.”

She almost trips. “That’s flattering.”

“It’s the truth. I can always smell you. Not just your presence, but everything about you and what state you’re in. It’s part of the reason I smoke so much— to block out the smell. And why I went rogue for so long. I knew you’d never be interested, so I tried to stay away. But I couldn’t. I could still smell you.”

He feels her tense up, smells her trepidation. “Jon, I—”

“I never wanted to force anything on you, Sansa. Even after you all came looking for me, I didn’t come to Fabletown expecting anything. But I decided that if I couldn’t ignore you, I could try to satisfy my feelings by protecting you.”

“Still, though, you can’t expect me to react well to you stalking me all these years.”

“I can’t help it!” He scowls. “And it’s not just— I mean, yes, I know where you are every second of every day. Not because I want to. I just do. I’d stop if I could. But it’s not just that. I know your mood, your health. The rare times those smiles you fix for the community are genuine. The periods where you feel so overwhelmed you’re almost ready to give up, but never do. I know when you’re thinking about the time you went to Cersei back in the homelands and when you blame yourself for Father’s death, which is all too often. I know when you’re blaming yourself for Arya’s troubles. I know when you’re in your bathtub crying, which happens at least twice a week. I know when you’re wondering if it’s somehow your fault your marriage to Harry ended the way it did. I know when you’re afraid, like now. But I also know that you’re starting to understand.”

She takes a deep breath. “Jon… I’m tired.”

“Just a little longer, Sansa,” Jon says, picking up the scent. “She’s getting closer.”

~_~_~_~_~_~

They’re at the John F. Kennedy airport, exiting the gate, when Sansa speaks to him for the first time in hours. There’s been a lot of silence. Jon likes to tell himself that it’s over the ax Sansa drove into Goldilocks’s head, but he knows better.

“Jon…”

“—Look, if you want me to move out, I can.” He says quickly. “Whatever you need.”

She shakes her head. “No. Jon… Look. At this point in my life, I’m not interested in tricks or grand gestures or whatever you thought you were doing with that stunt at the Remembrance Day Ball. That being said, I’ve been thinking about it. And… If you’re willing to give me some time and then ask me out nicely, in an honest, straightforward manner, to go out with you… Well, I might not say no.”

Jon feels his heart leap in his chest. “Really?”

She nods. “Really. But I mean it. Honesty and time. I need both.”

Jon pauses and takes a deep breath. “Well, then, Sansa… There’s something you should probably know…”

#Jon x Sansa #Jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jonxsansaremix2017 #fables #bigby x snow

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ragwitch · 7 years

Text

Birds and Bees

Here’s some dreamy clawshock (Darcy/Logan) for @dresupi and the end of summer. Honey, I hope it gives you the warm buzzies (see what i did there?) and any one else that needs some. <3<3<3

Rating: T for language

Pairing: Darcy Lewis/ Logan (Wolverine)

Words: 1957

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, leaning into the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, straining the sleeves of his flannel. “It’s not forever.”

Darcy tried to erase whatever look she’d been wearing. It was unconscious, really. Logan just snorted at her and stepped back into the cabin.

“Come and put your shit down,” he said.

It was nice, if she was being honest. It was quaint which was weird because in her experience Logan was…rough and if she had walked in to find, like, a store of canned food and two sleeping cots she would not have been surprised. But there was a couch and a wood burning stove and a coffee table with little cork coasters and a half finished beer. There were even curtains. Plain curtains that he’d probably gotten at the dollar store, but it wasn’t newspaper over the windows so Logan must really have been feeling at home.

“Running water and everything,” he said drily.

She realized he’d been watching her take in the space. (She could see a kitchen through a doorway and there was a nice little hall off to the left for the bedrooms and bathroom.)

“It’s nice. Thanks for taking me in,” she said.

“Figured the only way of keeping you out of trouble was putting you somewhere you can’t find any internet,” he said, and then he turned and left her for the kitchen. “Your room is on the left side of the hall. You want a beer?”

“Please,” she said.

Way to bring it home, Logan, she thought as she drifted down the hall. Jane was out of the country and Darcy, in her restlessness, had accidentally broken into the wrong end of the dark web. And by accidentally she just meant she wanted to do her part for the good of mankind, maybe? But when the whisperings about her turned into outright requests for someone to take care of one Darcy Lewis?? Well Tony, and Phil, and Jane at a distance, and pretty much anyone else that thought they had a vote in her life, decided it was high time to put her somewhere for safekeeping.

So yeah.

Welcome to Montana.

The bed in her room had a quilt, all gold and purple triangles and squares bursting out from the center, and a rust speckled mirror, and a little space heater in the corner. There was a lopsided collection of wildflowers halphazardly hanging out of a jam jar and Darcy reached into her pocket to take a picture with her phone. And then remembered that they hadn’t let her bring it.

She dropped her bag to the floor with sigh and went to find Logan in the kitchen. He had a beer ready for her and he nodded to the back deck.

“Come and listen to the birds,” he said, tone dull and face hiding a laugh. “‘Bout all there is to do around here.” He scratched at his beard, which was about as close to sheepish as Logan ever got.

Darcy followed him out to the deck, the hollow rising up around them from the valley, turning into mountains. The sun was setting in front of the cabin and the rampant tall grasses were cast in gold, growing taller as they spread away from the building and Logan’s attempts at order and mowing. He sat down on the bench seat that lined the deck, legs stretching out in front of him, beer bottle spreading a ring of condensation on his jeans where he propped it, head tilting back to listen to the bird song ringing out from the trees rising up the hills.

Darcy woke up to the sound of more birds and blue gray darkness outside her window. And then again an hour later to the smell of coffee brewed and a heavy engined truck rattling down the stone drive, barely a hint of light in the sky. And then again a half hour or so after that to more birds.

So she gave up and grabbed a cup of coffee, black and dense and shockingly bitter, and went out to the deck with an old plaid blanket from the couch. It was later than she was expecting, but the sun was just making it’s appearance over the hills and the hollow was chilly and rinsed in dew from the night. She bundled up in the scratchy blanket and slurped at the coffee as light crawled over the meadow and down the drive.

An engine growled down the winding road into the hollow and a rusted up brown pick up truck trundled around the corner and onto the property. Darcy could see the sideburns from here.

Logan got out of driver’s side and Darcy was struck with the sudden notion that she wanted to crawl directly into his unraveling knit sweater and soak up all the body heat she knew he had cooking under there.

“I got you books,” he said, circling back to the bed of the truck and lifting cardboard boxes out from the back.

“Books?” She repeated. From the number of boxes she kind of wondered if Logan didn’t just rob a library.

“You know,” he said, glancing up from under thick eyebrows. “Like Google. But on paper.”

He’d gotten a bookshelf too. He said he got her the books and the bookshelf. But they went up in the living room and it all felt…domestic.

And the Google dig was less of a joke than she realized. A lot of the books were reference materials about the area. Because he had robbed a library. Well not robbed. But bought out the charity sale.

So when Logan vanished off into the woods to chase rabbits or chop down unsuspecting trees or whatever it was he did every day, Darcy pulled out the local bird field guide and a pair of binoculars. After three days she decided she liked the little yellow and black Evening Grosbeak best with his indignant chatter and squeaks. And then she got out the illustrated book of local fauna and went foraging.

She made chokecherry jam and pineapple weed tea and Logan came back to the house and sniffed the air.

“The hell?” he asked, staring at the stove.

“If you make a single Little House on the Prairie joke, I’ll drink all your whiskey tomorrow while you’re out,” she promised.

“Not saying nothing.” And then a minute later, “Not taking the first bite of that jam, either.”

“Is that your kill?” Darcy asked.

She was stretched on the porch with a thriller novel, smothered in sunblock and enjoying the bright rays all the same. Logan was dragging a tree back to the house, stripped of branches.

“Fresh from the hunt. C’mere. I’ll teach you to use a saw,” he said, hefting the trunk up onto a logging bench.

“I’d rather stay here and objectify you,” she said.

Logan hid his grin behind his sleeve as he wiped the sweat off his face. Then he unbuttoned and stripped out of his flannel so she could stare at him in a damp tank top.

She got all of two pages further into the novel before giving up and going in the cabin to fetch beers for them both. She watched the rest stretched across the top of the deck bench, and didn’t mind a bit when Logan took the tank top off and went to work with the axe.

The temperature dropped dramatically at night in the hollow. Which explained the space heater in her room in the belly of summer.

She put together a little campfire in a ring of bricks and Logan came out after her fingertips were a little singed and she’d stopped cursing. They sat in lawn chairs near each other, letting the smoke drift away from them, sipping whiskey together.

“Where do you go every day?” she asked after a quiet hour of watching embers spread over logs and sparks float away into the tree line.

“Checkin’ on my bees,” Logan said, soft and rumbly. He was wearing that sweater again, the one with the cuffs that were undoing and slouch that Darcy was pretty sure she could share with him.

“Your bees?” she asked. “Is that…Is that slang?” B’s like bitches? Did Logan have a harem of log women out in the woods?

“For what?” he asked, laugh cracking out in the words.

“Bees, bees? Bzzzz bees?”

He was laughing, trying to hide his sharp smile behind the hand rubbing at his beard. “Got no idea what other kind you’re thinkin’ of, Darce.”

“I just…I can’t picture it.”

“I don’t have a suit for you, but you can come out with me sometime.”

She only got stung twice. They burned a little but Logan took her back to the cabin and put baking soda paste on her neck and arm with careful fingers. She got the ones high up on his shoulders. Not because he needed her too, but he was letting her and if she lingered…well, he was relaxed, so who else was going to mind?

The important part was that they had honeycomb for their efforts.

“Oh my god,” Darcy hummed, trying to hold the heavy syrup on her tongue for another minute. It was spicy and dense and the sweetest flavor she’d ever had. She whimpered a little as Logan poured a little puddle of cream into the bowl over the top of her chunk.

“Trust me,” he said.

And she did.

And he was right. They both groaned, teeth dragging across spoons trying to catch every last smear of honey, cold cream bursting and bringing the flowery clover taste out to spill into their mouths.

“Way to go bees,” Darcy said and pretended not to notice Logan’s cheeks pink with the praise.

Late in summer Darcy woke in Logan’s arms. They’d had another campfire, this one with more whiskey. They’d shared a log as a seat and even if Darcy didn’t get into that ribbed sweater, she’d cuddled up to it.

And then fallen asleep on it.

Logan was putting her down in her bed and her fingers were tangling into the loose threads on his sleeves. He smelled like campfire and the cigar he’d been mangling and honey.

“I think you should stay,” she whispered.

Warm hands squeezed at her waist and hips as she sank against the mattress. His knee was pressing into the bed against her side and she was pretty sure if she just tugged a little harder, he’d come sinking down over her.

“I think you should ask me that tomorrow,” he said, growled, into her ear.

“I’m gonna,” she said, and he untangled her fingers from his sweater and nuzzled his nose against her hairline before vanishing from the bed.

She huffed as the door shut behind him and then burrowed under her blankets.

She woke up early in the morning, and the cabin was dark and quiet. Her room was chilly and her toes were cold.

She padded across the hall to the other bedroom where the space heater was going. She knocked on the cracked door and when he shifted on the bed- it was bigger and the spread was dark and soft looking -she crossed the room.

She pressed her knee to the mattress and ducked her head down till she could smell the whiff of smoke still in his hair. He was wincing up at her, groggy and grumbling, but there was curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I think you should ask me to stay,” she whispered.

“Was planning on it,” he rasped and then burning warm hands appeared on the backs of her thighs and he dragged her down under the covers.

#clawshock #darcy lewis #darcyland #logan #Darcy x Logan #gift fic #drabble #lets all run away to the hills together #and eat honey

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botwriter · 7 years

Text

Masked - Chapter 2: Robin Hood

Read this on FF.net ☛

Zelda did not get as much sleep as she would have hoped, but nonetheless, the next morning she was up early to peruse the local markets and fruit stands. Hateno in particular had a dye shop, and she had a dress she needed dyed white in preparation for one of the biggest events of the year - an annual gala. It had a different theme each year, and this time around, it would be a masquerade.

The town was bustling, a little louder and a little happier than usual. She took shelter in the dye shop from the sun, waiting for Sayge to finish putting together a few bottles of white dye.

“So, what did I miss?” she asked absently, glancing over her shoulder at the shorter man. “Everyone seems quite… talkative today.”

“Oh, heh - that Robin Hood visited us last night. Brought some medicine and sweets for the kids.”

Zelda blinked. So the mysterious stranger from last night was definitely the same Robin Hood going around doing good deeds in Hyrule…

“He comes and goes, you know,” Sayge continued, grinding up more Hylian rice. “Always leaves it on the windowsills so we know it was him. Brings flowers for me wife sometimes, lil bastard. She’s smitten over the guy now.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to step up your game,” Zelda laughed, and Sayge chuckled to himself before corking the bottles and handing them over to her in a basket.

“So it would seem! Oh, and Princess, be safe going back into town. Lots of Yiga on the roads lately. Say they’re gettin’ ready for the… you know what.”

Zelda’s cheerful expression faded as she looked back at the man. He had a familiar expression on his face, one she had seen on many of the adults of Hyrule - like they were already defeated. At first it was heartbreaking, but then she found herself having to fight to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. She was working incredibly hard to be prepared in time for Ganon - didn’t they realise that? Of course it wouldn’t be easy, but she had enough doubts on her own - hearing it from the people like that wasn’t any help for her morale.

“Right,” she replied softly, “thank you Sayge, I will make sure the guards are vigilant as ever.”

The day went quietly then, and Zelda took some time to enjoy the peaceful scenery around Hateno before collecting the guards to head home. She wasn’t overly excited for the masquerade now that she thought of it, but at least it would be a distraction from the ridiculous amount of prayer and studying her father had been nagging her over lately. Even just this trip to Hateno had been like a vacation… I wish I could stay out here a bit longer. It was so peaceful compared to the hustle and bustle of Castletown.

Due to Zelda’s mishaps with the Yiga on their way to Hateno, the palace guards decided that for the way back, she would join them on horseback. Reluctantly, she sat behind one of the guards as they rode in formation back through the trees. The valley was foggy and the poor visibility had the knights on full alert as they made their way. Zelda clutched her basket close, feeling sleepy in the quiet and the lulling of the palace horse trotting away down the path.

It wasn’t long before they had company.

Where the road narrowed nearby, partially covered by steep cliffs on either side, the Yiga had set up a blockade - but strangely enough, they were already in the middle of a battle.

More yiga surrounded them as they rode in, having nowhere else to go - Zelda stayed close to the knight atop the horse as the several Yiga men surrounded them, but she couldn’t help peeking over her shoulder at the other blockade. A cloaked figure was fighting them, three on one, using nothing but his hands and occasionally a quick arrow fired at point-blank. His face was hooded, but the poncho and tufts of blonde hair were familiar. Zelda recognized him immediately - it was Hyrule’s Robin Hood - again. But more Yiga arrived from in the fog, and he was soon outnumbered. Zelda’s heart sank as her eyes swept over the various yiga shadows emerging from the cliffs. They were all outnumbered.

“Be careful!” she yelled in warning to the stranger, as a Yiga snuck up from behind; he looked back over his shoulder, and in the dim of the fog, Zelda could see a flash of blue. Her eyes widened as she watched him unsheath a sword, hidden previously beneath his poncho. He didn’t bring it out completely, instead pulling just enough to hit the yiga in the stomach with the hilt and send him flying backwards, before sheathing the weapon again.

What - was that -

She had no time to gather her thoughts. He seemed to realise their odds of success as much as she did. Her knights had dismounted in an attempt to fight the Yiga, leaving Zelda alone on a palace horse. The hooded man noticed this, and in swift movements, ducked and ran beneath the Yiga and the knights until he had swung up around the horse’s neck. It bucked, but only briefly - Zelda would have fallen if not for one hand swinging back and catching her belt. Her basket and dyes clattered to the ground as the horse reared, neighing and pawing at the air.

The Yiga and the Knights both yelled in unison.

“Princess!”

“No- get her!”

But it was too late. The palace horse, clearly happy to be given a way out of the fighting, leapt over a tall Yiga man attempting to block the way, and took off into the woods. Zelda clung to the stranger in front of her, though at the moment she felt quite conflicted - was she being kidnapped or rescued? Either way, she felt a certain amount of trust for the ‘Robin Hood’ of Hyrule, and wherever they were headed was likely safer than the conflict back on the path.

They rode for at least a few hours, zigzagging through the trees and navigating the occasional rocky terrain until finally coming to stop under some trees surrounded by cliffs. Zelda dismounted without a word. She was happy to be off of the horse.

The man - still facing away from her - slapped the horse’s rump and it took off running back the way they had come. Zelda’s jaw dropped.

“What - why did you-”

“All of the main roads leading back to the castle have been blockaded,” he interrupted her, his voice still quiet as she remembered. He turned from her, pulling his hood further over his face. “We’re going to have to take a really roundabout way back to the castle. I’ll escort you there.”

Zelda’s patience was wearing thin. She tried to ignore the stress that was building within her.

“You’ll get me there?”

“Yes.”

He began gathering bits of firewood from the trees around them, being sure to not look in her direction.

“H-how long will it take?”

“Well, we’re on foot, so a couple days.”

“Why- why would you-”

“Hyrule needs a princess,” he replied, and Zelda could hear a smile on his voice as he struck flint together overtop of a pile of wood. It lit fast, and all she could do was stare - he really knew his way around the outdoors. It was quiet for a moment besides the evening birds singing away. Zelda was trying to get a hold of her thoughts, but she had far too many questions.

“Do you know how to get back to Hyrule? I completely lost sense of direction on that ride.”

“Good,” he exclaimed, letting out a groan as he sat down onto the grass by the fire. “That means they won’t find us. And yeah, I know where we are. Don’t worry.”

Zelda could do nothing but stand and stare. Was this guy for real? He didn’t seem like a full-grown man - he sounded and looked more like her age, maybe a few inches taller than her, and all of this made her less wary. But still, he was hiding his face.

She headed to the fire and took a seat next to the stranger. It seemed to surprise him, and he shuffled to the side a tiny bit.

“Are you really not going to let me see your face for two days?”

“Really,” he replied bluntly.

“What if I look at your face while you’re sleeping?”

“Please don’t,” he sighed, sounding vaguely embarrassed. “You wouldn’t remember, but we’ve met before.”

“Why wouldn’t I remember? I’m pretty good with faces,” Zelda asserted with a smile.

“You wouldn’t remember meeting me, but you would recognize me,” he said simply, causing Zelda to fall silent. There was no use trying to remember individuals through all the people she’d met. And as for young men… there had been many over the years, knight trainees, castle volunteers… Still, she found herself disheartened in him mentioning that she wouldn’t remember meeting him. She wanted to be thought of as a better Princess than that.

“You met me and fifty others on the same day,” he finally added, as if to reassure her. Zelda blinked.

“So… you’re a knight trainee?”

“Was.”

“A drop-out?”

“Not exactly.”

She was perplexed.

“But - is that why you don’t let anyone see your face?”

“Ehh.”

The conversation wasn’t going anywhere, and they both seemed to notice it. He clearly wasn’t interested in helping her narrow down his identity.

“Is there something I can call you in the meantime?”

“Robin Hood is fine,” he replied with a hint of humour in his voice. Zelda hugged her arms around her legs. Useless. Before long, Robin muttered a small goodnight and laid down in the grass - hood covering his entire face - and was, as far as Zelda was aware, sleeping. She desperately wanted to lift his hood and see his face, but she was too scared that he was either still awake, or would wake up when she did so - or worse, would be someone she didn’t want to see.

She resigned herself to not knowing, and curled up next to the fire herself, watching the flames flicker and lick at the night sky before finally falling asleep.

Morning came too soon. Not that she had been comfy laying on the grass, but she felt like she could have slept for much longer - she had been dreaming of a shining blue sword. It reminded her of what she’d seen the day before. Robin had drawn a sword - one he was hiding beneath his poncho - and the light it emitted… was otherworldly. What was he hiding? And not just from her, but from Hyrule then as well - she knew of the Sword that Sealed the Darkness. Besides the other obvious signs of Calamity Ganon returning, if the sword had chosen a hero… that was invaluable information.

As she sat up, trying to ignore the pain from sleeping on the ground all night, she could see Robin cooking mushrooms over the fire that he had relit. Before long, he had a more than a few skewers set up. She looked at him, and only caught a brief glimpse of a sharp jawline and long eyelashes before he pulled his hood forward again. His hand shot out a second later, offering her a skewer with meat and mushrooms on it.

“Thanks,” Zelda said quietly and with a bit of surprise. They ate in silence, and as soon as they were done, he stood up and brushed dirt off his trousers.

“Time to go.”

Their journey was somewhat uneventful. Once, they stopped on a high cliff and peeked over to see the main road, near Ash Swamp, where they could see the yiga set up on a bridge. Other travelers were stopped, and then allowed to pass - but there was clearly some trade going on.

“They’re demanding funds,” Robin said quietly. Zelda nodded, fingers gripping the stone edge of the cliff tightly in her frustration.

“And the Princess of Hyrule is missing,” she hissed, “just great.”

“You’re alive,” Robin replied, looking now towards the Dueling Peaks. “I’ll get us home tomorrow.”

“You don’t understand,” Zelda protested, “I’d much rather be able to look after myself. Usually I do just fine.”

“I do understand. And usually isn’t now,” he retorted, sounding upset. “There’s a massive organized force trying to take you down and you think you could just walk alone in the forest without consequence?”

“It never used to be an issue,” she argued, but she knew where it was headed already.

“It is now. If you want to stay Princess, you need to realise your vulnerabilities and keep yourself safe.”

She was quiet for a bit after that. What did he know about oweing your duty and life to the people - all of them? What did he know of the pressures she faced just for being born as who you were?

They left the stone outcropping and headed further along the ridges - Zelda had never done so much climbing in her life, but she was fit enough to keep up, and funneled her frustrations with him to her climbing. He was always ahead of her, which she assumed he did on purpose to keep her from seeing his face. Even in the heat of the sun, he didn’t let his hood down, and she could see him wiping sweat from his forehead occasionally. Finally, when she had calmed down from their previous chat, she let her curiosity seep through.

“Can I ask… why are you doing all of this, this Robin Hood stuff?”

“I always felt like it was my duty to help Hyrule,” he replied with a grunt, heaving himself up another cliff.

“A lot of people knight trainees do,” Zelda replied with a smile, “but most of them want the fame that comes with it, too.”

He shrugged as she clambered up behind him.

“I don’t feel accomplishment from that.”

“That’s very admirable.”

Robin almost turned to look at her then, but Zelda could see that he stopped himself just before turning all the way around. A breeze flew past them, pushing her blonde hair sideways and his poncho in the wind. The sheath of his sword was visible for barely a moment before disappearing again. Zelda could tell that both of them were thinking the same thing.

“Robin… your sword-”

“Is a family heirloom,” he cut her off, “and very important to me. It’s not used or taken out needlessly.”

“Could I see it?” she asked, but he only began walking again. Again she wanted to snap at him - she was growing more and more impatient with his hiding everything. As the day wore on, they stopped once for lunch, and then kept moving, mostly silent - the occasional Bokoblin or stray Yiga got in their way, but Robin quickly dispatched them and kept moving like it was nothing. If he had been a knight trainee like he said, he must have been one of Hyrule’s best. It was a shame to hear that he was no longer in the program, but Zelda didn’t know how much he’d told her that was really true.

As evening fell, and they passed behind the dueling peaks and around to Hyrule Field, Zelda could finally see Hyrule Castle in the distance again. They settled on a cliffside near Deya Village - unfortunately it wouldn’t be safe in town, since the Yiga were patrolling everywhere. At the very least, the fire Robin lit was warm, and they had the evening stars and Hyrule Castle as a backdrop.

“Robin - thank you for helping me,” Zelda said, finally breaking her silence from the last couple hours. “I would have been taken if it wasn’t for you. Seems the knights need more training.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, “I was born to serve the royal family.”

“Wh- what?” Zelda exclaimed suddenly. “You… you’re in the royal guard?”

“Was. I don’t know what I am now.”

“So then let me thank you properly,” she pleaded, but the young man only shook his head and sighed, pulling his hood tighter as the evening wind picked up.

“Do as you like.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted. But then again, Zelda had no idea what answer she was looking for - she only knew that she was disappointed, curious ever more as to who he really was. Her frustration got the better of her again, and she laid down, facing up and staring at the stars as she willed herself to sleep. But it proved far too difficult; Robin laid down shortly after and clearly had no issue falling asleep. She watched him briefly, his sword, bow, and quiver lying in front of him, his hood still pulled over his face, back against the fire. There was no need for him to hide himself from her. At this point, she wasn’t sure yet if she could trust him - he was an ex knight-trainee, and ex-royal guard, so what did that make him? A runaway? What if he was really taking her into a trap? She doubted that - her gut told her that she could trust him - but her patience was wearing thin with the secrets.

Part of her wanted to take his sword with her, but she decided against it, and headed out unarmed into Hyrule Field.

I’ll be okay. This is my Hyrule.

#zelink #zelink fic #zelink fanfiction #botw fic #botw fanfiction #breath of the wild #botw #masked

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fleamarketloveletters · 5 years

Text

February 23, 1942.

“Deep in the heart of Carolina”

R.R. 2/23/42

Dear “Betty”,

Say you are some letter essayist. I received your one of the nineteenth and also an old one of Jan 29th.

We had our first shower last night since we’ve been out on the range. I think I’m now twenty pounds lighter. (Darn this southern air. It makes the fountain pens act funny. So please my dear, forgive the different shades of ink.)

That letter of Jan. the 29th was one of the longest I have received yet. It was darn cute. (Everything you ever do is cute anyway, you “sweet little beauty”). I also like the length of the latest one too.

So you think my “mad house letters” are “nice” and a little bit romantic, well could be. But they seem darn broken and thoughtless when I read them over. I’m like you. I have so much to tell you I can’t write as fast as I’m thinking.

Tell Arnold that we are told that our rifles are our “best friend”. They make anybody who drops theirs, sleep with it tied to them. But we are so much with them they are personally, (a pain in the neck).

Say “Betty Petty” you are still making those “wide open” little remarks, huh? Will you look out for what you write as now that I’m a marine we have a great deal of super privileges. (What have I said! I mean we will have once we are full fledged after next week.)

Darling you don’t have to say ( “I better hurry up and explain this”) I’ve got you up a tree, haven’t I?

ALso my “Super Beauty” what do you refer to in your letter you said you laughed and laughed at my 14 page letter? What was so funny?

Hey, tell me also what picture was that mother made an enlargement of?

Mother sent a letter the twenty-ninth of Jan which I finally received today. In it she mentioned about my picture being in the Register. If it was nobody ever sent me the clipping or picture. Did you see it kid? I doubt that she put it in. Will you send it on to me if you have it. I will send it back. Please my dear.

What kind of candy or “porky bait” did Mister McLaughlin present to you? Grrrrr. I’m getting jeaulous/jealous. (See I’m so mad I can’t see straight!) Ha Joke. O.K. proceed------

Listen “Cuteness” I can’t see for the life of me how you could come out of the camera looking like a Marine. Yes, we are famous for our chest expanding but we can’t even start to compared with a a a you!! (Oh, oh I ducked that hair brush just in time!!!) I see what you mean when you saw that in some ways I have changed. I know that. I would never of had that awful nerve to make a remark like that. (Go on now, you know darn well you love it. I can see you grinning from ear to ear, you little monkey you.)

Did you enjoy the party you went to? I hope you kept sober and know you I guess you did. But if the cork was off you would perhaps have gotten “tipsy” from the smell.

You needn’t get so impudent about sealing your letters with your super lipstick. I can fix you proper if you give me any back talk like you did in this letter. Perhaps I’m glad to hear about you not wearing it at night. Then I know that so far I have no one to worry about or be mad at. I love your little “freshness” don’t you forget it. Everything about is just “super dooper”.

Here are a few lines to the family (the lucky people having such a beautiful dream for a daughter) --

To Mom --

No I didn’t need the p.p as I so far have been a good little boy and have avoided K.P.

To Pop -- Our rifles are so accurate we are so well trained that we can shoot the “whites of their eyes” out at 500 yds easily. We could hit them anyplace at 2700 yds. But the Japs are so yellow -- even the whites of their eyes are also.

To Arnold -- Well all I can say is that you might have known it was an Irishman, Doyle.

To Sparky --

Listen little fellow, I wish that I could be spanked by such a beautiful girl as your mistress. I would purposely be a “bad boy” every minute. Keep up your good work “old timer” and when I see you I will bring you a bone. How about a bark; saying “thank you Clarkie”?

I’m just counting off each minute till I get your lovely picture. I sit on the edge of my bunk like a player “warming up” for his chance to run. Hurry, hurry.

I got an old letter from mom, as I have perhaps told you before. In it she praises you to the highest darling. She thinks that I should be the prouder fellow in the world to be able to have such a perfectly wonderful girl to be engaged to. And sweet don’t you think for one split second that I’m not. Boy, I’m the luckiest guy in the world. The only trouble is that maybe you are the one who is getting the “bad boy” in the situation. I feel so awfully inferior to you darling that sometimes I don’t think that I’m even near you for being so grand. “But you love me and I love you, no knife could ever cut our love in two”. (How’s that?)

Gee only five more days and we will be out of this “_ _ _ _ Hole”. I can’t wait. I wonder what knew adventures lie a ahead. Remember that U.S. M.C. poster in front of the Waterburg P.O? It said “Do you want action? Then join the Marines”. They aren’t kidding. Sometimes I can’t wait and then again I wish it could be delayed a little while longer. Gee it’s a funny feeling. I just want to be able to write you and see you as much as I can before the real time comes. Then I could go away much more relieved and easier.

Can you really pictures us being together and all? I just can’t seem to get the idea out of my head that maybe this war will cause me to lose you, by me being sent some place and not knowing I will get back. It wouldn’t be heard on because I would never know about it. But you dearest would be the poor kid back home. Don’t think I’m always gloomy about this war but I do want to settle down and be married to you and have all the things that both of us want to make us happy. I’ll tell you what you just tell me that you know we will be happy in the future and I’ll guarantee you I won’t let that “gloomy cloud” ever enter my mind.

You must look comical looking into your drawer at my homely “mug”. Do the other members of the force think your nuts? I bet that you just get mad every time you look at me.

It’s beginning to rain in torrents again. It comes down to our tin roof sounding like thunder. I suppose we will be playing mud turtles again together. Two good days I guess was too much. Anyway we don’t get snow like you poor creatures up north are getting.

Today the mail came right after noon show and the order came to “fall in”. So I threw all the other mail on the bunk and put yours in my blouse pocket when we marched off to the firing line. Well I opened it and read it on the ground out there. I had a grin on my face when a Sgt. came along and stood above me. I didn’t see him because I was deep in heaven reading it. I was the fourth relay to fire so being stretched nonchalantly on the ground I didn’t look up any further than his shoe, but when he didn’t move for a while I glanced up and when I saw who it was I flew up to attention. He was swell tho. (its unusual). He said he thought have must have been a letter from someone “very sweet and close” by the contented looking foolish grin I had on. I told him that no letter in the Marine Corp ever meant so much to a fellow as what my girls’ mean to me.

Goodnight my dearest and always remember I love you more than anybody in the world.

Forever and always,

Love,

Jack

XXOO

P.S. AH, Ha!! I see your stamps also are inverted. Tis well!!

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ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

You Really Were Something, Pearl [RF]

A warm breeze blew down the street, bringing with it the salty smell of the East River. On this overcast and hazy June afternoon, Pearl sat on outdoor patio on the corner for 49th and 2nd Avenue. A bottle of champagne sat tilted and sweating in an ice bucket on her table. The New York Times was spread across the entire table top, its corners flapping in the breeze. This was where you would find Pearl every day, for the last twenty or so years since her husband passed.

Every day at lunchtime, she would leave her penthouse apartment--the 23rd floor of a high rise on E48th street, where she had lived for the past sixty four years--and head down a French café called Chez Henri. There, she would demand a table on the sidewalk--if the weather was warm enough--or right by the window. God help the poor soul who happened to take her requested seat before she arrived.

Once she was seated, she snapped her fingers and called for the waiter.

“Garcon!” she shouted.

The waiter rolled his eyes to his fellow wait staff and slogged over to her table.

“Yes, ma’am. What can I get for you today?” he asked, forcing a smile onto his face.

“How could you not know by now?” she snapped. “And hurry, I haven’t got all day.”

The waiter, smirked, nodded, then lumbered to the bar to grab a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the wine cooler. Then he filled a stainless steel bucket with ice and placed the bottle of champagne inside, pushing it just enough so that the ice covered the wide base of the bottle.. Above his head, he grabbed the clean champagne flutes that hung in the dark, empty bar. He carried it out the old woman on the patio under cloudy skies.

Pearl smiled with the kind of satisfaction that comes with the ability to manipulate people to her will.

The waiter unwrapped the foil from the top of the champagne bottle, loosened the thin metal cage and popped the cork. He didn’t dare speak to Pearl as if she were an equal, he tried to avoid all eye contact. He had learned his lesson. The plop of the cork made a hollow sound that was drowned out by the rustling of leafy tree branches in the wind and the cars and cabs whooshing by and honking their horns on 2nd Avenue.

While the waiter opened the bottle, the old woman did not look up from her copy of

the Times. Pearl struggled to read the pages as they whipped in the wind. When the champagne flute hit the table and the waiter was about to fill it, she looked up and sneered in disgust. She put her hand up to stop the waiter from pouring.

“That glass is filthy,” she said, shoving the glass to the waiter’s face.

He could not see anything wrong with the glass, but he apologized anyway. He brought it behind the bar and ran it under some hot water, dried it and brought it back. Pearl smiled that same demeaning smile as she had done before. This time she did not look up as he poured the champagne. She continued reading the newspaper.

“Can I get you anything el—” the waiter began.

She flicked her hand up as if to toss him away before he could finish, still not looking up from the paper. The waiter left her there.

The first fizz of the champagne’s bubbles hit her lips and she suddenly became more relaxed. It was not the alcohol working so quickly, but rather the comfort of routine that calmed her down.

The headlines of the day were all about the president and the border wall. She liked the idea of the wall, in principle. Why should we just let people into the country that will suck us dry? Why should I, Pearl Hoffman, pay my hard-earned money to provide for illegals to get free stuff in my country?

As much as she liked his policies, she did not like the man himself. She knew of him from his days in the New York real estate game. Everyone knew the man’s name, he made sure of that. You couldn’t walk a few blocks in Manhattan without seeing his name, written in huge gold letters, on the side of some gaudy skyscraper. He was boastful, braggadocious and came off like a slime ball who conned his way to the top. His father was very much the same. They had money and name in Manhattan, but they never earned respect. No, not like my Marty. My Marty was a real gentleman and everything he earned was through hard work and sacrifice.

That is not to say that Pearl really knew what Marty did for a living. He went to his office

everyday in Midtown and worked until at least eight o’clock most nights. Sometimes he would even have to stay overnight to get things done. But whatever he did, he made his living with integrity.

Marty gave Pearl everything he could in life--the finest jewelry from Tiffany’s, clothes from Saks, a beautiful Manhattan penthouse--a penthouse that she still owned and lived in.

That penthouse was in a building that was one of the first skyscrapers to go up after the war.

That’s right, the last real war. My Marty fought bravely against those Nazis. He practically freed those Jews himself! And he always remained faithful to me when he was over there, even among the beautiful French women. He would write me once a week and he told me how much he missed me. Back then, life was tough--we had to live in Brooklyn--but after he got back from Europe, Marty got a job in Midtown, and a few years later we had this penthouse. Then, I could live like a queen all the time.

Oh, Morty, he’s been gone for almost twenty years now. I miss him every day. Our children Sarah and Rachel--they never call us. One lives in Los Angeles with her husband who works in the movies. That’s Sarah, she never had children. I don’t agree with that. As a woman, your job is to have children for your husband, and if you don’t, what’s your worth as a woman? This is what we were made to do. Anyway, she did not like when I said that, oh, around the time where Marty was really sick. We haven’t spoken since. But she’ll come around, I know it. I know she can’t have children anymore, but one day she’ll call and apologize and come visit her aging mother.

Rachel has two beautiful sons, but I can’t go near them. Rachel is a lesbian, what would people say? I don’t much like that, personally. I know that’s not great to say these days, but it’s so...unnatural. I’m not religious or anything, I mean, I was raised Presbyterian and converted to Judaism for my dear sweet Marty, but that’s not why I object to her being a lesbian. It’s just not right. I’m sure her girlfriend--or wife, or whatever she is--is a lovely woman, but I could not live with myself, in this society, being proud of having a lesbian daughter. You just don’t do that, I’ll be laughed out of town. I know she made her lifestyle choice just to hurt me. When I told her how I felt, she didn’t like that, and she stopped talking to me. But I know one day she’ll call and apologize to her old dying mother, and my grandchildren will come visit me too.

With one glass of champagne down, Pearl snapped her fingers and called out for the garcon again. The waiter came strolling outside as the skies grew darker. Second Avenue was getting quieter as people left their lunch hours and went back to work.

I was not a very strict mother, but I always wanted to be sure that Rachel and Sarah had the right etiquette in high society. Marty and I were really something in New York back in the fifties. That was the last time this city was great. We would rub elbows with the likes of Bogey, Bacall, Hepburn--both of them--Carey Grant, Marilyn Monroe...Marty always made me feel like a movie star. He knew I could have been a movie star, I knew it too, but I did not want to leave New York to move to Hollywood. We stayed and I had children--for Morty--because that’s what a woman does.

Oh, how I dreamed of being a Hollywood star though. Oh, and I would have been good too. Everyone told me that I had such talent. I tried out for a few Broadway plays, but I could just never put in the time to hone my craft. They told me I was good, and pretty, but I needed to be able to sing for Broadway. And as much as I could carry a tune, I did not have the time to build my vocal chords and learn all the dance steps to all the musical numbers. I could have been great though you know.

Pearl turned to the entertainment section of the newspaper and saw the latest movies that were playing.

I remember when they made that film with Judy Garland. Yes, Judy was a real talent. I don’t know how that Gaga can be so popular, she’s not very pretty. No, not like I was. I was prettier than her, I could have been a star, I just simply did not have the time. There were so many things to do.

Pearl took another sip of her champagne. Her face felt about as warm as the humid summer air that covered Manhattan that day. A single raindrop fell from the sky and plopped on the paper. Fortunately for Pearl, the drop landed in the middle of the articles, which she couldn’t read anyway. Her eyes had failed her over the years, and she could no longer read the newspaper, even with those hideous reading glasses. She would never be caught dead in public wearing reading glasses. When her vision started to fail her, she just kept looking at the paper for the pictures and the large print headlines. Mostly, she just sat and thought about what each image and headline provoked.

The taste and the feeling of the champagne was heightened by the fact that Pearl never ate anything when she drank. She had half a grapefruit in the morning with black coffee and that sustained her until dinner time, which her live in chef would fix for her. She did not want to ruin her waistline, just in case Hollywood came calling. No, she didn’t have time to be a movie star back then, but she had all the time in the world now.

The taste of the bubbles on her lips and the way the air was heavy and warm brought upon a memory of the night that she caught Vivian Leigh being a little too cozy with Marty in a private room at a party. Poor Marty was being taken advantage of by Vivian. She was a siren, that one--and a floozy. Proper ladies don’t fight, but Pearl had to protect her Marty. So many women were after him, I had to fight them off because he couldn’t.

That Marty, he was such a sweet, innocent soul. I could understand why all the women were envious of me. I was beautiful and he was rich, powerful and handsome, we were the most envied couple in NewYork in our heyday, I can tell you. New York is a wonderful place, but it used to be much better. There were so many famous and important people here back in the day, and there were always so many people to see and restaurants to go to, and shows to see. It really is the center of the universe. I think it still is, but it’s just not the same as it used to be. The shows have been taken over by the gays and the blacks. The restaurants are all run by Mexicans and Orientals. But isn’t that the whole world now? People have no sense of boundaries any more.

Back in my day, people used to be dressed to the nines all the time. Today, half the women I see have their boobs hanging or they’re wearing sweatpants outside. When I first saw someone wearing sweatpants outside, it was a mental patient from Bellevue, she had escaped. But she must have set a trend because after a while, lots of people were wearing sweatpants.

Today, Pearl wore a lime green dress, with a thick black belt and her pearl necklace. Marty got me that necklace in Paris after he beat the snot out of the Nazis.

The rain started to fall harder, and the wind started to pick up, but Pearl was undeterred.

“Garcon!” she yelled. The waiter dashed outside and she pointed to the awning. The waiter grabbed the pole and rolled out the awning over Pearl’s head, fighting the wind and the rain.

Pearl stayed put, she had gotten wet, but she had her ritual and nothing was going to interrupt it. That bottle of champagne, it brought back so many memories. All the good times she had in her life were accompanied with champagne. After Marty proposed, there was champagne. At their wedding day, there was champagne. During their honeymoon in the French Riviera, champagne was all they drank. After she had Sarah and Rachel, she had champagne in the delivery room.

In all those parties with the movie stars and other important people, there was champagne. Sometimes there was too much champagne. Like the time she woke up next to a man that wasn’t Marty. Marty never found out, thankfully, and we moved on with our lives.

I have always felt guilty about that night though. I had Rachel sometime later. That may explain

why she is a lesbian.

When Marty died, that was a hard time. Sarah and Rachel were there, but they didn’t look at me and they didn’t talk to me. I don’t know what I ever did to them. I raised them and they still don’t want to apologize. I don’t understand. I had my friends Hazel and Edie to help me through. We all became widowers and we got together to talk about the good times often and there were always bottles of champagne. And no matter how bad we were feeling about losing our husbands, there was always champagne. I even forgave Edie for the time she took advantage of Marty and made him sleep with her. I think he just felt bad for her. I was much prettier than her, but Morty was such a sweetheart, he just wanted to make her feel pretty. He was always thinking about the feelings of other people. Oh, how I miss that man.

I miss Hazel and Edith too I suppose. Hazel died about five years ago and Edith has been gone for two. But more champagne for me, I guess.

Pearl looked out on the street watching people run for cover as the rain picked up. She could no longer hear the sounds of the cars on Second Avenue now, only the sound of a million raindrops echoing through the bricked canyons of 49th Street and Second Avenue. She laughed at the people who rushed around covering their heads.

She called the waiter over once more, except she was more friendly and more kind. She asked him politely to pour the last of the champagne and to take the bottle away.

“The check too, dear, if you please,” she said warmly through frayed vocal chords and weak lungs. He obliged and ran off with the bottle, and the bucket of melting ice. He returned in a moment with the check.

Pearl was no longer looking at her newspaper. Instead, she looked around, a euphoric smile fixed to her face. She felt a warm glow around her. Her world was in soft focus, like a dream. She felt like she was there in the halcyon days--a memory, hazy around the edges. She really was something, but she could have been so much more, if she had the time.

The check came and Pearl left the waiter a one-dollar tip on a ninety-dollar bottle of wine. He knew that would happen. He drew the short straw that day to serve her. Everyone at Chez Henri knew of Pearl, and none of them wanted to deal with her. She would be difficult, combative and make you bend over backwards for no tip. Nobody knew anything about her, despite the fact that she was there every day. She would not talk to them, she would barely look at them. If they even tried to speak with her, she growled something snippy back at them, or just ignored them. The wait staff cheered when she left her seat and walked--hunched over with her cane keeping her steady--back to her building.

The rain let up by the dinner rush, and the waiter made one of his best nights in a year. He and his wife had been saving up to buy a condo and they were so close. A night like this one really helped him. After his shift was over, he took the 6 train to his apartment in the Bronx where his three children rushed to the door to greet him.

“Hey, guys, shouldn’t you be in bed?” he said.

“Oh, they really missed you today, Daddy,” his wife said, coming up behind them. “And it’s not a school night so I let them stay up.”

The smell of garlic and onions and cumin filled the air in the small flat.

“I got some rice for you on the stove, I’ll heat you up a plate.”

“That would be great,” he said with a smile.

He told her how much money he made that night and they smiled about how close they were to getting that down payment for the condo. He ate the rice and filled up until he wanted to sleep. His children kissed him before they went to bed.

Back in Midtown, Pearl had a meal she would not remember, prepared by her live-in chef. She looked through her mail for a letter, but there was nothing addressed to her except for magazine subscription renewals, bills and a social security check. She checked her answering machine, but there were no messages for her.

Oh well, the weekend is here. Somebody might call me tomorrow.

r/dtpughwrites

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